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lovebugism · 14 days ago

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📼 ; ONCE BITTEN, TWICE SHY | 1/2

summary: by the summer of 1987, eddie munson has mastered the art of dying and coming back to life again. but worse than that: he can't seem to stop running into the pretty lifeguard from hawkins community pool. the grumpy ol' vampire slowly learns to love sunshine in the afterlife. (23k)

pairing: vampire!eddie munson / ditzy!sunshine!reader

contents: fem!reader, strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, hurt/comfort, extreme canon divergence (most of the events of st3 and st4 still happen but starcourt is still standing, some people aren't dead, etc.) (i'm just here to have fun, honestly) cw for mentions of grief and ptsd, mentions of blood

( best listened with headphones, full fic playlist here )

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

she lives in the place in the side of our lives

where nothing is ever put straight . . .

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

Being a vampire sucks.

No pun intended.

Eddie Munson’s too tired for puns. He’s too tired for most things, really.

That’s what they don’t tell you about being a vampire — it’s not nearly as cool as The Lost Boys make it seem. He isn’t any stronger now than he was the night he died. He isn’t any faster, either. And if he’s capable of shape-shifting into a bat, he hasn’t tried because the thought of becoming the thing that killed him feels like more of a purgatory than what he’s been doomed to already.

He didn’t even get a cool cape out of it, which is more of a bite than anything, honestly.

No pun intended.

All Eddie’s got to show for his death are the patches of marred skin on his stomach to prove it. And a couple of pointy teeth — which, so far, have only tasted his own flesh because he’s bitten his lip with them more times than he can count. And, yeah, maybe he’s got a heightened sense or two, but that’s it. It’s not nearly as cool as it sounds, either. Enhanced hearing and sense of smell are just code for being constantly overstimulated.

Eddie misses being alive. He misses not knowing what blood tastes like. He misses forgetting to eat all day and accidentally having ice cream for a first meal — which he’d then scarf down like a man starved until it inevitably made him sick, so that he could then complain about how sick he felt.

He misses the consequences of humanhood because now he’s half-corpse, half-god — a dizzying mixture for a boy who used to just be somebody’s kid.

And what does Eddie do to cope with it all? He gets his weekly mint-chip cone at Scoops Ahoy.

Steve passes the ice cream over the counter with a kinder smile than Eddie’s used to. His skin is freckled and golden against the dark navy of his uniform. So full of life. The child’s sailor outfit hasn’t stopped being funny, but Eddie scowls at him ‘cause he’s jealous. He’s never been anything but pale, even before death, but he can’t exactly catch a tan now, can he?

“You look good,” Steve Harrington observes, distant but meaningful.

The wild-haired boy ahead of him doesn’t seem nearly as poorly as he did a day or so ago, when he looked somehow more like death than the day he actually died. He’s got his usual color back now. A telltale sign of a recent feeding.

Eddie flashes the boy a dubious, brown-eyed glance. “Are you flirting with me?” he jokes with his ringed fingers curled around the waffle cone, too monotoned to sound as playful as he means.

Steve’s face screws. “No.”

“Damn.”

“See! That’s what I’m talking about!” the brunette proclaims proudly, waving an accusatory finger in the other boy’s direction. “Eddie from yesterday wouldn’t have made that joke. Eddie from yesterday wouldn’t have said anything, actually.”

“Well, Eddie From Yesterday, hadn’t eaten in two weeks,” the boy deadpans. (He isn’t talking about food, either). “And Eddie From Yesterday was so exhausted and filled with an inhuman rage that death was funnier than making stupid jokes.”

Steve tries not to cower at his faux-seriousness. “Touché,” he nods.

Eddie hands the boy the last bill in his wallet. Steve makes out his change and, like a total idiot, dumps a dime onto his palm. The silver hits his skin like a drop of acid rain or molten lava. Eddie winces at the burn, hissing through his teeth as he jerks his singed hand back.

“Why are you giving me dimes, man?!” he shouts over the sound of clattering coins.

“Shit!” Steve grimaces. “Sorry, dude— I forgot.”

“Oh, you forgot?” Eddie bites in a mocking tone.

“Yeah! Sorry if I can’t remember everything about—” Steve pauses his rant to peer around the shop with cautious eyes. He quietens. “—Vampires, alright? Sue me.”

Eddie watches the boy scramble to gather scattered coins –– coth hat askew on his head, scarlet tie in his way. The sight alone makes him laugh. A sharp exhale through his nose, but a laugh nonetheless. “You know what? How ‘bout just keep the change?”

“You keep the damn change,” Steve grumbles under his breath.

“Nice one.”

“Shut up.”

Eddie takes a big bite from his fresh scoop. He lets the sharp peppermint and deep chocolate concoction melt in his mouth. The strange combination was always the best distraction from the coppery tang of blood lingering on his tongue.

Distracts because the metallic taste never quite leaves him, no matter how often he washes his mouth out. The taste of death always persists. Not in a poetic way, though. It’s more like a mouthful of old pennies.

Only problem is, he can’t really taste it now — the tart mint-chip or the pint of blood he’d choked down yesterday afternoon. The sensuous scent of hibiscus lilts along an otherwise still breeze, sudden and very overwhelming. It’s powdery and floral, rich and fruity. A fragrance sweet enough to make him ill, and it’s accompanied by the rhythmic flip-flop, flip-flop of rubber sandals.

Eddie glances mindlessly over his shoulder, then nearly breaks his neck at the force of his double-take. The candied scent, he finds, belongs undoubtedly to the pretty face behind him.

You saunter into the ice cream shop like a rolling summer cloud — with a walk that’s as soft and delicate as you look. There’s something thaumaturgical in the honeyed atmosphere that follows you in, still unceremoniously punctuated by the flip-flop, flip-flop sound of your shoes against the linoleum.

You are, unsurprisingly, as pretty as the raspberry, marshmallow, lily-of-the-valley scent radiating from your sunkissed skin. There is much of it on display now, and what little is covered is hardly left to the imagination.

Straight from a shift at Hawkins Community Pool, your mandated uniform clings perfectly to your torso — a pretty, scarlet one-piece that scoops deeply at the chest. Stamped on the center is a pool floatie and two surfboards that make a more summery skull-and-crossbones shape. ‘Lifeguard’ is written just beneath it, right over the swell of your breasts.

You wear a pleated skirt on your lower half to match. The bouncy fabric rests scandalously, and perhaps unintentionally, low on your hips. A faint sliver of your skin is showcased in a way that drives him hopelessly wild. And you’ve paired it all with a pair of too-big sunglasses on your head and a cherry sucker in your mouth.

Effortless. A total cakewalk of perfection.

Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington have never known much about either.

The latter is still trying to dump change into the tip jar when he goes to greet you. Your eyes link, the words get stuck in his throat, and the coins scatter to the laminate all over again. Steve tries to catch them at first before realizing how utterly uncool he must look. He makes a bigger fool of himself by just letting them fall.

“Hey. Hi. Wel—Welcome to Scoops Ahoy,” the brunette clears his throat. He props his hands along the countertop and feels a rogue penny stick to his clammy palm. “You’re not lost, are you?”

Steve forces a lopsided smile at his sorry excuse for a joke. Eddie rolls his eyes. You blink at him and pluck the cherry sucker from your mouth — which has left your lips softly swollen and tinted a rosier shade.

“This is where pretty boys in tiny sailor outfits sell ice cream, right?”

Your deadpan expression makes it difficult to gauge whether or not you’re joking. Steve’s face glows red at the sort-of compliment. He nods rapidly until the words catch up to him. “Yeah— Yeah, it— It is, actually.”

You smile at him, tightlipped and warm. It fills the windowless shop with glittering sunbeams. “Then can I have a scoop of rainbow sherbet, please?”

Steve raps his knuckles against the counter and nods again. “Yep. Coming right up.”

Eddie takes another hearty bite of his ice cream while you linger at his side — a couple of feet away but feeling much closer than that. As the minty chocolate melts slow on his tongue, all he can taste is the fruity-floral scent of you.

It makes his head go all swimmy because he knows your blood must taste the same. Like velvet. Or an expensive red wine people spend half a fortune on. He can hear the soft wooshing of your heart, too. Soft and unhurried. Gentle like an ebbing and flowing tide.

He shouldn’t be thinking this way, he knows. He fed yesterday; he should be feeling halfway normal by now. But your scent is dizzying still, and much stronger than Eddie figures it should be. If he’d met you a day or more ago, when the need for a feeding was quite literally eating him alive, he’s not sure he would’ve been able to contain himself.

He doesn’t think he would’ve hurt you, per se — because he hasn’t actually hurt anyone yet. Not in this stage of his afterlife, anyway. But it would’ve taken all the waning strength left in him to stop himself from doing something unthinkable. And that thought alone is somehow more terrifying than death.

Neither, however, is as scary as your gaze meeting his.

Your eyes lock, and only then does Eddie realize how long he’s been staring. His blood runs cold. Cold-er. An eon blinks as he tries to recover from his hopeless leering. (He’s just as useless as Steve The Hair Harrington, turns out).

“Hi…” he murmurs through a mouthful of mint-chip once he realizes he’s got nothing else to say. How’s a freak like him meant to talk to someone like you? A walking fairytale of ethereal chaos?

You move the cherry sucker to the pocket of your cheek with your tongue. Through it, you mumble, “Yeah. I guess I am.”

Eddie laughs before he means to. His pink lips curl into a smile, and the inside of the delicate skin scrapes the fangs threatening to poke through his gums. They fit just perfectly over his canines, typically veiled by his gums until it’s time to feed. Or until he’s faced with a pretty girl who smells like Heaven and looks just the same, apparently.

He hides his grin behind his fist and scoffs a breathy laugh.

Your face twists in a delicate look of confusion. “Why’s that funny?” you question once you’ve plucked the piece of candy from your mouth.

His smile ebbs instantly. “Oh. It’s… It’s not— It’s not funny, actually,” he stammers, chocolate eyes wide and round like a pair of buttons.

Your frown deepens. “So you don’t think I’m funny?”

“No, it’s— it’s not that I don’t think you’re funny, I just— I think that—” Eddie stumbles over himself trying to get the words out. He inhales deeply through his nose and swallows hard. “I’m a little confused, honestly…”

There’s a brief moment of silence that passes like minutes.

There’s something distinctly wild in your unwavering stare. It possesses a sort of magnetism that makes it impossible to look away from — though Eddie desperately, desperately wishes he could. But because he can’t take his eyes off you or the fire swimming laps in your irises, he catches a flicker in your gaze. A flame. A spark.

A smile quirks at the very corner of your mouth before a brighter beam blooms there. A sunshine sort of giggle sputters past your lips. “Oh, gosh— You should see your face right now,” you manage through a fit of laughter, swatting his shoulder with your free hand (a little harder than he thinks you mean to.) “I’m just kidding! Seriously. You can laugh now. It’s okay.”

Eddie doesn’t find it all that funny anymore, but your gaze is pretty and expectant, so he forces out a faint laugh just to appease you. He gapes in confusion the second you look away.

You’re a strange thing. Pretty, yes. But still very, very strange.

When Steve passes you a rainbow scoop on a waffle cone, you fish a crumbled bill from the chest of your swimsuit. The boy takes it with a trembling hand — like touching the cash is touching you in some way — and struggles to recall basic arithmetic when he makes out your change.

Eddie watches you savor one last taste of your diminishing sucker, lips curled around the lolly before popping audibly off of it. “Is there a trashcan—” you ask and glance around the shop.

“There’s one back here,” Steve offers mindlessly. “I can chuck it.”

Your hands brush when he takes the paper stick between careful fingers. Silky sunkissed skin sweeping against silky sunkissed skin.

Eddie’s almost jealous. He wishes he could touch you in such an innocent, accidental way — or anyone, really. But his blood stopped circulating about a year or so ago, and he’s had a glacial disposition about him ever since. Sometimes, when he’s just freshly fed, he feels sort of warm. Sort of normal. But that only lasts about an hour or so before his skin goes wintry and grey again.

“Thanks,” you lilt with a kind grin, sandals squeaking as you step back from the counter. You arch a brow, and the sweet smile turns suddenly mischievous. “And don’t worry about the change. I’d hate for you to make a bigger mess.”

You tilt your head and take a kitten lick of your scoop, fighting back a giggle when the sailor boy gapes at you. You spin around and flip-flop, flip-flop out of the ice cream shop — back to whatever fairytale you came from.

The scent of ripe fruit and freshly-cut flowers leaves with you, along with the lavender haze Eddie had been swimming in since he saw you. Drowning in, more like.

Steve laughs at your sort-of joke until the mist passes. Only then does he seem to notice the coins still scattered across the countertop and the half-eaten sucker in his hand. His fluffy brows pinch together in a very evident confusion — like he’s just woken up from a dream.

“…What the hell was that?” he muses after a few long moments.

Eddie shrugs and takes another bite of his half-gone scoop, tasting it for the very first time now that you’re gone. “No idea,” he answers through the mouthful.

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

once you get it, you never wanna quit (no, no)

after you've had it, you're in an awful fix. . .

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

Eddie finds you again several minutes later. Not between the pages of a fantasy book, but on a lone bench by the bus stop.

You finish your rainbow sherbet in silence, people-watching behind a big pair of Sharon Tate-style sunglasses. The sight of you alone makes him trip over his feet, like you’ve got your own gravitational pull that makes him stumble on thin air just to be closer to you.

“Oh—” The huff spills accidentally from his mouth when his sneakers scuff the pavement.

It garners your attention accordingly as you turn slowly towards him. You lift your sunglasses to your head again, just to squint at the vividity of the golden hour. You flash the boy an ice-cream-stained smile, tight-lipped and warmer than the setting sun — like he’s one of your old friends who deserves to be looked at so kindly. (He’s neither.)

“Hello!” you greet brightly as you lift the waffle cone to your mouth. You take another bite and add through the mouthful. “Again.”

“You’re still here?” Eddie squints, ‘cause he’s not sure what else to say.

“I’m on lunch—” you answer, slightly slurred through the melting ice cream on your tongue. A milky drop of pink and orange falls to the side of your thumb, and you lick it away mid-sentence. “—Late shift.”

Eddie hums with a slow nod, squinting one eye to block the sun.

His pale skin buzzes, even under his leather jacket and dark thrifted tee. It isn’t because he’s hot, though. He hasn’t broken a sweat — not even swaddled in the ninety-degree evening — because he lost the ability to somewhere between getting eaten alive and rising from the dead.

The sunlight just makes him feel a bit weaker than usual. Hungrier, too. And he hates being hungry because it makes him feel viciously ravenous. Like a total barbarian. Cruel and angry and inhuman. So he tries to stay out of the sun when he can.

He knows he should start plotting his way out now, but talking to you is like getting caught in a spider’s web. He gets all tangled in his words, netted in his want to impress you. He ends up superglued in a trap he isn’t totally sure he wants to get out of.

“Must be a slow day then, huh?” Eddie jokes dryly.

Your face twists. “Hm?” you wonder wordlessly as your tongue darts to the corner of your mouth.

“I just meant that— You’re a lifeguard and everything, right? And you— You’re dry, so… There must not have been a ton of lives to save today,” the boy explains, gesturing wildly with ringed hands. He laughs at himself and sticks the trembling limbs into his jacket pockets. “That’s… That’s what I meant.”

You don’t seem to notice his sudden floundering, or the way he can hardly make out an intelligible sentence when you’re looking directly at him. He can’t tell if you’re just kind enough to ignore it or if you’re just totally aloof. He hopes for the latter.

“It’s a lot less swimming than you’d expect, honestly,” you confess as you analyze the melting cone in your hand. You twist your wrist with your face pinched in concentration — like deciding whether to bite into the pink, green, or orange bit is that intense. “It’s just a lot of, like, blowing whistles... And walking around…”

You choose the raspberry pink side in the end, crunching as you bite into the waffle cone.

Eddie nods in response — not because he’s really heard you, but because he feels like he sort of understands you in some way now. You were sweet raspberry in the flesh. The color pink incarnate. Gold and glittering, like the sunset was fashioned in your likeness.

But then you smile up at him, with crispy wafer crumbs clinging to the raspberry-lime-orange concoction on your mouth, and the moment feels a lot less poetic than that.

“Sometimes I just wanna be like, ‘Jeez— Can’t one of you fuckers at least try to drown or something? God,” you mock in an accent that’s hardly your own, giggling at yourself halfway through.

You flash Eddie another expectant smile. Grinning with all your teeth as you wait for him to laugh with you.

It takes him a second too long to force another chuckle — still trying to gauge how serious you are — but you don’t seem to mind. “Right. Well, uh… Here’s hoping, right?” Eddie quips with a crooked smile, lifting his right hand to flash his crossed fingers.

You giggle louder at that. Laughing with him, and not at him, for the first time since he started making a fool of himself in front of you.

His chest swells like he’s still got a functioning heart hiding there. It’s sparkling and warm, full of pride, almost like he’s alive again. Truly alive. He realizes, then, that he never wants to stop making you laugh.

When your giggling ceases, you hum a contented sigh and take another sloppy bite of your ice cream cone.

Eddie watches you — unblinking, like a total freak — and tries to figure out if he made you up in his head.

You were like a fairy-tale princess come to life. An enchanted form of imagination, slightly childlike and effortlessly romantic in a way. You were the kind of girl who held butterflies on the tip of her finger, who reached out to touch the stars at night, who shared her secrets with the moon when no one else would listen.

You’re the kind of thing that only exists in dreams. You have no real sense of reality, accordingly, which Eddie thinks only proves his point.

With sunshine glittering in the strands of your hair, your eyes flit back to his. Eddie averts his gaze suddenly (and very obviously) from yours, but if you’re perturbed by his leering, you don’t show it.

Instead, you look at him the same way you’ve been looking at him this whole time — like you’ve got a world of magic secrets hidden in your eyes. Like you want him to come searching for every single one of them.

“Did you— Did you walk here, or…?” the boy trails off, eyes falling to your rubber sandals.

He hopes you hadn’t. It’s far too hot, and the pool is quite a few blocks from here. From what little he’s learned about you, though, he figures you’re probably crazy enough not to care.

“Bus,” you answer plainly, pausing mid-bite.

Eddie blinks. “The buses stopped running a half hour ago… You know that, right?”

You freeze. Melted ice cream pools at the edges of your mouth. A very loud answer, even in its silence.

There’s a very audible crunch-ing sound as you chew through the too-big bite. You bring your palm to your chin to catch rogue crumbs and blink up at Eddie with wide eyes.

“…What?” you wonder pitifully in response. Though, with your mouth still full, it sounds more like a deep, muffled, and utterly pathetic, “Wah—?”

“They stop running here at six-thirty.”

You swallow, face screwed.“Why?”

Eddie shrugs. “Beats me.”

You turn away — staring far off at the parking lot but looking at nothing, really. Eddie feels like he can finally breathe now, without your eyes strangling him.

He watches you go deep in thought and wishes he could see what the inside of your mind looks like. He imagines it’s full of confetti. Wild, glittering thoughts and a handful of sparkling confetti.

“Well…” you huff after a few moments, a deep and whimsical sigh. You look down at the melting cone in your fist and try to find a silver lining in the swirls of pastel colors. “‘Least the ice cream’s good.”

“Are you gonna walk?” Eddie wonders aloud as his chest pinches with misplaced worry. He crosses his leather-clad arms over himself in a feeble attempt to soothe the ache there — to smother his palpable empathy, which makes him feel like your burden is his to carry.

He doesn’t have to. Carry it, that is. It’s not like you’re not asking him to. But he can’t ignore the overwhelming urge to help you — this strange, elven princess who needs rescue by a lowly bard way out of his element. It’s an instinct that borders on primal.

“Do I have a choice?” you respond rhetorically. Eddie shrugs and you shrug back, unfazed. “I can walk. The sunset’s pretty… And there’s a dog park on the way there, so… That’ll be fun, I guess.”

Eddie’s dark eyes flit to the sky, where the sun’s slow descent paints the wispy clouds in vivid colors of blush and honey. He understands the simple beauty of it but rarely ever gives it a passing glance.

He spends most of his sunsets inside, hiding from the pretty golden hour behind closed curtains. He cowers under his blankets like a child (‘cause his tiny square window is west-facing, painfully so) and tries to tell himself that he’s not as hungry as he feels.

That he’s not hungry at all.

That he’s still normal.

Eddie looks back to you a moment later, features twisted with uncertainty. “I’m pretty sure the park’s gated after sunset…”

You don’t ask him how he knows that, and he’s grateful. He figures you must assume that he’s got a dog of his own, which is a lie he’s happy to stick to.

It’s better than admitting that Jim Hopper nearly caught him dealing a couple years back and had to make a quick escape through the park — where he then had to hop a locked fence he didn’t know was there. It wouldn’t have been so embarrassing if he hadn’t rolled directly into dog shit when he fell to the ground. That’s a secret he’ll take to the grave.

If the Chief takes mercy on him, anyway.

“Well… The sunset’s still pretty,” you conclude with another sigh, because at least that can’t be taken from you.

Eddie watches you take another bite and makes a very pointed decision not to tell you that that’ll be gone soon, too. By the time you walk back to work, the sky will be a muddy mixture of orange and lilac and navy. Hardly a thing worth looking at.

He lets you revel in your little nothings anyway.

“I should— I should probably go. I have a… thing to get to, so…” he trails off, chuckling at his own hopelessness. His worn sneakers scuff the pavement when he steps back from you. He scratches at the small curls twisted at the nape of his neck and tries to find the words to say goodbye. “Uh— Have a good rest of your shift, I guess. Hope it’s more… eventful.”

You smile at his stammering and his poor excuse for a joke.

“Thanks,” you nod. “Have fun with your… thing.”

Eddie nods once. His smile wavers only slightly when he turns away. His cheeks puff as he exhales a deep breath — which he hadn’t realized he’d been holding until now.

He stops short at the edge of the sidewalk. Doesn’t even make it off the fucking curb before his guilty conscience catches up with him. It stops him like a force field and weighs heavy on his chest with a similar strength.

He turns quickly again, curls whipping around his face. “Do you… Do you want a ride?” he blurts with a squint in his deep chocolate eyes.

The offer is hardly from the kindness of his unbeating heart. He just wants to make himself feel better, if he’s honest. He wants you to decline, actually — so then he’d be alone, and his conscience would still be clear.

Your eyes widen softly at his offer. You shift on the hard bench. It squeaks quietly under your weight.

“Well, I— I wouldn’t— I wouldn’t wanna intrude,” you tell him, stumbling over your words for the first time in front of him.

Something about it, how shy you’ve suddenly gone, makes you feel a bit more human compared to the glittering creature Eddie made of you in his head.

The boy shrugs. “You wouldn’t be.”

“No?”

“No. It’s just… on the way…” Eddie insists, sighing to himself, because Hawkins Pool most definitely is out of his way. “So, you know… It’s no problem.”

There is a beat of fleeting silence, filled only by a whispering summer breeze and muddled conversation from distant mall-goers. Eddie’s eyes dart over your features, twisted softly with a faraway look of worry.

The anticipation has his heart in his throat. He isn’t sure now what answer he wants to hear. Both might equally break his heart. A double-edged sword.

Your chest deflates with a dramatic sigh of relief. A lazy smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. “Okay. Good. ‘Cause I didn’t wanna be, like, too eager, you know? But that would be… super duper nice.”

“Good thing I’m a super duper nice person then, huh?” Eddie jokes with a tightlipped smile, which ebbs into a scowl the moment he turns away from you.

He becomes a storm cloud of annoyance as he stalks across the parking lot. Less so because of you and more so because of his deep-rooted sensitivity, where everyone else’s emotions demand to be felt by him and him alone.

It’s a very strange thing, indeed: to be dead and yet still carry the crushing empathy of a person with a bleeding heart.

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

real to real is living rarity, people stop and stare at me

we just walk on by, we just keep on dreaming . . .

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

Eddie doesn’t look back to make sure you’re following him. He knows you are. He can tell by your lingering strawberry-vanilla scent, and your rhythmic footsteps in rubber sandals that trail just behind him. The incessant flip-flop, flip-flop, flip-flop quickens as you rush to keep up with his longer strides, trying hopelessly to finish your ice cream and talk at the same time.

“Adam— my manager— he’s such a hardass. Like, if I was late today, he definitely would’ve fired me,” you ramble and crunch hard into your cone. “Well… maybe not fire me… ‘Cause we’re kinda short-staffed right now— But he definitely would’ve given me a lecture! Like, dude, just because your dad owns the joint, doesn’t mean you have any actual authority over me, you know?”

You giggle loudly at yourself. Eddie just nods in response, barely listening, and not bothering to glance back at you.

You continue anyway, through a mouthful, no less. “Except, he kinda does have some authority, I guess. Since, you know, he’s the one who signs my checks and everything, but… You know what I mean.”

The boy ahead of you stops suddenly in place. Your sandals scuff the pavement to keep from running into the back of him. He turns to face you, brunette curls flouncing, and your heart skips at the proximity. He’s much too pretty for anything else.

You can smell the cologne spritzed on his neck from here. A high-pitched and very boyish cedarwood that makes him somehow more endearing. There’s something floral in it, too — perhaps from the conditioner making his hair all shiny. And the subtle powdery scent, you figure, comes from his old Back Sabbath tee. An evident hand-me-down of some sort.

You can see more of him like this without having to ogle like a creep. His brown eyes are so dark they’re almost black, but you can see flecks of gold in them, too. His pronounced nose is dotted with pores and faint freckles you think you could count if he let you. There are a couple of spots on his jaw, too — some still red, others already scared over — that make his scowling face more youthful.

He’s got a couple of dark circles under his eyes, which you think means he doesn’t get as much sleep as he should. He’s got a pair of perpetual smile lines beside his mouth, too, which must mean he laughs a lot (even if he isn’t now). And he’s got a subtle furrow between his bushy brows ‘cause he’s totally the quiet, observant type.

You’d like to think you’re taking a closer look at him than anyone else in Hawkins ever has. Where they see a freak with crazy hair and a dangerous attitude, you see an old soul with young eyes and a wild mind.

“Is this you?” you wonder aloud, with ice cream clinging to the corners of your mouth.

Eddie lifts his hand and taps the key fob twice. The rusted tin can behind him unlocks with a hearty ca-chunk. He fakes a tight-lipped smile, “Yep.”

You rush around the hood then, hurrying for the passenger seat and struggling to finish the rest of your ice cream. Eddie eyes you expectantly as he lifts himself onto the chipped pleather of the driver’s side. His deadpan face twists with amusement as you inhale the remaining bits of your ice cream.

Your eyes go wide when you catch him staring, cheeks jutted like a chipmunk’s. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, then swipe your palms together. “Sorry— Sorry, I didn’t—” you swallow hard and try not to choke. “I didn’t wanna get ice cream all over your van.”

A laugh sputters from Eddie’s mouth, a more boyish sound than you thought he was capable of, and he hurries to cover his mouth with his fist. He can feel the sharp stinging of his fangs as they stab slowly through his gums, more prominent now that you’re so close to him — smelling as sweet as you look.

“Well, this isn’t exactly a sports car,” he scoffs. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

You swallow down the rest and hop in beside him. The faux leather of the passenger seat has grown distressed with time, sticking to your sunkissed thighs where your skirt doesn’t reach and poking you in places. The smell of his cologne stains the interior, along with a more subtle, skunkier scent.

You have to tug extra hard on the seatbelt — once, twice, and then a third time — before it gives.

Eddie sticks the key into the ignition and twists. A heavy metal guitar solo blares suddenly through the speakers, rattling the old van and making both of you lurch with a momentary panic.

“Shit!” the boy curses as he reaches for the blasting radio. He turns down the volume with pale, lanky fingers, wide eyes flitting from the console to the pavement as he peels out of the Starcourt lot. “Shit… Sorry.”

You shrug a bare shoulder. “It’s okay. I listen to my music loud, too. I’m pretty sure I’ve blown out the headphones to at least two Walkmans by now.”

“Yeah?” Eddie hums with a lazy smile. “What kinda stuff stuff do you listen to?”

You purse your lips to the side and avert your gaze as you ponder the question. “Van Halen, definitely… Dio and Def Leppard occasionally— oh, and don’t even get me started on Ozzy Osbourne.”

Eddie feels like his heart’s in his throat. It settles there and makes it hard to breathe while his anxious hands fidget on the steering wheel.

You can’t be this pretty and like all the music he likes. It’s just not fair. It’s like the universe is trying to kill him. (Even though it kinda already did that once.)

“Are you joking?” he wonders aloud, laughing with furrowed brows. His chocolate eyes dart from you, to the winding road before him, and back again. The soft smile on your lips blossoms into a more mischievous thing, and he nods slowly to himself. “You’re… You’re joking, right?”

“I might’ve been looking at your cassettes, yeah.”

Eddie’s gaze flits downward to where he keeps his tapes stacked in a cubby beneath the console. His chest aches with a distant embarrassment. “Right…” he huffs.

“Real answer?” you offer with a twinkle in your eye, spinning in the seat to face him more. You tuck your feet beneath you and count each name on your fingers. “Cyndi Lauper, Madonna, ABBA, and Blondie. That’s my top four— Not in that order, though! I love them all equally.”

“That makes… a lot more sense.”

“Do you have any of their tapes we could listen to?”

Eddie scoffs a faint laugh until he realizes you’re being serious. His tightlipped smile ebbs as he answers, “I can’t say that I do. No.”

“That’s too bad,” you huff and slouch further in the passenger seat. You gaze out the window with a faraway look in your eyes and start rambling before you mean to.

“I’ll let you bum one of mine, if you want. You can borrow my copy of Arrival, that’s one of my favorites! My most favorites. Or Super Trouper, maybe. I love that one, too...” You deflate with a heavy sigh. “Shit. I can’t decide— Which one do you prefer?”

Eddie stammers for an answer. He feels like you’re barely speaking his language.

“Screw it. I’ll just make you a mixtape,” you decide firmly. “It’s impossible to pick just one.”

Eddie nods wordlessly to himself, unconvinced that he’ll ever actually see you again — like this, anyway. With you making a home in the passenger seat of his van, which has never known a pretty girl like you before now.

“You could always swing by the pool if you want,” you offer with a hopeful grin. “Adam lets me man the radio sometimes.”

“Does he?” Eddie hums indifferently.

“When I wear my bikini, yeah.”

His face screws at the thought of someone taking advantage of you in that way, with you perhaps too gullible to understand. “Well, Adam sounds like a dickwad,” he grumbles and shifts his grip on the steering wheel.

“A massive dickwad,” you giggle like it’s your first time ever using the phrase. “One time, I played my Billy Joel tape, and he called it pedestrian. Pedestrian! Not only is that, like, totally sacrilegious or whatever, but it’s also extremely pretentious. Just call it lame or something, you sound arrogant.”

When your rambling ceases, you can hear Eddie laughing. Really laughing. Not just that weird breathy sound he keeps making. It spills from his mouth like sunshine, though he tries to stifle it with a fist pressed to his mouth. And even though you don’t remember saying anything particularly funny, you laugh alongside him.

“Why do you cover your smile when you laugh?”

“Why do I do what?”

“You always put your hand over your mouth when you smile,” you observe with a curious squint. “Did you know that?”

Eddie’s tongue darts over his protruding fangs, which peek in faint slivers from his pink gums now. You would only see them if you checked his mouth like a dog, but he gets self-conscious about it, anyway.

“No. I didn’t. Must be an old habit, I guess,” he stammers, lying through his teeth as he turns into the parking lot of Hawkins Community Pool.

The crowd there has seemingly ebbed with the setting sun, which he’s grateful for. He stays on the far edges of the property still, lest he draw any unwanted attention. ‘Cause the only thing more recognizable than his wild hair is the tin can he rides around in.

His ringed hands curl around the gear stick. The van jerks softly when he puts it in park. Eddie clears his throat. “We’re, uh— We’re here.”

You get distracted easily, and he’s grateful for that, too. You drop the conversation entirely as you reach for the seatbelt. The buckle clicks when you unfasten it. “Thanks for the ride, Eddie,” you chirp with a pretty smile.

His head snaps in your direction with enough force to give him whiplash. His mouth opens and closes like a fish as he gapes at you. He struggles to find the words to say. He thinks he’d rather face a hundred demobats (again) than have this conversation.

“You…” he swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing. “You know my name?”

You shrug, oblivious to his otherwise very palpable fear. “‘Course I do.”

His heart would stop if he weren’t already dead. He thinks the force of his current shock could jolt it into beating all over again. Though, he figures he has no right to be so surprised. He is Eddie Munson, after all — the town freak who didn’t murder Chrissy Cunningham but left her to die instead.

No one knows that she’d been long in the dying before Eddie ran like a coward. No one knows that there was nothing he could do to stop the dark wizard from killing her. No one knows that he died trying to avenge her death despite all that. And no one ever will — save for the handful of teenagers who saved Hawkins alongside him.

Eddie knew, from the moment he rose from the dead and made it out of that godforsaken hellscape, that he would never be seen as the hero. He didn’t want to be. He just wanted to be a kid.

But here he is now. A half-dead and hated thing. A creature not worth loving.

And here you are, smiling at him like you intend to love him back to life.

“So… So you know what happened with… With the…” He talks with his hands and struggles to make the words out. He always has. He always will.

You nod before he has to. “Yeah. I think I just… I figured that wasn’t something you wanted to talk about with strangers—”

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” he insists.

“Then me not bringing it up was a good thing, right?”

“I mean, yeah, but—”

“Well, I’m hearing a lot of talking for someone who doesn’t want to talk about it,” you mock, not totally unkind, just a little bit strange.

Eddie almost laughs at that. “I’m just— I’m confused.”

“About what?”

Now, he really lets himself laugh because the answer’s rather obvious.

“Because most people are scared of me!” Eddie blurts with a cynical chuckle, gesturing wildly with his pale, ringed hands. “Everyone thinks I’m some— psycho-killing murderous freak.”

“Well, I don’t,” you insist, all pretty in your way, as you shift on the worn pleather seat beside him. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

You unlatch the glove box ahead of you and help yourself to its contents. The junk inside clatters together while you search very obviously through it, rambling mindlessly to yourself as you do so.

“You like mint-chip ice cream cones smothered in sprinkles. And your initials are sewn onto the waistband of your jeans— like you’re gonna lose them or something. And… there’s a Blondie tape hiding in here.” You giggle to yourself and flash him the cassette.

Eddie blinks at you like an owl. “That’s not mine.”

“Secret girlfriend?” you tease with a scrunched nose.

“Secret tape,” he confesses before plucking it suddenly from your fingertips.

There’s a whole story behind it that he’d tell you if he could. About how he couldn’t leave the house for some weeks after he came back to life and how his friends brought him things to pass the time. Robin Buckley had an elaborate assortment of board games that bordered on concerning, and Dustin Henderson had brought an entire library to his trailer.

The rest of them put together a selection of tapes for him to listen to. He can’t be sure now if Nancy Wheeler really gave up her prized Blondie cassette or if Mike Wheeler did it without her knowing.

You struggle to bite back your laughter as you sort through the center console next.

“See! That doesn’t exactly read psycho-killing murderous freak to me, Eds. Honestly, it kinda reads as someone who’s never hurt anyone in their whole life, who probably wants everyone else to stop hurting them—” You cut yourself off with a gasp. “Ah! Here it is.”

You dig a rogue ink pen from the depths of the console. A bright smile tugs at the edges of your lips. Eddie’s still struggling to breathe when you reach for him. “Can I have your hand?”

“Why?” he wonders with pinched brows.

“You’ll see,” you lilt mischievously and take his ringed hand in your smaller one.

He worries, briefly, that you might comment on how cold he is for the middle of summer. But if you notice it at all, you don’t mention it as you scribble your number onto the back of his hand.

Eddie grimaces when the tip presses hard into his pale skin. “Ow…”

“See? You’re just a big baby,” you joke, giggling quietly to yourself. You click the pen with your thumb as you part from him. “There. Now you have my number.”

Eddie flashes you a dubious glance, unsure of what he ever needed your number for.

You answer his silent question like it’s obvious. “So I can give you the mixtape.”

“Right,” he hums with a slow nod.

“Well, I’m gonna go clock back in before I get a total earful from Adam,” you sigh and reach for the metal door handle. “Thanks for the ride, Eddie.”

“Don’t mention it,” he shrugs nonchalantly as you slide out of the van. The back of your pleated skirt rises softly in the process, flashing a glimpse of your ass. He swallows hard and stammers. “Just— Just, like, be safe, or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” you mock with a lighthearted chuckle.

“Well, this is a crazy world we live in, haven’t you heard?” Eddie jokes to cover up his blunder. He tilts his wild head to his shoulder as a pink smile forms crooked on his mouth. “I hear psycho-killing murderous freaks are roaming the streets these days.”

He expects you to laugh, but you grow strangely serious instead, furrowing your brows as you mumble to yourself. “Crazy World... That’s a good song, actually. I should put that on the mixtape—”

You forget to say a proper goodbye as you close the door behind you. The rusted metal hinges screech before slamming shut. You walk off towards the pool house without another word, flip-flopping the entire way to the front gate. Eddie watches you go with his features twisted in a subtle mixture of shock and awe.

Steve Harrington was right. What the hell was that?

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

oh, how could i ever refuse?

i feel like i win when i lose . . .

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

Three days pass before Eddie sees you again. Not that he’s counting, anyway. He debates, however, calling you on the second one — but by then, your number had long disappeared from his hand. He decided, then, to count his losses and pretend he wasn’t as boyishly heartbroken as he felt.

Missing you was a double-edged sword. He never wanted to see you again, but he mourned for you always. He prayed he’d never run into you like before but searched for you in all the faces he met. It was agony.

When he drops Dustin off at Scoops Ahoy after a long afternoon of campaigning, Eddie tells himself it’s not with intent to run into you there. He tells himself it wouldn’t be the worst thing, but not to get his hopes too high. That he’d only make a fool of himself. That it’d be better if he didn’t see you at all.

He’s left grieving anyway when he doesn’t immediately spot your face in the dwindling crowd of the ice cream shop.

“If it isn’t the man of the hour,” Robin lilts from where she sits at one of the tables, obviously on her break and eating from a bowl of the rainbow gummy bears they use as toppings.

“You dweebs talking about me?” Eddie scoffs as he shoves Dustin light-heartedly ahead of him.

As soon as he crosses the threshold of the small shop, you come very suddenly into view. You sit ahead of Robin, in your usual uniform, and with your usual rainbow sherbet cone. You steal a few rogue gummy bears from her cup and dip them into your ice cream, which has started to melt with your distraction.

He stills in place, struck with a bolt of blue. Your pretty, summer scent hits him full force, then — slaps him in the face and demands to be noticed. You flash him a small smile, and he has to remind himself to breathe.

“Not at all,” Robin answers with a knowing smirk.

Steve scoffs from where he wipes down the counter, tendons flexing in his golden arm. “Only for ten straight minutes.”

“We were talking about how I gave you my number. And how you never called,” you explain to the poleaxed boy, tilting your chin to your shoulder to peer at him from beneath your lashes. A mischievous smirk hints at the corners of your lips. “A girl could start to wonder, you know?” you tease, only partially playful.

Eddie stammers for an explanation. He feels like his heart’s in his throat, like it’s closing on him, and like he can’t really breathe.

He blinks rapidly as his head starts to swim. He zeroes in on your heartbeat, though he knows he shouldn’t. It’s a soft and rhythmic whoosh, whoosh, whooshing — like that of an excitable baby deer. His hands ball into fists until his dull nails leave crescent shapes in his palms.

Dustin gapes at the sight of you. “You’re real?” the strange, curly-haired boy blurts.

“Me?” you ask with pinched brows, motioning to yourself with the ice cream cone.

“Dustin!” Eddie scolds, nudging him pointedly on the shoulder.

The boy cowers. “Sorry. It’s just… I thought you were, like, an imaginary person Eddie made up or something,” he admits, squinting his hazel eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. You flash him a dubious look until he elaborates obliviously. “‘Cause Gareth was making fun of him for not having any friends outside of Hellfire and stuff—”

“Hey,” Eddie snaps to get the rambling boy’s attention, tapping the brim of his Thinking Cap. “Shut up.”

“What’s Hellfire?” you wonder aloud.

“Book club,” Eddie lies.

You grin with furrowed brows. “You talk about me at book club?”

“I mentioned you. Once. ‘Cause Gareth asked— And I didn’t call because the pen smudged,” Eddie answers all at once, swallowing hard when he feels bile building in his throat. He can’t get your heartbeat out of his ears. Or your scent out of his nose. It’s suffocating, all of it. “Does that clear everything up, or…?”

Steve hisses through his teeth. Robin scoffs. You blink at him with wide eyes, hardly expecting him to be so short with you. “Uh-huh,” you nod with a forced smile.

Eddie would apologize for it if he didn’t feel so sick. But now he teeters on the knife’s edge of nausea, unsure if he’s going to faint or vomit or both. So he fakes his own smile and inches towards the exit. “Great. I’m gonna— I think I’m gonna go—”

“And leave us with babysitting duty?” Steve scoffs. “How nice of you.”

Dustin frowns and flashes the makeshift sailor his middle finger.

Eddie fumbles to come up with an excuse. “I just remembered, uh— Wayne wanted me to record Cheers tonight, and I totally forgot. The ol’ geezer’ll kill me if he misses an episode, so… I gotta run.”

He ducks out without another word, grimacing at himself because he’s usually a much better liar than that. The others can surely see right through him. They know that he’s unwell — that he’s just hungry and impossibly overstimulated.

But you don’t. You don’t know him at all, and maybe that’s exactly why you rush out of Scoops behind him.

Eddie shoves the glass exit of Starcourt Mall with trembling hands. The summer breeze rushes over him immediately, billowing through his hair and clothes. He takes his first good breath and the swimmy feeling of nausea starts to fade.

The hunger remains even still. The ravenous thoughts remain, too — of your heart between his teeth, beating on his tongue, and your blood tasting of sweet red wine.

When he starts to scare himself, his mind tells him that he’d never hurt you. That he hasn’t yet, and that he never will. But still, the thoughts are there, and they hardly ever leave.

Your fresh berry scent covers him like a shroud as he rushes to his casket (his van, really, but the symbolism fits.) You struggle to keep up with his longer strides, pleated skirt flouncing as you hurry behind him — a kicked puppy who doesn’t know when to stay back.

“I don’t mean to annoy you, you know?” you call after him.

Eddie stills and spins sharply around to face you. You stumble back on rubber sandals to keep from running into him, trying not to cower when he towers suddenly over you.

“What?” he asks with his features swirled in confusion and distant suffering.

Your wide eyes dart over his pallid features, more sallow than you remember. You forget everything you were going to say as concern drips from your pretty features. “Do you feel okay?”

“I feel— fine,” he stammers, less than convincingly.

“Okay…” you nod, unconvinced, then repeat yourself. “I don’t mean to annoy you, by the way.”

Eddie shrugs. “What makes you think you annoy me?”

“I dunno,” you answers, sheepish in a way he hasn’t seen you before. You shift your weight on your scarlet sandals and talk wildly with your hands, looking everywhere but at him. “I kinda talked your face off a few days ago, and then I made that stupid joke about you not calling, and I just… I realized you don’t know me all that well. And that I can be kind of a lot sometimes. Or, you know, a lot of the time. But it’s not like I mean to be, you know? I don’t mean to be a burden or to—”

“You’re not a burden,” Eddie blurts.

Your breath catches as you blink at him with wild, glassy eyes. He gets the feeling no one’s ever said that to you before and tries to ignore the stinging in his chest.

“No?” you echo in a mousy voice.

“Not even a little bit,” he answers instantly.

You inhale a shaky breath that leaves through your mouth in a sigh of relief. “So you’re not upset with me?”

“No,” Eddie scoffs. “You haven’t done anything to upset me. So far, anyway.”

You nod to yourself at the reassurance. “Okay. Good. I just— I thought you ran off in such a hurry ‘cause you didn’t wanna be around me or something.”

You chuckle to yourself, feeling silly about it now.

Eddie shifts awkwardly ahead of you ‘cause you’re not too far off.

“Do you… Do you want a ride?” he offers despite himself — despite his overwhelming feelings for you and despite the fact the buses are still running for another fifteen minutes.

He chucks his thumb over his shoulder and flashes you a sheepish look. Because he isn’t sure of what to say now, or if he wants to leave you at all.

You duck your chin and scrunch your nose, too pretty for your own good. “If it’s not too much trouble?” you lilt.

Eddie only grins. “Who says I don’t like a little bit of trouble?”

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

under those white street lamps,

there is a little chance they may see . . .

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

He survives the golden hour, but just barely. Eddie hides from the setting sun underneath the covers, writhing on the thin mattress as he waits for the ravenous feeling of insatiable hunger to pass. It never does.

Instead, he feels the absence of you most ardently. He withers away as he grieves for you, like a wilting flower craving sunlight. But he’s nothing but a pale, gray, and exhausted thing now — an unloveable creature aching for a feeding.

“Wayne…” Eddie grumbles tiredly, half muffled into his pillow. When he receives no response from his uncle, he musters the strength to shout. “Wayne!”

Footsteps trudge down the hall, bulky work shoes heavy on thin carpet. His bedroom door creaks slowly open, and his uncle stands beneath the frame of it — wearing the thick navy coveralls that has his name sewn in cursive on the chest. His weathered hands work at the buttons below the collar.

“What is it, Ed?” Wayne wonders in a gravelly drawl.

Eddie takes in a rattling breath, peeking one eye open to look at his uncle. His vision’s too swimmy for anything else. “Can you call Hopper?” he slurs like a sick child.

Wayne’s graying brows furrow in worry. He squints at his nephew across the bedroom, languishing beneath his covers and growing more waxen by the second. He’s typically only this miserable when he hasn’t fed in weeks.

“You hungry again? It’s only been a couple days.”

“I know,” the boy grumbles, squirming on the mattress like he can’t get comfortable. “I just don’t feel good...”

Wayne can see that much from here, so he doesn’t put up any more of a fight about it. He fastens the cuffs of his sleeves with wise and suddenly anxious hands. “I’ll give him a call before I head to work… You gonna be alright without me?”

Eddie nods against the pillow, curls frizzing around his head. He responds in jumbled slurs, “Mhm. ‘M alright. ‘M just… real tired…”

“I’ll call Hopper,” Wayne repeats, firmer this time, before shutting the door behind him.

Eddie spends the next half hour rotting away in the lonely trailer.

Jim doesn’t bother to knock when he arrives, but it’s not like he needs to. He makes enough deliveries of the riboflavin kind to Forest Hills that he deserves his own key.

Besides, Eddie could smell him when he pulled into the driveway — the pint of blood he carried with him, more so. It’s a deep, rich, and powdery scent. Nowhere near as sweet as you. But then again, he doesn’t think anything could be.

“What’s the special this time, Chief?” Eddie jokes with a small huff as Hopper helps prop him against the headboard.

The mustached man is still clad in his khaki work uniform, gold badge glinting in the lamplight. His hardened face remains in its usual deadpan frown, though his bushy brows furrow in a subtle confusion. “Do you really wanna know?”

Eddie thinks for a moment, then sighs. “No…”

Jim opens the brown paper bag sitting on the nightstand. He pulls out a plain styrofoam cup topped with a lid typically used for coffee. The thing looks innocent enough, save for a few drops of crimson staining the white of it, likely from an overfill.

There was a time when Eddie could do it himself. Where he could puncture the blood bag Hopper delivered and pour it into one of the mugs he and Wayne have been collecting for years.

He stopped being strong enough for that a while ago, though. The sight of blood makes him queasy now, which is ironic for very obvious reasons.

The chief does most of it for him now, though Eddie thinks Hopper likes it best that way.

“Here you go, kid,” Jim says as he passes the boy his cup of liquid scarlet. He holds the lid of it in his other hand, face screwed at the coopery smell engulfing the small bedroom. “Try not to think about it too much, alright?”

Eddie takes the cup in a trembling fist and squeezes his eyes shut so he can’t see its contents. He forces himself to down it in one go — equal parts because it’s easiest that way and because he doesn’t want to be too much of a baby in front of the chief.

The blood tastes like a strawberry milkshake as he swallows it down, but that’s always the easiest part. It’s the after that’s so ruthless. After the overwhelming bout of starvation passes. After he’s half normal again. That’s when the blood starts to taste like blood — all metallic, like a bunch of old pennies. That’s when he feels like a monster.

Eddie groans when the cup is fully drained. He passes it back to Hopper with his eyes still shut. The man takes it with one hand and pats him on the shoulder with the other. “Good job, kid,” he mumbles, dropping the empty cup back into the bag.

The boy relaxes against the pillows with a shuddering breath.

Jim waits until then to interrogate him.

“What happened between now and four days ago?” he asks with his arms crossed over his chest, towering over the boy’s bedside. “This is the first time you’ve needed to feed more than once a week. Hell, it took Wayne and me almost a year to convince you to feed more than once a month.”

Eddie shrugs lazily, lips jutted and eyes lidded. “Nothing happened.”

“I need to know, kid. So I can keep you safe.”

And so I can keep everyone else safe, too, but he doesn’t say that part.

“It’s just— This girl,” Eddie confesses, then grumbles with a sigh. “I don’t know, alright. It doesn’t even matter.”

Hopper squints. “What girl?”

“No one,” Eddie insists, then cowers under the man’s glacial stare. “Fine. Some-one. She just— makes me go all weird or whatever. I don’t know.”

Jim hums, nodding softly to himself and trying not to be too amused at the thought of Munson having a crush. He scratches at the coarse hair underneath his chin. “And is… staying away from this girl an option, or…?”

Eddie ponders the question for a moment, then exhales a chest-deflating sigh. Just like he did when questioning the origins of the blood in his cup. You were a lot of the same in that way — a thing he needed to survive but wasn’t strong enough to face.

“No… I don’t think it is…”

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

Hawkins Community Pool is strangely liminal after dark. The property itself is illuminated by only a few amber streetlamps, with most of its light coming from within — from inside the wooden pool house and beneath the sparkling cerulean water.

Eddie parks his van on the darkened edges of the parking lot and tries to find the courage to leave it. The crowd is minimal now, having lessened significantly since he dropped you off some hours ago.

There are only a few stragglers left, most of them teenagers soaking in the last few minutes before closing. He’s grateful for that much. The fewer eyes on him, the better.

If he wasn’t being ogled at with gazes hardened with disgust or softened with pity, people weren’t looking at him at all. Their attempts to keep from staring were perhaps more blatant than they realized.

Maybe they didn’t want to be rude, or maybe they wanted to pretend he wasn’t there at all. It made Eddie hyper-aware of himself either way, which is why he often preferred to stay hidden.

He idles by the chain-link fence, swaddled in the humid summer air that smells overwhelmingly of chlorine and dewy grass. It takes several agonizing moments to catch your attention.

You dance softly in place and mouth the lyrics to a song Eddie can only make out vaguely from here, while the girl beside you stands perfectly and unenthusiastically still.

You freeze when you catch Eddie’s gaze. Confused at first, then surprised. It takes a matter of seconds for both emotions to mix together and leave you a bumbling ball of excitement.

The boy raises a ringed hand in a curt wave, which you reciprocate with a much more enthusiastic one. You turn to your co-worker and mouth something Eddie can’t hear before rushing to the parking lot to meet him. The flip-flopping of your rubber sandals grows as you make your way to him, along with the rustling of the windbreaker you wear over your bikini.

It’s a modest scarlet two-piece, with a high waist and a halter neckline — but much more of your skin is on display than Eddie’s used to. (If there was any time he needed to be grateful for a recent feeding, it was now.)

“Hi…” you greet, panting heavily as you stand before him.

“Hiya,” Eddie grins cheekily.

“I… I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I didn’t either, honestly.”

“Did you, uh— Did you and Wayne get to watch Cheers?”

It takes Eddie a moment or more to recall his earlier lie. He nods rapidly in response, perhaps too quickly to be truthful, but you don’t seem to notice. “Uh, no. Not yet. He’ll watch it when he gets back from the graveyard shift.”

“Okay. Cool,” you beam, eyes sparkling as they dart over his features — which have seemed to gain a bit of their life back. He’s still pale, but his eyes are less sunken in than they were. The dark chocolate of his irises swim with a melted honey color. “You look a lot better, by the way. Than you did when I left, I mean. I was scared you were getting sick.”

“Nah, I just… Needed a breather, I guess,” Eddie admits with a breathy chuckle. “I was with Hellfire all day, and… Babysitting’s a tough gig, turns out.”

You laugh alongside him, noticeably less forced. “No, I get it. I basically spend all day babysitting, so…”

“Right. I shouldn’t be complaining.” Eddie scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck and grimaces when his rings get caught in his hair. It takes a very noticeable moment for him to gain the courage to ask the question on the tip of his tongue. “Can, uh— Can I see your hand real quick?”

Your brows pinch. “Why?”

“You’ll see,” he lilts with the same mischievous smile you used on him some days ago now.

He holds a ringed hand expectantly out for you. Your gaze glimmers with intrigue as you put your fingers in his paler, colder ones. You watch him dig in his jacket pockets for a moment before pulling out the same ink pen you’d rescued from the depths of junk in his center console. He clicks it with his thumb, and you jerk your hand out of his.

“Wait!” you blurt.

Eddie flinches, feeling like he’s done something wrong, like he must’ve hurt you in some way.

Your features screw in a pinched look of concentration as you stick your hands in the pockets of your windbreaker. “I’m pretty sure I have a marker in here somewhere— Ah! Here it is!” You’re smiling all over again when you pass him the black Sharpie. “So it won’t wash off before I get to call you.”

“Right,” Eddie hums with a slow nod, taking the marker from you. He bites back a smile when he catches you shoving a pack of sparkly stickers back into your pockets. “What are those?”

“Stickers,” you answer, then grimace when you realize that much was obvious. You rush to elaborate. “For the younger kids that have older siblings. They usually get dragged here, and nine times outta ten, they haven’t learned how to swim yet, so… I try to make ‘em feel better with sparkly things.”

The grin Eddie tries to hide blooms very suddenly across the expanse of his pink lips. His chest swirls with a warmer feeling because you’re sort of his sparkly thing, in a way. A bright and glittering thing that makes him feel whole without trying.

You offer him your hand again, shier now. He wraps it in his larger one with fingertips that border on glacial. You fight back a shiver while Eddie uncaps the marker with his teeth. He mumbles through it while he scribbles his number on your wrist.

“Don’t let this scrub off before you get to call me like other idiots do, alright?” he jokes, flashing you a sparkling stare beneath his lashes.

“I’ll call you the second I get home,” you promise with a firm nod. “I’ll write it down, too, so I won’t forget.”

Eddie caps the marker with a lopsided grin sitting lazily on his mouth. “And it’s only for emergencies, alright? Like, if you need a ride or… A spare Blondie cassette that I may or may not have in my glove box.”

You nod again, this time with a giddy and very poorly hidden smile. “Emergenicies,” you parrot, so he knows you really heard him.

(You call him the second you’re back from your shift, though Eddie expected nothing less from you. The emergency in question? You missed him too much.)

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

this is stranger than i thought,

six different ways inside my heart . . .

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

You decide to visit him that weekend, unannounced and unexpected — which is basically how you entered his life in the first place.

You’re a smiling thing on his doorstep. A rival to the early morning sun beaming in rays behind you. Eddie squints one eye and grimaces at the brightness of each.

“Morning!” you chirp like a songbird.

“What are you doing here? How’d you even find me?” Eddie grumbles tiredly, rubbing his sleep-swollen eye with his fist. He wears his slumber all over — in the wild curls, and in the wrinkled shirt that used to be Wayne’s, and in the baggy plaid pants sitting low on his waist.

The complete and utter opposite of you: an angel kissed with the summer season.

The sun sparkles in your hair. The warm breeze billows in your clothes. The scent of something sweet clings to your skin — of fresh cherries, vanilla cake, and swathes of dewy grass. Each is tantamount to your bone-crushing beauty, which borders on whimsical and intimidating now.

It’s weird seeing you out of your uniform. A strange, but welcomed sight. You’ve traded the mandated bathing suit for a flouncier dress. The thin cotton fabric clings to your torso and drapes over your thighs like summer rain. It’s a scarlet number, gingham-patterned, with two white bows for sleeves.

Eddie’s tired eyes rake over your pretty form despite himself. He gapes when he finds the raging scrapes you wear on both knees, a bright crimson color to match your strawberry aura. “Jesus Chr— Are you okay?!”

You follow his gaze, bending softly at the waist to peer down at your legs. You press the skirt of your dress down with your palms, and your chest pinches at the sight of your raw knees.

Your eyes flit from the fresh scratches to the concerned boy ahead of you. “Which question do you want me to answer first?” you wonder with wide, sheepish eyes.

Eddie repeats, firmer now, “Are you okay?”

“I’m totally fine,” you shrug with a beaming smile before rambling an explanation, talking absentmindedly with your hands. “I decided to buy a bike after I got my paycheck, but I don’t really know how to ride it yet, so I’m trying to teach myself, and I… kinda accidentally swerved into a ditch on the way here.”

Eddie’s chest flares with a primal feeling. He can’t stand the thought of you hurt — can’t stand the thought of you hurt and him not being there to help you. “Okay…” he wavers with his face still screwed.

“I wasn’t stalking you, by the way! Scout’s honor!” you blurt, holding up four fingers instead of three. “I just knew you lived at Forest Hill’s, and, I mean, the van is a dead giveaway, Eds.”

“Fair enough,” he huffs.

“Besides, I really wanted to bring you something, and I couldn’t wait until I saw you at Scoops because the anticipation was driving me crazy—” You lose yourself in thought and slide past him in the doorway without thinking.

Eddie just blinks and shuts the door behind you. “And… What is it… Exactly?” he wonders cautiously, only partially fearful of the answer.

It takes you a moment too long to answer him, as you get lost in the sights around you. The trailer was bigger than it appeared on the outside, not messy by any means, but very lived in.

There’s a folded cot in the corner beside the recliner and a small square TV across from it playing morning cartoons. Vintage baseball caps line one wall, and a collection of mugs line the other. Everything feels like a self-portrait of the Munson family.

“The mixtape I promised,” you answer finally, spinning around to face him again. You pull a plastic cassette from the pocket of your dress and gesture with it in a nervous hand. “I was starin’ at this thing all night, and I couldn’t stop thinking about you— about giving it to you, I mean.” You correct yourself with a nervous laugh and rush to move on. “I’ve always been super bad with gifts— I can’t keep ‘em a secret to save my life. I’m good for, maybe, five seconds, and then I’m just like, gosh, I can’t wait anymore, you know?”

You realize you’re rambling and trail slowly off. You swallow hard, muster a wavering smile, and motion for Eddie to take the cassette. You watch as he studies it with a careful hand — pale and lanky and devoid of his silver rings.

“You made this for me?” he mumbles after a few moments.

“Well, I told you I would.”

“Yeah, but… You made this? For me?” he repeats, with a different inflection. ‘Cause he doesn’t know who else to put it. Doesn’t know how to tell you he doesn’t feel half deserving of anything you could give him.

You giggle in response. “You said you didn’t own anything ABBA. Or Madonna. Or Cyndi Lauper— so obviously, I had to make you an entire compilation of their discography. I’m not an asshole,” you laugh. “And I put a few of my favorite songs on there, too…. And songs that made me think of you and stuff…”

Eddie smiles before he means to. It’s a strange thing, he finds, to be thought of in such an innocent way — to be looked for in the places where he couldn’t physically be. He ducks his chin and peers at you with glimmering eyes. “Yeah? Like what?” he humors.

You don’t miss a beat. “He’s so shy!”

Eddie flinches at your singing — the volume of it, more so. Your voice rings across the quiet trailer, and a laugh sputters past his lips. “Yeah. Alright.”

“That sweet little boy who caught my eye!” you continue and reach out for him, digging your fingers into the junction of his neck and shoulder. His skin is milky white, smooth, cold to the touch.

“Okay!” he chuckles and swats you away with a playful hand. “I get it!”

“It’s the Pointer Sisters,” you grin.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

His chocolate eyes dart back and forth between both of yours, momentarily lost in the way you’re looking at him — with your eyes all squishy around the edges. He’s not used to being looked at so softly. Or being noticed at all.

He swallows hard and averts his gaze. Your scrapped knees enter his vision again, weeping a bright scarlet that threatens to drip down your shins. He ignores any instinct of hunger.

“You’re bleeding pretty bad, by the way.”

You only feel the ache when you’re reminded of it. Your stomach gets all swirly at the sight of your bruised knees, rubbed raw and stained with the grass that partially cushioned your fall.

“Gosh…” you mumble to yourself, clutching the skirt of your dress in your fists. You flash Eddie a sheepish look and a wavering smile. “Any chance I could bum a bandaid?”

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

The bathroom is a tight fight, but you make it work.

You sit on the counter, per Eddie’s instruction, while he retrieves the first aid kit collecting dust in the medicine cabinet. He sits on the edge of the bathtub across from you, way out of his element (in more ways than one), as he cleans your cuts with trembling hands.

His throat is tight with nausea. His head swims with it, too. White stars speckle his vision that he tries hard to blink away. The sight of your blood, diluted and pink on the white tissue, makes him weak.

He isn’t sure if it’s instinct or desire that makes him want to swallow you whole, but the primal urge to consume you is there — in the figurative sense, of course; to bury his teeth in your neck and have a piece of you forever.

Being between your legs in such close confines is ample enough distraction, though.

You push the skirt of your pretty gingham dress up the expanse of your thighs to give him space to work. You sit with them slightly spread, too — enough to reveal a sliver of your underwear, he thinks. Eddie isn’t sure if it’s intentional or not, so he fights the boyish urge to catch a glimpse of the most private part of you.

“Jesus…” he huffs and chucks the napkin into the bin. With the blood and the grass stains now wiped away, he can see the scratches more clearly. Your delicate skin is abraded and raging with it. Like you fell and kept on falling. “Did you get mauled by a bear or something?”

“In the knees?” you quip.

“Looks like it.”

“I just wanted to match my dress,” you shrug. “That’s all.”

Eddie opens an alcohol swab with his teeth, then meets your pretty smile with a scowl. “You’re hurt. It’s not funny,” he deadpans after spitting the package from between his teeth.

“It is a little bit, though,” you argue just to argue, scrunching the bridge of your nose. He presses the damp wipe to your knee, and you flinch at the sudden stinging feeling. “Ow!”

He smiles at your pouting. “Maybe a little,” he concurs.

“That was mean!”

“You told me to distract you, so I distracted you. Sue me,” the boy shrugs, feigning innocence, as he reaches to toss the swab in the trashcan beside the counter.

The sight of wadded tissue, all stained with your ruby-colored blood, makes his breath catch in his throat. The ground starts to sway beneath his feet. His eyes go lidded and heavy. His mouth waters with need.

Eddie shakes his wild head in a feeble attempt to remove the ravenous thoughts from his brain, but all it does is make him dizzier.

He blinks wildly as he reaches for a bandaid in the opened container beside him. It slips from his clammy, tremoring hands. He fumbles to grab it again and slaps it to the counter beside you.

“You okay?” he hears you ask, sitting right in front of him but sounding much further than that.

He sits up again and clears his throat, gaze dim and glassy. “Yeah. Yeah, just— Just give me a second…” He breathes hard through his mouth. Eyes squeezed shut. Knuckles going white around the edges of the ceramic tub.

You watch with a wide, inquisitive stare as you smooth the bandages over your knees yourself. Your concerned gaze flits from the pallid boy ahead of you, to the plasters on your skin, and back to him again.

“If blood makes you queasy, you coulda just said,” you joke, trying to make him smile, ‘cause you hate seeing him so ill. “You didn’t have to torture yourself just to help me.”

“Blood doesn’t make me queasy,” Eddie tells you, though he’s still slurring his words.

“Then why do you look like you’re about to hurl?”

His glazed-over eyes are slow to open. “That’s just my face,” he deadpans.

“No. You have a pretty face, Eddie,” you insist as your giggling swells like sunshine in the tiny bathroom. “It’s just all scrunched together, like you’re gonna be sick or something— like this.”

You swirl your features in a manufactured look of drama and pain. Brows furrowed, nose scrunched, mouth snarled. Eddie chuckles before he can help it. The sick feeling still lingers, though not as obvious now.

“You are bizarre. Did you know that?”

“I did, actually,” you giggle.

Your entwining laughter fills the bathroom’s close quarters. The glittering noise echoes through the small trailer and finds Wayne at the doorstep. He toes off his work boots and pauses at the sound of giggling — one familiar and lower in pitch, the other foreign and sparkling.

His socked feet pad down the length of the carpeted ground until he finds the door between Eddie’s bedroom and the kitchen’s edge, already ajar. It creaks loudly under the man’s calloused palm when he pushes it slowly open.

His tired eyes widen at the sight before him — a pretty girl on the sink with a pair of scrapped knees, and Eddie sitting on the tub ahead of her with bloodied tissue in the bin beside him.

Wayne’s heart falls to ass like a steep drop on a rollercoaster.

You smile brightly at the strange man. “Hello!” you greet with an enthusiastic wave.

He blinks slowly at you for a moment, then nods politely. “Hi there,” Wayne says in a deep and gritty drawl before turning to his nephew. “What’s goin’ on here?”

“Nothing,” Eddie blurts, all wide-eyed and fidgeting. He struggles to be casual as he swipes his clammy hands over his thighs. “We were just, you know, hanging out…”

“Everythin’ alright?”

Eddie nods quickly, then stops when it makes him queasy. “Yeah,” he answers, clearing his throat. “Yeah, she just— fell on her bike on the way over, and—”

He flinches when you gasp.

“Wait! You’re Wayne!” you shout with a sudden recollection.

The man tries not to recoil at the volume of your voice — much too loud for so early in the day, like a chirping bird outside his window. He forces a tightlipped smile and nods again. “I am,” he tells you.

You smile so wide your eyes squint at the edges. “You have Eddie’s nose!”

Wayne laughs, a single scoffed breath. “What can I say? Big noses run in the family.”

“Well, I happen to like ‘em that way,” you insist with a casual shrug, kicking your feet back and forth from where you’re perched on the counter. Your heels meet the cabinet in several rhythmic thunk, thunk, thunks.

When you look down at your bandaged knees, Wayne and Eddie share a look without you.

The older man raises his greying brows. This girl is bizarre, Eddie can hear him saying.

He nods wordlessly at his uncle’s silent observation, as though to say: I know she is, and I happen to like her that way.

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

i guess you’re just what i needed,

i needed someone to bleed . . .

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

The plastic case of the cassette you made him clatters on the dashboard of his van, filling a silence that would otherwise be occupied by you.

Eddie’s passenger seat, cracked and worn with age, feels strikingly empty without you in it. Which is strange, ‘cause your presence used to frighten him once. It does, still, he thinks — but now he mourns the haunt like an old, empty house.

He drives his rattling tin can across town to Hawkins Community Pool, with a cup of rainbow sherbet rattling in the holder at his side, like an offering for a ghost he no longer wants to exorcise from the home behind his ribcage.

“It’s gonna melt before you get it to her,” Robin remarked with a smirk as she scooped ice cream with an expert hand. “You know that, right?”

Eddie bowed his head and tried to hide behind his curls. “Not if I run real fast,” he joked sheepishly.

The pastel sherbet softens quickly in the summer heat. (Not even the van’s middling A.C., pointed right in its direction, could keep it sufficiently cool.) The muted hues of pink, green, and orange begin to swirl together as the milky concoction undulates in his ringed fist. He hopes you don’t mind and prays you see past his feeble attempt to be kind.

“Well, well, well…” Billy Hargrove lilts with a pretty pink smirk at the sight of Eddie Munson’s familiar face. He lifts his sunglasses to the top of his mulleted curls and rests his magazine on his lap. “The dead has risen…”

The poor boy sticks out without trying, despite his desperate attempts to stay hidden — all but swimming in his leather jacket, baggy jeans, and wild hair. He’s a pale, death-touched thing floating in a sea of golden life.

But, unlike the contemptuous leers from the other patrons, (some who are still certain Eddie killed Chrissy, and others who have always seemed to look at him that way), Billy Hargrove only smiles. A fake, sardonic grin that shows none of his teeth and shines mostly in his eyes.

His squinted ocean gaze glimmers like he knows all of Eddie’s secrets — which is only half-true. Billy knows what the end of the world did to him, because it almost killed him too, once upon a time.

So, no. He doesn’t know all of Eddie’s secrets.

Just the biggest one, maybe.

Despite being largely immune to the summer heat, Eddie still feels the burn of embarrassment stinging his chest. Clawing behind his ribcage like a thousand ravaging demobats. The hot-cold aching of wishing he were dead ebbs when you turn to look at him over your shoulder — when your wide eyes of sparkling hope lock with his darker, dead-er ones.

There’s an undeniable spark of delight in your irises, though Eddie doesn’t know what for. No one’s been this happy to see him in a year. No one’s been this happy to see him ever.

Something about it makes his stomach hurt. Or maybe it’s just the way you and Hargrove are sitting behind the front counter together, like a couple of old friends, with glowing sunkissed skin hugged tight in scarlet bathing suits.

In that split second, Eddie feels like he’s in high school again — a loser, not yet dead, pining for the pretty girl way out of his league and praying the basketball jock doesn’t shove him into the bleachers.

If you notice the momentary fear in his eyes, you don’t show it.

And if you care that he’s a loser, you don’t show that, either.

“Eddie! Hi!” you greet, giggling as you push yourself off the countertop. Your pleated skirt swishes around your thighs as you rush to him. Your matching sandals pad rhythmically along the stone floor. The flip-flop, flip-fop sound echoes through the shaded breezeway.

Eddie doesn’t know how wide he’s smiling when you’re finally standing ahead of him, but he can feel it burning in the apples of his cheeks.

“You haven’t been around for lunch,” he says in place of a greeting, fidgeting with the cup of melting ice cream in his fist. “I was scared that you keeled over or somethin’.”

“You were worried about me?” you wonder aloud, voice a few octaves higher than he’s used to. You purse your smile to the side of your mouth and scrunch your nose. “Aww…” you croon and dig two fingers into the junction of his neck.

Your touch is soft and warm and less than gentle.

Eddie cringes, effectively set aflame by the electricity of you. He shrinks back with a wavering smile and finds himself grateful that he’s too dead to blush these days — or else you’d see how hopeless he is.

You ramble an explanation while his skin buzzes.

“I’m a little slow on my bike, turns out, and I couldn’t make it back here in time,” you tell him, which rests his anxieties a little.

Eddie’s been worried about you ever since he patched you up in his bathroom. Everyone’s been worried about you, in truth, ‘cause it’s a well-known fact that you’re a total klutz.

“And after being late for the third time, Adam got kinda mad at me…” you continue, shifting on your feet. “He got really mad at me, actually. I wore his favorite bikini, and he still threatened to fire me. I was, like, oh shit, I’m actually in trouble—”

You giggle to yourself, but Eddie feels like there’s a knife between his ribcage. A sharp, burning, and pulsing urge to get you away from all of these assholes. To get you out of this town. God knows it doesn’t deserve you.

He swallows hard and tries to joke. “Must’ve been real bad then, huh?”

You exhale a dramatic sigh. “Yeah, so… I’m kinda trying to get back on his good side and everything. It’s easier to just stay here. I would’ve called, but I— I didn’t think you cared that much.”

“I care!” Eddie scoffs, pale face swirled with offense.

“You’re the one that said emergencies only!” you mock through another pretty giggle.

“Abandoning me for a week is an emergency.”

You light up like a goddamn Christmas tree at that.

“See! I knew you were worried about me!”

Eddie scoffs again and looks away. He focuses on the crowd bustling outside the breezeway because it’s easier than meeting your eyes. Until one of them catches his gaze and flashes him a leery look, anyway. Then he feels like he might puke.

“Not at all,” he answers in a playful deadpan, clearing his throat when his voice shakes. “That’s definitely not why I decided to bring you a… half-melted cup of rainbow sherbet.”

His chocolate eyes avert to the plastic container in his fist, swirling the milky pastels again for good measure. When he looks at you again, it’s through his lashes and with his head bowed sheepishly.

You smile with your lips curled under your teeth — obviously giddy and trying hopelessly to hide it.

“I thought it was for me, but I didn’t wanna assume,” you admit quietly, cheek squished into your shoulder.

“It’s basically a milkshake now,” Eddie mumbles and extends his arm. His voice shakes as much as his hand does. “Sorry…”

You beam at the pinched look of worry on his face. “I like milkshakes, too, silly,” you giggle and take the cup of melted ice cream from him.

Your fingers are gentle and strikingly warm as they brush his colder, paler ones. Warm like dragonfire, or an old house bathed in candlelight, or a freshly sharpened blade through the heart.

Eddie bleeds out on the pebbled concrete as you turn away.

You rush back to the counter you leapt from, balancing the container in one palm as you bend over the top of it. A satiny summer breeze rolls through the shaded shack and billows through the pleats of your skirt, lifting the thin fabric to reveal the thong of your one-piece — a sliver of soft scarlet running between your thighs.

Eddie’s undead heart lurches into his throat. He turns his gaze to the ceiling until the wind passes.

Billy looks up from his magazine to smile at you with his teeth. “This your boyfriend, sweet thing?” he asks as you pluck your straw from the styrofoam cup you were just drinking from.

The nickname floats on the humid air and strangles Eddie accordingly. Your mouth curls around the end of the bendy straw before you give him a proper answer. You blow hard to dispel the remnants of room-temperature water before sticking the plastic into the milky concoction in your fist.

“Yes,” you answer plainly, then take a long sip of the softened ice cream. You shrug with the raspberry-orange taste on your tongue. “He’s a boy. And he’s my friend,” you lilt. “Jealous?”

Billy laughs. Loud.

“Of Munson?”

You nod quietly, straw caged between your teeth.

He laughs louder and slouches in his swivel chair. The golden muscles of his toned chest flex as he flashes you a quieter smile — one that might say he knows a lot more than you do if you cared enough to read the signals.

“I can’t say that I am, no,” Billy hums, faux sympathetically.

“Well, maybe if you were a little nicer, he’d be bringing you food, too,” you tell him, very matter-of-fact about the whole thing, as you spin on the heel of your rubber flip-flop and saunter away.

Eddie grimaces when you’re ahead of him again. “Please tell me this isn’t the only thing you’ve had today.”

Your face screws as you take another sip. “No,” you answer with a firm shake of your head, though the word comes out garbled from the fruity concoction in your mouth. You swallow it down and confess, “I had half a Poptart for breakfast, so…”

“That’s… not breakfast,” the boy monotones, then motions his wild head to the cup cradled in your right hand. “And this isn’t lunch.”

“Well, I told you I don’t have time to get lunch,” you argue like a child, soft and sheepish, head bowed to avoid his unwavering stare. You stab at the softened ice cream with the plastic straw, leaving holes in the pastel swirls, as you mutter to yourself, “And I can’t make it for myself, either. I’m not adult enough for that yet.”

Eddie feels it again. The sting of empathy in his chest. The primitive need to help you that makes it hard to breathe most days.

He shrugs his leather-clad shoulders and crosses his arms over his chest, tucking his trembling hands under his armpits.

“Well— Maybe— Maybe I can, you know, bring you something?” Eddie offers, stumbling over himself the entire way through. He shifts on his feet and swallows through the frog in his throat. “Like, when I have the time, or whatever.”

He doesn’t tell you that he always has the time. (‘Cause he only works nights at The Hideout now, and spends the rest of the day’s many hours rotting in bed.)

Your face pinches into a girlish pout. Something soft, but sterner than he thinks he’s ever seen you before. “I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking. I’m offering,” Eddie argues. “And I’m not doing it outta the kindness of my own heart, either— It’d just make me feel better to know you’re not totally withering away whenever I’m not here.”

You try hard to keep your scowl. But then your chest starts to glitter like a thousand sparklers in July, and you’re beaming before you can stop it. Eddie watches the pretty smile curl slowly on your lips despite your futile attempt to hide it.

“What’s that look for?” he cautions.

“Nothin’,” you shrug, smiling with the straw between your teeth. “I just like you.”

Eddie forgets to breathe and dies all over again, right at your feet.

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

only boys who save their pennies

make my rainy day!

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

Most Tuesdays, some Wednesdays, and every Friday — (the mornings after his late night shifts at The Hideout) — Eddie Munson buys you lunch.

He stands at the counter of Benny’s Burgers and pays with the rogue quarters and crumpled bills he finds in random pockets of his jacket. The bearded man looks on in slow-blinking bemusement while the boy counts out the $4.89 your sandwich costs.

Benny ends up throwing in free fries for the effort.

It takes Eddie an embarrassing amount of time to realize you were sneaking money into his pockets every time he visited you, even though he told you not to pay him back. Even though you swore you wouldn’t. (He’ll never believe another one of your stupid Scout’s Honor promises again).

Saturday comes, and Eddie’s cleaned out ’til his next shift on Monday.

He thinks he’s handling it pretty well — the very palpable lack of you — but the contrary is written all over his face.

He’s sprawled out on the sunken-in couch in the living room with the headphones of his Walkman around his neck. Madonna plays muffledly (and far too happily) as he stares up at the ceiling, trying to make constellations of your face from the cracks and water stains.

Dustin watches his best friend grieve from the other side of the coffee table and sighs. “It’s the sandwiches, right? You guys hate the sandwiches?” he wonders aloud, but to no one in particular. “God, I knew I put too much jelly in them—”

“The sandwiches are amazing, Dusty-Bun,” Robin insists from Wayne’s recliner, with a mouthful of PB&J jutting out her freckled cheek. Her chipping maroon nails are stained with crumbs as they flash an ‘ok’ symbol in his direction.

With grape jelly on the corner of his mouth, Steve mumbles from the floor in front of her, “Doesn’t explain why Eddie’s still sulking over there, though.”

“Exactly!” Dustin huffs, flailing his arms.

Eddie rolls his eyes. He exhales a heavy breath that makes his chest deflate, then turns to face the eyes staring back at him. “I’m not sulking,” he grumbles like a rain cloud.

“Yeah. It’s the pouting that’s so convincing,” Max scoffs from Dustin’s other side, blinking at him from behind her glasses as she fakes a tight-lipped grin.

Eddie just squints at her. She’s not nearly as menacing as she used to be. Not when her ocean eyes are bugged out from such thick lenses, anyway. Now he finds her sort of adorable, in a subtly intimidating way — like a kitten holding a pocketknife.

“I’m not pouting, either,” the wild-haired boy retorts, features scrunched in a soft pout.

Lucas wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “He just misses Barbie,” the boy croons playfully.

Eddie blinks at him with a flat face. “Barbie?” he echoes.

“Yeah,” he shrugs, voice high. “Barbie.”

“Am I supposed to know who that is, or…?”

“Oh, you know who she is,” Lucas nods with a boyish chuckle. “Very well.”

He keeps on laughing about it until Max elbows him hard in the shoulder. Steve misses the silent cue as he tears off a piece of bread crust, snickering to himself at the inside joke.

He pops it into his mouth and meets Eddie’s gaze, emotionless and expectant. His eyes widen as he stammers for a response.

“The girl— Your girl— She was at Jazzercise the other day,” Steve explains, then swallows hard. “She was with that pretty lifeguard, too. What’s her name again?”

He looks instinctively up at Robin for an answer. Eddie beats her to the punch.

“Billy Hargrove?” he monotones.

“Ha-ha.”

“Heather Holloway,” Robin tells him.

“Heather!” Steve exclaims, snapping his fingers. “I’m pretty sure I dated her freshman year, actually… Or was that Heather Hart?”

The boy loses focus quickly as he goes deep in thought. Fluffy brows pinched, honey eyes squinted. A heavy silence lulls over the crowded living room, and Madonna’s muffled voice grows louder. ‘Cause we are living in a material world, and I am a material girl!—

Before Eddie has time to be embarrassed, Steve shrugs at himself.

“Doesn’t matter. Anyway. She was at Jazzercise with Heather just, like, dripping in pink. Pink leg warmers, pink leotard, pink tights…” Steve trails off again, stare glazing over like he's imagining you all over again. “It was crazy…”

Eddie’s face swirls in disgust. Not at the thought of you, of course, but at the notion that your beauty is perceptible to others. That he isn’t the only one who can see you, admire you. He is not the only one you’ve threatened to kill with your piercing stare, and the thought alone makes his stomach twist.

“You’re such a boy,” Eddie scoffs.

Robin leans forward, freckled face solemn and serious. She rests her elbows on her denim-clad knees and slowly shakes her head. “No… It was crazy,” she echoes more earnestly.

It sounds different coming from her. It means something different coming from her, too. Eddie’s brows raise and disappear beneath his curly bangs. “Oh, yeah?” he hums with bated breath.

“Yeah,” Robin answers with a disbelieving sigh.

“Hence, the nickname,” Lucas nods, seemingly missing the meaning ‘cause the only other girl he’s cared to notice besides Pheobe Cates is the redhead sitting beside him.

The girl with magnifying glasses over her eyes and legs that don’t work as well as they used to. Despite the circumstances (involving dark wizards and a certain death), Max hasn’t changed at all. And neither has the way Lucas’ teenage boy heart beats for her.

Eddie scoffs a tired laugh. He turns back to the ceiling and throws an elbow over his eyes. “I’m gonna tell her you guys call her that behind her back, by the way.”

“It’s a compliment!” Dustin defends, a few octaves higher than normal.

“Or you could tell her to her face,” Max offers with an absentminded shrug, folding her napkin into a weird shape in her lap — only ‘cause she’s fidgeting, of course, not because Dr. Owens said it would help ease the stiffness in her fingers. (Being dead might’ve taught her some things, but listening to figures of authority is not one of them.)

“She’s working today. Billy said so.”

Eddie peeks at her, flat-faced. “Did he?”

“Yeah. Means you can go visit your girlfriend instead of bitching and moaning about how much you miss her all weekend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend, Mayfield.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“No. That is entirely the point,” Eddie argues, laughing more sincerely now. “Other than the fact that the sun will literally kill me.”

Max’s light eyes narrow into thin slits behind her clunky glasses. She says the hard thing out loud, without blinking. that the rest of them are already thinking, anyway.

“You’re already dead, Munson.”

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

hey, you, with the pretty face,

welcome to the human race!

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

No wonder the streets seemed so apocalyptically empty, Eddie thinks to himself as he walks through the front gates of Hawkins Community Pool. Because every goddamn person in town has chosen to spend their Saturday here.

Benny from the diner sits by the kiddie pool next to the entrance, watching his daughter wade in the shallow water. He looks like a different person without his grease-stained apron on. His swim trunks are bright red and slightly too short for him, his Hawaiian shirt is unbuttoned to reveal his beer belly, and his face is burnt everywhere but under his sunglasses.

Jason, Andy, and all the rest of their goons hog the picnic tables while pretty girls sit on the tops of them — wearing their expensive bikinis and basking in the sun like it’s shining just for them. The boys laugh and shove at one another, trying to pretend like they’re far too cool for it all.

Familiar faces fill the blue water, but it’s hard to make them out in the crowd. Everyone’s swimming and splashing and stuffed within the chain-linked fence like cattle. They all go blurry, like a bunch of indistinct shapes before a backdrop of bright colors. Like a Claud Monet painting, if he ever cared enough to paint uninspiring Midwestern towns.

It’s far too packed to feel self-conscious ‘cause this is the kind of horde you drown in. But that just means it’s catastrophically overstimulating. For Eddie, most of all, who’s sorely out of place in his leather jacket and baggy jeans and dirty sneakers.

The boy cranes his neck to search for you, dark eyes flitting wildly over the crowd — once, twice, and then a third time.

You’re nowhere to be found, and he knows this because your face is far too pretty and not easily missed. Your sweet hibiscus scent is equally absent, drowned out by the overwhelming smell of chlorine, sunblock, and sweat.

If you were around, he’d know it.

“She’s not even here!” Eddie huffs, lifting his arms only to drop them dramatically at his sides. Any arguments about his pouting are surely moot now. Even he can feel the petulant scowl pinching his features.

Max, equally confused, stands at his side and pushes her glasses up her nose. “Billy said she was working today. I heard him on the phone. He definitely said it,” she observes, mostly to herself, ‘cause she can’t stomach being wrong. “Well… He said he was opening with the two prettiest girls in town, so I figured one was probably Heather and the other was—”

“Barbie?” Eddie finishes flatly.

“Yeah.”

“Well, she’s obviously not here, so… Let’s just go back home and do— literally anything else.”

Eddie spins on the heel of his worn sneaker with the intention of going back the way he came. His van is parked crooked, anyhow. Steve complained as much when he parked his shiny new BMW right beside him. He figures he should probably get back before someone slashes his tires. Again.

He nearly runs into someone the second he turns around. Someone standing far too close for comfort, in a bright red bathing suit and matching skirt, with too big sunglasses on the top of her head.

“Who’s not working today?!” the person shouts loudly in his face, with the evident intent to scare him.

Eddie stumbles back into Steve, who promptly shoves him forward again. It takes him approximately that long to realize it’s you.

You guffaw when the rest of them jump in fright — a loud and heavenly sound that refuses to be drowned out by the droning of a million different conversations.

“I totally got you guys!” you exclaim, giggling so hard your head tilts back.

Eddie laughs with you, mostly in shock, as he clutches his chest where his heart isn’t beating.

“Admit it! I got you a little?” you say, pinching your thumb and forefinger and squinting through the sliver of space between them.

“Yeah,” the boy huffs a forced laugh. “Yeah, a— a little bit.”

Visibly delighted by his words, you beam brighter than the golden hour sun.

“I knew it!” you grin before your eyes flit over his shoulder, to the group of friends gaping wordlessly behind him. You scrunch your nose sympathetically. “Sorry… You guys were just collateral.”

“You know I have a bad heart,” Steve complains for the sake of complaining, clutching his chest over his short-sleeved button-up. He flashes you a stern look and gripes, “That shit’ll kill me.”

Your eyes narrow in a challenging squint. “You’re twenty-one years old, Steve.”

“Yeah,” he scoffs. “And being around you ages me five years.”

“Well, then, I guess we’re gonna have a very long, very happy life together. Aren’t we, Stevie?” you retort with a sickly sweet smile that Steve meets with a scruffy-faced scowl.

Eddie watches the brunette boy roll his eyes like he wasn’t getting half-hard at the thought of you at Jazzercise an hour ago. It makes him only partly jealous.

He could never dream of being so casual around you. ‘Cause when your eyes find his again, it feels like his stomach’s doing backflips. It’s like he blinks, and he forgets how to speak.

“So!” you chirp. “Family trip?”

Eddie opens his mouth and doesn’t realize until that moment that every word in the English language has left his brain. Robin shoves him hard in the back to put his head back on straight. The words fly from his mouth like a pull-string doll.

“I didn’t wanna bother you, but these idiots forced me into it.”

“Good. You need to get out of the house from time to time, Eds— You’re getting so pale,” you ramble and reach suddenly for his face. Eddie freezes when you take his chin by your thumb and forefinger. The warmth of your velvety touch sets his skin aflame; more so when you look directly into his wide-eyed gape and say, “There’s nothin’ wrong with needing a little sunshine, Eddie Spaghetti.”

“Weird,” Max muses with a sarcastic lilt. “That is exactly what we’ve been trying to tell him, too.”

Eddie shoots her a glare — the best he can, anyway, with your hand still cradling his jaw. He can only see the redhead from the corner of his eye, but the smug smirk on her freckled face doesn’t go missed.

Your fingers slip from his face, and Eddie feels like he can breathe again. He feels strangely empty, still, without you touching him — like he’s starving, or like he’s never been touched before now. Sometimes, it feels like both are true.

He wonders if that’s just the price he has to pay. If being near you means feeling like he’s dying and coming to life all at once. There’s a nagging voice in the back of his head that tells him he’ll pay it, with your pretty fingers strangling his neck and all.

“You’re MADMAX, right?” you wonder aloud to the girl with auburn plaits draping her freckled shoulders.

She’s mostly a stranger to you now, but you think she must mean a great deal to the rest of them. They talk a whole lot about the redhead with chunky glasses who acts like she’s way too cool for it all but defends her Dig Dug high score like her life depends on it.

The girl nods and crosses her pale arms across her chest, flashing you a suspicious, tightlipped smile. “Yeah. Which means you must be Barbie?”

“Barbie?” you echo.

Eddie chimes in then. “That’s what these freaks call you when you’re not around,” he says, nodding his wild head to the group of aforementioned freaks behind him.

Your face twists as you bring your hand to the center of your chest. “That is the nicest thing anyone’s ever called me before,” you respond, strangely sincere.

Lucas smiles from over Max’s shoulder, nodding like he’s proud. “You’re welcome,” he tells you.

Dustin stands just beside him with a conspicuous paper bag under his arm. You squint past Eddie and over to the curly-haired boy. “What’s that?” you blurt.

It takes him a second too long to answer. “Oh. Uh. A sandwich—” he stammers vaguely, extending his arm towards you. You take the sack from him without thinking twice and rifle blindly through its contents.

“PB&J?” you guess with an inquisitive arch to your brow. Dustin nods, looking pleased by your assumption. Your arm stills suddenly within the crinkling brown sack, and your eyes narrow into thin slits. “With the crust cut off?”

“Uh… no.”

“Good. That’s obviously the best part of the whole sandwich,” you respond, almost to yourself, as you pluck the snack from the bag.

You unwrap it from its plastic seal and take a hefty bite in one fell swoop. Your eyes flutter shut like it’s something gourmet, and not just something Dustin slapped together on his kitchen step stool at home.

“Thank you for this,” you mumble through the wad of food in your cheek. “You’re officially my new best friend, Dusty-Bun.”

“Rude,” Eddie scoffs.

You swallow hard and fight back a smile, like you were hoping for that exact response. “And who said you were my best friend in the first place, hm?” you argue playfully, waving the half-eaten peanut butter jelly sandwich in his face. “That is very presumptuous of you, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Your pleated skirt flutters at your hips when you spin on the heel of your plastic sandal. You flip flop, flip flop out of the shaded shack and towards the sunshine and unadulterated chaos. The rest of them follow behind you — save for Dustin, who migrates to Eddie’s side with a far-off gaze.

“Sure she’s not your girlfriend?” the kid wonders, never once taking his eyes off the back of you.

Eddie looks down at him with a flat face. “I’m sure,” he monotones.

Dustin grins wide, likely forgetting that other people can see it, too. “Good,” he hums to himself.

“Don’t get any ideas, Henderson,” the older boy blurts before he means to, then tries not to cower under the expectant glance he gets. “You’re obviously way out of her league.”

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

The group fits in pretty well despite being the self-proclaimed outcasts of Hawkins, Indiana.

Steve most of all, but that usually goes without saying. He looks like small-town royalty in his brand-name polo and too-expensive navy swim shorts. He’s lost his touch since high school, though, as he tries and fails to flirt with Carol Perkins’ sister.

“So, Amber— What’d you say you were studying again?” you hear him ask as he lingers awkwardly by the longue chairs.

“My name is Autumn,” she corrects in a drawl that’d give a valley girl a run for her money.

Steve, oblivious to his blunder, only smiles. “Oh, cool. That’s, like, definitely in my top four favorite seasons—”

Robin, in a strange turn of events, is much more casual in her flirting than her co-worker-slash-best-friend. She spotted Vicki the second she walked in, sitting with a few girls from yearbook and rubbing sunscreen onto her supple skin.

She pretended she didn’t, though, which only made it that much more obvious that she had. Vicki waved at her once, then again to invite her over, and Robin was far too awkward to decline.

Now, she sits gracelessly with a bunch of half-strangers and her biggest crush, looking only slightly out of place in her frayed shorts and Steve’s baggy tee. She nods politely in conversation and thanks the universe for making it so damn hot today. At least now she can blame her burning freckled face on the golden setting sun.

Dustin and Lucas, meanwhile, stuff their faces with ice cream sandwiches in a feeble attempt to consume them before they melt. The softened vanilla leaves messes on their fingers and faces, making them look somehow more boyish than their respective Spiderman and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle swim trunks.

Max sits off to the side of them in her own chair, partly overstimulated, and trying to let the piercing sunbeams ground her again.

Eddie Munson, however, in his attempt to blend in, only draws more attention to himself.

He sits beside your post, shaded beneath a wide umbrella, in the same attire you’d see him in on any other day. The baggy jeans, and the thick leather jacket, and the Corroded Coffin merch. He’s dripping in black and silver but hasn’t yet broken a sweat. You don’t know how, though. ‘Cause you’re hot just looking at him.

You pluck your plastic whistle from your mouth to ask, “Are you sure you’re not burning up over there?”

Eddie laughs before he means to because the answer’s obvious to him.

The last time he felt an ounce of heat was when he was bleeding out on the dirt floor of an alternate universe — when crimson blood ran warm over the mangled skin of his chest and ribs. He’s been colder than ice ever since. And he keeps forgetting you don’t know about any of that.

“Yeah. I’m sure,” he answers, angling his head to face yours.

There’s a white cast on his grey face from sunscreen deliberately not rubbed in. It feels like a shield in some way. Not in the warm-blooded human kind of way, of course, but in the vampiric curse kind. The kind that would otherwise make him debilitatingly weak sitting outside like this. Now, he feels somewhat normal.

The golden hour sun sits like a halo behind your head. He squints one eye to see you better. “If you wanna see me shirtless, you can just say that,” he jokes. “Instead of beating around the bush and everything—”

“I wanna see you shirtless,” you blurt in a strange monotone that makes it hard to tell if you’re joking or not.

The boy falters. Tries not to choke on his own spit. There isn’t a world where he can flirt with you where you don’t immediately snatch the upper hand. It’s like you’re immune to that sort of diffidence. Eddie wishes he was, too.

“Wow,” he scoffs after the few long moments it takes him to recover. “Way to be blunt, sweetheart.”

“You told me to say it!”

You give him a lazy shrug and a lazier smile as you swap the bright red lifeguard buoy to your other arm. Eddie shifts uncomfortably in his seat, as though physically affected by the way you look at him, and the plastic pool chair makes a weird squeaking noise beneath him.

“Yeah, well, most people tend to be more subtle about it.”

“I’ve never been subtle about anything in my life.”

You turn back around to scan the busy pool, and Eddie feels like he can breathe again. A laugh rattles through his tight chest as he quips, “I’m starting to realize that about you, actually—”

“God. Stop flirting,” Max groans from your other side, who has otherwise been so silent that Eddie was starting to forget she was there. She doesn’t turn to look at either of you from where she lazes on the lounge chair. “Sitting with Steve would be more bearable than this.”

“Yeah, Eddie. Stop flirting with me,” you grouse, obviously playful, and without missing a single beat. You glare at the boy over your mostly bare shoulder and try hard not to smile. (He can’t see it in your eyes, anyway, though.) “I’m trying to talk to my new friend MADMAX. Gosh—”

You spin on the heel of your plastic red sandal, and your matching skirt twirls with you. Eddie can’t take his eyes off the back of you. He forgets how to blink when the fabric swishes to give him a brief glimpse of your ass.

He’s always hated the sun, but he loves the way it kisses your skin — leaving you glistening and mouthwateringly supple.

His fangs threaten to make an appearance when a warm breeze carries your cotton candy cloud scent to him. His gums start to burn with the sharp ache.

“—Hi, MADMAX,” you singsong to the scowling girl, grinning with your cheek pressed to your shoulder.

“You can just call me Max,” she deadpans. “You know that, right?”

“But MADMAX is so much cooler. And it suits you way better.”

“Does it?” MADMAX wonders with an unenthusiastic hum.

“Yeah. Maxine is a name for an old woman. Or, like, one of those ridiculously expensive French poodles,” you ramble and turn back to the pool again, head bobbing as you scan the crowd. “But MADMAX? Now, that is a name for a badass with really cool hair and a sick pair of reading glasses.”

There’s a beat of silence, filled only by the sound of splashing water and the buzzing of a thousand distant conversations, as Max tries to bite back a laugh. It sputters past her anxiety-bitten lips before she can stop it — a strangely airy giggle from such an intimidating girl.

She shakes her head, still, to pretend she’s above the childish giddiness.

Your face screws in feigned offense. “Don’t laugh!” you scold.

Which, of course, only makes her laugh harder.

Eddie lifts his head, finally taking his eyes off you to gape at the redhead across the aisle, who hasn’t laughed like this since the world ended.

It must be something strange you alone bring out of them, he realizes. Something special in you that the end of the world didn’t steal like it did everyone else.

“These guys bothering you, newbie?” you hear your manager call to you, only partially drowned out by the surrounding laughter and shouting from the bustling crowd.

His voice is annoyingly distinct. It’s deep and articulate in a way that makes him seem smart. You don’t know if he really is, but you do know that he’s really a raging asshole.

Adam stands before you, gold and glittering under the setting sun like God’s first creation himself. He’s got veins up and down the length of his muscular arms, and a bulging chest that he waxes every two weeks like clockwork. He’s Steve The Hair Harrington pretty without an ounce of the charm.

“Huh?” you call back, brows raised and eyes wide, just to make him repeat himself.

“I asked if these guys were bothering you,” Adam repeats, flicking his cleft chin back to get the blonde curls out of his eyes. “You look distracted.”

“What guys?” you wonder with an innocent furrow to your brows.

The man’s emerald eyes flit instinctively over your shoulder at Eddie, who everyone has been trying and failing not to stare at this whole time.

You wonder if Eddie notices it, too — if he’s gotten immune to the constant leering or if he’s bone-crushingly aware of it all. Either way, no one deserves to be ogled at like that. Like some kinda zoo animal.

Everyone always walks on eggshells around him, refusing to look him in the eye out of fear he might bite. But you know he doesn’t have the teeth for it.

Despite that, you look at Eddie over your shoulder like he’s a stranger. His eyes are wide and swimming with apprehension as the chocolates of them dart between you and the man made out of chiseled marble.

Adam knows that you know him. You know he knows it, too. Which makes lying to him all the more fun.

“I’ve never seen this man before in my life,” you shrug.

Adam squints and crosses his too-big arms over his chest. “Doesn’t change the fact that he’s loitering. Along with the rest of these kids—” He looks around him with a visible disgust.

Max pretends he isn’t there. Dustin and Lucas, meanwhile, forget to be casual as they cower under his stare with their ice-cream-stained faces.

“It’s a public pool, Adam. Everyone's loitering. Duh.”

You turn away and stick your whistle back in your mouth. You chew absentmindedly at the plastic and scan the pool for any reason to use it.

Adam’s neck twitches. An angry sort of tic he didn’t know he had until he met you. “You’re still on the clock, newbie. If I see you gettin’ distracted again, I’ll—”

You blow the whistle. Loud. And for far longer than you probably need to.

The high-pitched chirping rings in Adam’s ears from the close proximity. He flinches away accordingly.

“No running, please!” you shout sweetly to the pudgy middle school-aged boy on the other side of the pool. (His babysitter always brings him here so she can sunbathe, and he’s always roughhousing in the deep end. Billy’s developed a personal vendetta with him over the summer.)

The suddenly quiet pool returns to its deafening chaos a second later.

You flash Adam a cheeky smile. “You were saying?”

“I was saying that I’ll take it out of your paycheck,” the man bites, angled jaw clenched tight. “You’re already on thin ice. Understand?”

Your lip juts in a feigned pout. You nod slowly, eyes wide like a puppy he’s just kicked.

“One more strike, and you’re cleaning toilets, newbie.”

“Ah, I knew that’s what this was all about…” you lilt seductively, lips curling into a mischievous smirk. “You just want to see me bending over—”

You lean closer toward him until your spearmint breath fans across his chiseled jaw. Your bottom juts out in Eddie’s direction, until he can see the very bottom of your ass from beneath your pleated skirt. It makes him as flustered as Adam the Asshole, who stalks off on long legs quickly after, sufficiently embarrassed.

You laugh at the back of him until he disappears into the crowd again. The bubbly sound ceases the moment he’s out of earshot, and your smile ebbs into a girlish pout. “Dickwad,” you mumble under your breath.

You recover from it all rather quickly while Eddie struggles to remind himself to breathe. His mind reels as he, for the first time ever, grapples with the very real possibility that he might actually be in love with you. Or that you’re not real at all, and that this is just Vecna’s doing — long gone but still putting visions in his head somehow.

He doesn’t know which is worse.

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

oh, what a strange magic!

oh, it’s a strange magic!

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

The golden-orange sky turns a milky pink and lavender. Eddie’s friends, sunburnt and sufficiently pruned, don’t leave until the first star blinks faintly in the sky. The rest of the crowd goes with them, bustling bodies spilling out in a swarm.

It takes the rest of the gang several long moments to realize Eddie isn’t behind them. (You told him you forgot your sunglasses, and he offered to get them for you, ‘cause he’s nice like that and everything.)

(He doesn’t know the sunglasses are currently hiding in the pocket of your windbreaker.)

“What, where’s Eddie?” Dustin wonders aloud to the rest of the group, head flitting wildly in search of the misplaced metalhead.

“He went to the bathroom, I think,” you blurt the first lie you can think of. “He was talking about a nervous tummy or something. I don’t know.”

Steve scoffs like he senses a non-truth. “So, he’s leaving me with babysitting duty again?” he quips with a cynical, lopsided smile. “How predictable.”

“You say that like we’re the spawn of Satan or something,” Lucas jokes.

“You aren’t?” the oldest boy deadpans.

Dustin flips him off with a chubby finger and a flat face.

They bid their leave tangled in mindless arguments and lanky limbs. You watch them leave with the understanding that Steve’s 733i will be a tighter fit than it should be, crammed with a bunch of rowdy teenage boys. You feel sorry for Max and Robin most of all.

Steve’s car peels out of the parking lot one moment, and Eddie returns the next.

“I couldn’t find your sunglasses anywhere,” he confesses sheepishly, face twisted like a puppy’s as he scratches awkwardly at the back of his neck. “I don’t know. I think some asshole might’ve stolen ‘em—”

“Oh, no, it’s okay,” you shrug with a tightlipped smile. “I found them in the, uh— In the lost-and-found bin.”

“Oh. Okay. Cool,” Eddie stammers, nodding slowly, just before a smile tugs at his lips. You watch from beneath your lashes as the subtle realization curls on his face. “You had ‘em the entire time, didn’t you?” the boy wonders in a low voice that makes your stomach do whirl.

“Yes,” you squeak in a mousy voice, then ramble before you can stop it. “But only ‘cause I wanted everyone else to leave! You know, so we can have a real date and everything…”

“As opposed to the fake ones we’ve been having?” he jokes with pinched brows.

“Exactly,” you nod, strikingly sincere. ‘Cause the constant carpooling and melted rainbow sherbet dropoffs had to have meant something.

“As tempting as that sounds, sweet thing,” he humors, scrunching the bridge of his nose. “I do think I might be actually coming down with sunstroke.”

You turn your head wordlessly to the entryway of the shack. There’s only a sliver of the night sky visible from here, but it’s navy blue and sparkling with so many little stars. You look back to Eddie with a dubious glint in your eye. “The sunset twenty minutes ago, Eds.”

“Yeah, but… I’m still sick.”

He removes his hand from the pocket of his leather jacket and balls it into a fist over his mouth. He coughs once, trying hard to make it believable ‘cause he hasn’t been truly sick since the winter of ’84.

That’s perhaps the only cool thing about being a vampire — he’s basically got Superman’s immune system now.

“Well, I actually learned how to treat sunstroke while I was in training,” you lilt with an air of mischief in your voice as you take a daring step closer. The scent of sunscreen and cheap musky cologne clings to his skin. Something about the combination of the two is maddening.

You’re filled suddenly with the primal urge to bite into him like an apple. But you refrain, lest you scare him off.

Eddie’s caught in a similar dilemma, but with perhaps realer consequences than that. Your natural marshmallow-passionfruit scent suffocates him like a pillow to the face. His fangs threaten to force their way through his gums as his head starts to swim.

He ignores every vampiric instinct swirling in his mind and focuses, instead, on the pretty smile curling at your lips.

“Bet ya didn’t know that, did ya?”

Eddie swallows hard and shakes his head. “No, I— I don’t think you ever told me that,” he stammers, then clears his throat when the words get stuck there. He puts both hands back in his jacket pocket, balling them into fists until his nails bite into his palms.

“First, you gotta take off your clothes—”

“You’ve been trying to get in my pants all day,” the boy laughs. “You realize that, right?”

“—And then you gotta cool off in a very luxurious community pool.”

Eddie gets what you’re playing at, then. His smile ebbs almost instantly. “No,” he dismisses with a stern shake of his head. His deep chestnut curls, frizzed with the late-summer humidity, sway around his jaw. “No. No way.”

“Oh, c’mon! Please,” you whine. “The pool closes in, like, half an hour— Then it’ll just be us! We can swim together!”

“I don’t know how,” Eddie whines back, head tossed and face screwed. “Seriously. I grew up in a trailer park. No one ever taught me how to swim, alright? I’ll drown.”

Something about that seems to please you, as your pout curls slowly into another smile. You meet the boy’s wet brown eyes with a gaze that glitters something wicked.

Eddie can see your head spinning with a thousand bad ideas from here. His heart would race at the thought of getting into trouble with you if it was beating still.

You’ll bring him back to life yet.

“Don’t worry, Eds,” you shrug with a sure grin. “I’d give you mouth-to-mouth in a heartbeat.”

꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦ (㇏(•̀ᵥᵥ•́)ノ) ꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷

The pool glows a vibrant sapphire color. It makes the surrounding amber streetlamps seem dull in comparison. The water is as blue and crystalline as an early summer sky. Eddie figures you must be the sun, swimming in the center of it all.

You wait patiently in the shallow end — out of both your windbreaker and pleated skirt for the first time in front of him — and swipe your hands over the water, letting it drip like liquid diamonds from your fingers. You hum quietly to the slow song playing on the boombox across the way, which now houses the mixtape you made that Eddie seems to take with him everywhere.

The boy shifts uncomfortably at the head of the pool, feeling awkward in the pair of swim trunks you found for him in the break room.

You’ve never seen so much of him before. His paper-white legs are a lot longer than you expected, ‘cause his baggy jeans hardly do him any favors. And his arms are a lot muscular, too — likely from moving band equipment and bussing tables.

He’s already so pretty to begin with. You don’t know what he’s got to be such a Nervous Nelly about.

Eddie knows he’s making it harder for himself. It’d be a lot less awkward for the both of you if he just took his shirt off and jumped in the water. But he’s paralyzed by the misplaced panic that strikes that lightning in his chest. And by you, ogling at him like he’s a pretty thing that deserves to be ogled at.

“Stop staring,” he calls to you, pretending to be playful but meaning every bit of it. “It’s makin’ me nervous.”

“Would it make you feel better if I closed my eyes?”

“Much.”

You put your hands over your eyes, to make him feel better and all. Though, you can’t help but peek between the slivers of your fingers as he strips himself of his Corroded Coffin tee.

His torso is as long and lean as you imagined, with sprinkles of hair on his chest and the pudge of his tummy that trails into his borrowed trunks. You try very hard not to stare too long at the gray scars embedded in his pale skin.

Everything seems to come easier to him when you’re not looking at him. He slides the black fabric off his pale, pale torso, tosses it to his feet, and hurries to hide in the water in one fell swoop.

The chlorine makes his nose burn, but the water feels like satin on his skin. It’s soft and warm and smooth against the cold, sharp edges of him.

“You can open your eyes now,” Eddie scoffs when he notices your hands still over your eyes. He can see you blinking at him through the slits in your fingers. “I know you’re peeking.”

“I was not!” you gasp, mouth agape with a playful offense.

“Well, you weren’t exactly being discreet about it, sweet thing.”

“These are very nefarious accusations you’re making, Eddie Munson…” you scold with arched brows and wide eyes. The water ripples faintly around you as you stalk towards him like a predator to prey, eyes narrowed in a challenging squint. “Are you prepared to back them up?”

The boy cowers slightly under your unwavering stare. “I don’t like the way you’re looking at me right now—”

And he was right not to. ‘Cause you’re lunging suddenly towards him in a flash.

The water splashes violently around you as you wrap both arms around his neck and sweep him off his feet. Literally. You kick his legs out from underneath him, then catch him before he can fall completely backward. Both his downfall and his savior, ironically.

“Ha!” you shout in his face, the tip of your nose brushing his.

“Jesus!” Eddie gasps in response, still heart lurching in his chest.

“I asked if you were prepared!” you defend like you’re innocent, like you aren’t still cradling him in your arms — the only thing keeping him from going under.

“Not for this!” he yells back.

Only then is he able to take a good breath in. He can smell the velvety scent of your blood from the achingly close proximity. He can feel your heart beating in his own chest from where you’re pressed so intently against him. It makes him instantly dizzy.

He fights back the primal urges that would otherwise drive him mad.

“Jeez…” he huffs, fangs burning. “You’re a lifeguard— You’re supposed to stop people from drowning.”

“Yeah, but no one ever needs saving,” you whine. “It’s so boring.”

His chocolate button eyes flit back and forth between both of yours. “You tryin’ to save me, sweet thing?” he jokes.

You squint. “Is it working?”

“Yeah, actually… If you let me up now, at least.”

He’s grateful when you do, though he mourns the lack of you when you step back a few paces.

His damp hair sticks to his skin when he rises to full height. He shakes his head like a dog, and you giggle when a few rogue droplets fly your way.

“You have freckles on your shoulder,” you observe distantly, eyes darting across the faint amber spots on his pale skin as you try to make constellations out of them. “I didn’t know that ’til now.”

Eddie’s lips jut downward as he peers at his arm from the corner of his eye. “Not really,” he shrugs.

“You do!” you insist. “There’s not many, though. I could probably count ‘em if I wanted.”

“Maybe on our second date.”

“I didn’t know you had a tattoo here, either—” You poke him in the chest, a little harder than you probably mean to.

Eddie winces and rubs his palm over the fading black widow under his collarbone. “Well, you don’t know everything about me,” he quips. “I like it that way. It keeps you on your toes.”

Your face pinches into a girlish pout. “Only ‘cause you never tell me anything.”

“I tell you loads of things,” Eddie laughs.

Your frown deepens. “You never told me about the picture of Ozzy Osbourne you keep in your wallet.”

“…How do you know about that?”

“Dustin told me.”

“Of course he did,” Eddie huffs. “Remind me not to tell that little shit anything ever again.”

“You never told me about how you got those scars, either,” you blurt, eyes trained on his milky white torso. Beneath the clear, rippling water, you can see the parts of his supple stomach that are marred and turning pink.

You don’t realize what you’ve said until your gaze flits back to his startled one. Your eyes widen as you ramble quickly, “You don’t have to! I’m not trying to… I’m just— I’m just saying. ‘Cause, you know, Steve has the same ones… On his ribs…”

“I’m not even gonna ask how you know that,” Eddie jokes with a (mostly) feigned jealousy.

“Billy does, too. He’s got the same lookin’ scars on his chest,” you continue. “And then I started thinking, you know? I thought, since you all know each other and everything, maybe something happened to you guys. Like, in the earthquakes or something.”

Eddie swallows hard and debates on spilling his guts.

He swallows his secrets down like bile, in the end.

“Yeah. You’re— You’re not too far off, actually,” he answers with a breathy, bitter laugh. He scratches at the back of neck, if only to busy his anxious hands, and flits his gaze to the velvety night sky.

The blinking white stars there ground him when the world starts to swim — reminds him that he’s on Earth, in Hawkins, and not in the hellscape he died in.

That was his final thought as he took his last breath that spring. How strangely fitting it was that there were no stars in the Upside Down.

“We, uh… We kinda went through hell and back, but, uh… ‘Least lived to tell the tale, right?” Eddie scoffs at himself, then remembers Chrissy — how young and full of life she was one moment, and how her wide blue eyes were sucked out of her skull the next. He recoils then, feeling like he’s said the wrong thing. “Wait. That was— That was insensitive. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“What are you talkin’ about? You’re right,” you assure him with a quiet, emotionless laugh. “You guys survived. You got lucky. We all did.”

Eddie peeks at you beneath his lashes, through the wild curls sticking to his face. “Where were you?” he murmurs. “When… When everything happened?”

“Crying into my milkshake at Benny’s Burgers,” you answer without missing a beat. The memory’s far too vivid for anything else.

A laugh sputters from Eddie’s throat. He’s sure you must be joking. You blink at him like an owl, and he goes solemn all over again. “Oh. You’re… You’re serious?” he mumbles.

“Yeah, I was… feeling sorry for myself over something stupid, and then the ground started shaking outta nowhere— like the universe was trying to say, ‘Hey, this could be soooo much worse, dude,’” you ramble quietly to yourself, skimming your fingers over the water’s surface. “…But then I found out people actually got hurt and everything, so I was like, ‘Oh, maybe I shouldn’t make this about my stupid broken heart, actually.’”

Eddie’s tight chest deflates with a wavering exhale. He didn’t know you back then, but something about knowing you were okay makes him feel better. ‘Cause, yeah, he died and all, but he couldn’t stomach the thought of Vecna taunting you.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” the boy confesses in a honeyed whisper.

A soft smile quirks at the edges of your lips. “I’m glad you’re okay, too, Eddie Spaghetti.”

Your hand reaches out for him. Almost instinctively. Like he’s a whole universe with his own gravitational pull.

Your palm settles soft and warm on the outside of his torso. Your thumb grazes the marred skin over his ribs, and Eddie tenses at the foreign feeling. You jerk back instantly.

“Oh. Shit. Sorry,” you stammer, face twisted apologetically. “I didn’t— I should’ve asked first.”

“No. It’s— It’s okay. Seriously,” Eddie assures with a rapid nod. There’s a faraway look in his chocolate eyes, almost like he’s daydreaming. He feels like he is, anyway. ‘Cause he’s never let anyone this close before.

“I just… I wasn’t expecting it. That’s all.”

Do it again, he says in so many words. Please, I think I might need it.

You reach for him again, more hesitant this time. Your hand settles over his scars again, and you breathe hard through your nose.

Your stomach twists with a phantom sort of ache, like you can feel every ounce of the pain he surely experienced back then. Thinking about how hurt he must’ve been makes you hurt, too.

Eddie can see it written all over your face. How much you ache for him.

He can’t stand it.

He cups your cheeks between trembling, unsure hands. His touch is softly calloused and colder than ice. He tilts your jaw gently upward, urging you to meet his gaze once more. Your eyes are wet and glittering when they lock with his heavily lidded ones. Your mouth parts to say something, anything. But your brain doesn’t work fast enough.

‘Cause Eddie's kissing you before you can blink.

He tastes distinctly of nicotine and boyhood. Of midnight, full moons, and neon lights. You can feel every groove in his bottom lip from where he picks at it with his teeth. Every sensation is new to you, like cool sparkles of excitement in the pit of your tummy, but it’s strikingly familiar all the same. Nostalgia for something you’re experiencing for the first time warms the center of your chest.

You breathe hard through your nose. The gust of air tickles Eddie’s cupid’s bow as he parts from you, lips smacking apart in protest.

Your eyes, still yet to blink, remain wide and glazed over. “Whoa…” you sigh to yourself.

Eddie’s unsure of how to gauge your reaction. His face swirls with horror.

“What?” he mumbles, still cradling your face between worried hands. He can’t tell if your cheeks are heating or if he’s just colder than usual. Perhaps both are equally true.

“Nothing,” you answer quickly, still slightly faraway. “I just… I got a weird sense of deja vu just now…”

The boy forces a quiet laugh. “Who else have you done this with?” he quips.

“No one!” you blurt. “…But I think I might’ve dreamt about this once.”

“Really?”

“Definitely.”

“Was it better than you expected? Or should I just see myself out now—”

You lean forward to chase his mouth. The cerulean water ripples faintly around you. Your lidded gaze never wavers from his rosy lips, which you’re realizing now are all but begging to be kissed. You don’t know how you never noticed it before.

Eddie’s smiling too wide to respond appropriately.

“Why are you laughing?” you frown.

“I’m not!” he responds through breathy chuckles.

“You are—”

Eddie leans forward in a flash, pressing another chaste kiss to your pout.

You’re all smiles again the second he pulls away, bursting at the seams with a sort of giddiness that could give the sun a run for its money.

He knows, somewhere deep down, that he shouldn’t make you this happy. He doesn’t even deserve the chance. But here you are anyway, smiling so wide at him that your eyes are starting to crinkle at the edges — showing him that there’s still sunshine in the dark, reminding him what it means to be living.

“Does this mean we get to do this forever?” you wonder in a mousy voice.

“What?” he chuckles. “Kiss?”

You nod wordlessly, blinking up at the boy with wide, wet eyes.

Eddie nods quickly back.

“Then yeah…” he wavers, chest aching and gums burning.

He loves you so much he’s gone hungry for it. For you.

He longs to devour you, in every way imaginable, and you want to devour him just the same. He can tell in the way you stare at him when you think he isn’t looking — in the way you stare at him even when he is looking — and in every one of your movements that urges him closer, closer, closer.

Your gaze is debilitatingly intense. Your attitude is mind-bendingly strange. You’re ruining his life, and Eddie can’t believe there was ever a time he wasn’t kissing you.

“Yeah,” he repeats, firmer now. “As long as you want.”

if you made it this far: i love you. so sorry for making you read something so long. i'd kiss you on the forehead if i could. also pls consider reblogging! this took me so so long to write, and it really helps a lot! thank u, love u (▰˘◡˘▰)

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ckret2 · 11 months ago

Text

On chapter 30 of The Writer Uses Misleading Graphics To Trick You Into Looking At This Fic About Human Bill Being The Shack's Prisoner: Summerween part 2! Bill wheedles Mabel into helping him make a costume. Mabel wheedles Bill into spilling some of his preciously-guarded secret backstory. Ford is kind of in awe.

Also there's like 4.5 drawings in this chapter. They're all very silly drawings.

####

Bill wouldn't tell Mabel what his costume was—"I want to see who can guess it"—but all it needed was a brown bedsheet, a long red wig, cardboard (to be drawn upon), and flip-flop sandals.

The bedsheet was the easiest to acquire. Dipper's barely-worn brown sandals were just slightly too big for Bill but Mabel helped tie them on with yarn. the shack's cardboard supplies were still depleted from making Bill's triangle mask, but they could make do with paper and popsicle sticks. Mabel didn't have a red wig but she did have a blonde wig and red markers. Since Bill was, by his own reporting, terrible at drawing, Mabel offered to do the fancy artwork if Bill did the tedious task of recoloring the wig. He claimed he'd feel like a mortician putting makeup on a car wreck victim, but nevertheless accepted the deal, and they settled in around the living room table to get to work.

"So just a bunch of houses, right?" Mabel asked, starting on the first drawing.

"Ancient Greek-looking houses," Bill said. "So, marble and columns. Don't think too hard about the details—this is a 21st century American costume holiday, not a historical reenactment. You can slap columns on anything and call it 'Greek' and every human in town will buy it."

"Do ancient Greek houses have chimneys?"

"No," Bill said. "But adding one would be funny."

Mabel considered that, weighed up the value of historical accuracy against entertainment value, and decided giving one house a chimney would be funny. She gave the whole house a thick black outline in marker, and pulled out crayons in black, white, and whale blue to quickly add some light shading to the marble.

Mabel didn't think she'd ever seen Bill focus so hard or so quietly on anything the way he did on coloring that old wig red. He was giving it more attention than he did his own hair: while his golden locks were a tangled, uncombed, soggy mass shoved dismissively over his shoulders, he was dying the cheap wig (and his fingertips) strand by plastic strand with the bright-eyed morbid fascination of a third grader studying a pack of ants as they disassembled a bird's corpse.

This was the longest she'd been around Bill without conversation—usually, you couldn't even walk into a room without him immediately chattering at you like the motion-activated animatronics at the Summerween store. It was hard to think around him. Bill didn't give you room to think.

What did Mabel think about Bill?

He was right, she was still mad about the mall. No—mad wasn't the right word—mad was his word—she was scared. She'd never really stopped being scared of him, if she was honest with herself. But everything he'd done that day, from tricking her into trapping herself to reminding her of almost dying, had just reinforced why she should fear him.

But. She thought he felt bad about it. And she didn't think she'd ever seen him feel bad about anything before.

Maybe that meant her experiment was working. Maybe he was changing. Yeah, he was still scary—but he was Bill Cipher, he had a lot of scariness to work through. He was moving in the right direction, and she wanted to encourage that.

He hadn't apologized for the mall; but, since he'd tried to make up for it at the time, and that was a sort of apologetic action, Mabel decided she could tentatively forgive him for that day—provided he continued to improve. Put him on forgiveness probation. And that meant they were on friendly speaking terms again.

Which was good, because the quiet was starting to get uncomfortable. She surveyed her art for something they could talk about.

After a couple of as-historically-accurate-as-she-could-imagine houses, Mabel had started varying up the designs by redesigning houses she could remember off the top of her head with columns and white marble. She'd made a stately marble Mystery Shack, and a columned-covered doppelgänger of the house with the terraced yard across the street at home, and then she'd decided to make a Greek-ish version of her own home. "Hey Bill. Have you ever seen my house?"

"In person? No. But it came up from time to time in you kids' dreams, so whether I've seen it depends on how accurate you think your dreams are," he said. "It has less plants and more windows in your brother's dreams than in yours."

Mildly disturbing answer, but not disturbing in the direction she'd expected. "What! You mean you haven't haunted our neighborhood or anything? I don't believe it."

"Do you think I spend all my time stalking random humans? Don't flatter yourself."

"Well, seeing it in dreams isn't good enough!" Mabel pulled over a blank paper. It was hours until trick-or-treaters showed up, they had a little time to waste. "I'll draw it!"

"Wow, really?" Bill looked up from his wig. "You're not worried about letting the big bad triangle see your house?"

"Come on! You already know where I live, right?"

Bill immediately rattled off, "1337 Fairview Drive, Piedmont, California, on the northeast side of the street where it's less hilly."

"Exactly—you creep. So who cares if you know what it looks like, too?"

A square, sky blue house with two stories and a triangular roof; a big living room window on the left, a covered door on the right, three windows on the second floor, and a chimney. Mabel had drawn her home plenty of times—but doing it for a friend (?) was different from doing it for a teacher or a librarian, and she put extra effort into the rose bushes under the living room window. She added her and Dipper's smiling faces in the upstairs windows and Waddles's face downstairs in the living room.

"Waddles sleeps in the kitchen, but he basically owns half the yard to wallow in. This is my room, and here's Dipper's—I get three windows, but Dipper has the biggest window and a bigger room, so it's fair, no matter what he says—"

"Oh, you two have separate rooms now?" Bill was leaning halfway around the table and craning his neck to see the image right side up.

"Uh, yeah? Since we were ten?"

Loftily, Bill said, "I don't know how you'd expect me to know that. You both still dream about sharing a room."

Mabel paused and tried to remember how often she dreamed about Dipper in his new room. Sometimes she woke and was still disoriented to find her bed in the middle of the room instead of against one wall with Dipper's on the other side. "Huh."

She added a few more details—the front steps, the gate, the shingles. (Bill watched nervously as she pulled out the gray crayon to color the driveway—but she didn't notice how it had been tampered with.) She talked about her home, and in turn Bill told her weird things, like that Dipper often dreamed of monsters coming out of the fridge. When she finished, she autographed her name with a star on the "i" in Pines, offered it over grandly, and said, "Here, you can keep this!"

Bill accepted it without the customary effusive gratitude with which one ought to accept a generously-gifted original artwork from a 13-year-old prodigy. "What am I gonna do with it?"

"That's your problem!"

"Fair enough!" He checked his leggings for pockets and, when he didn't find any, set the page on the table by his elbow.

Offering accepted. As Bill resumed coloring his wig, Mabel picked up another piece of paper and got to work on the next columned house. "What does your house look like?"

Bill stopped dead, looked straight at her, and said, "My what?"

What was weird about the question? "Your house! Or whatever you lived in before you came here. You came from somewhere before you tried to invade Earth, right? You didn't just pop out of somebody's dream."

Bill laughed. "Yeah I did!"

"Bill."

"4500 years ago the construction workers of Egypt had a shared nightmare about the immense tombs they'd spent the last century building—"

"Biiiill."

"—and when they awoke they found the combined psychic energy of their terror had spawned a sleep paralysis demon more powerful than Ra! So then I ate their souls—"

"Seriously, Bill."

"I'm being so serious right now."

Mabel rolled her eyes. "Okay, fine! I get it. You're embarrassed." She shook her head and returned to coloring.

She felt the combined spiritual energy of hundreds of imaginary Egyptian construction workers beating down on her face from Bill's eye. Like a laser. "'Embarrassed'?"

"Because you don't have a house," Mabel said. "I think it's okay, you don't need to be embarrassed! I don't think you're a loser or anything. It's just kind of sad—"

Bill snatched up a blank piece of paper. "You want a house? Fine! I'll show you a house." He grabbed up an orange crayon, muttering, "It'll put your stupid overpriced shed in California to shame— Where's the ruler—?" Mabel tried not to grin.

For several minutes, he was perfectly silent. Mabel glanced over to see him coloring with three crayons at once, only for him to shove a hand in her face and snap, "No peeking."

Mabel got through two more drawings before Bill slapped down his paper over Mabel's. "There! How about that?!"

She looked at the drawing, which Bill had helpfully labeled "Party Central!" in red crayon. A great stone pyramid so dark brown it was nearly black, with bricks outlined in brilliant gold and molten orange and fiery red, and a sharp multicolored X hovering above it—

Mabel gave Bill a flat look. "This isn't your house, this is your Torture Temple."

"The what? Hey, is that really what people are calling it?! It's not the Torture Temple, it's the Fearamid!"

Despite herself, Mabel burst out laughing. "You named it the 'Fearamid'?!"

"It's a pyramid and humans fear it! It's genius. Portmanteaus make great names."

"What's a portmanteau."

"It's a word made from the unholy Frankensteinian fusion of two other words. Like getting 'electrocute' from 'electricity' and 'execute'!"

"Or 'romcom'?"

"Yeah, or that."

Mabel considered the drawing. "If you want to scare less people, you could call this your Bill-ding."

"HA! Oh, I'm saving that."

"Anyway, this isn't where you live," Mabel said. "You were there for like a week tops!"

"Yeah, before your great-uncle killed me. I'd still be living there if it weren't for you jerks." He stuck out his tongue.

"Come on, Bill. I showed you my house. Draw where you grew up or something!"

"What's wrong with the Fearamid?"

Mabel crossed her arms. "Why don't you want me to see your real house?" She raised her eyebrows at him.

Bill opened his mouth to protest, but then stopped, a thoughtful look on his face. "Eh, you know what? Why not. If you're gonna be so ridiculous about such a silly thing." He pulled over another piece of paper. "But if I don't have enough time to finish coloring this wig, you have to help me."

"Fiiine." She returned to her own drawings as Bill got back to work.

After a long silence—longer than he'd taken to draw and color the Fearamid—he said, "Okay, done. Here." And he pushed over the paper with one dismissive finger.

She eagerly accepted the drawing—and frowned. There was nothing on the page except for a straight flat black line, interrupted by three line segments of bright blue and a cluster of red and green dashes. "What is this?"

"Where I grew up," Bill said, innocently, already back to coloring the wig. Mabel could see his mischievous smirk. "As seen from the front. Just like your drawing of your house. So we're even now."

Mabel's brows furrowed as she stared at the page in confusion. "What...?"

"You do know I'm from the second dimension, right? A universe that's flat like a piece of paper. I figured Sixer would've told you all about it by now." Bill picked up the drawing and held it between his and Mabel's faces, so that, viewed from the edge, all Mabel could see of the paper was a thin flat line. "What do you think the second dimension looks like to somebody in the second dimension?"

Mabel took the paper back, looked at the underwhelming flat line representing the front of Bill's house, and said, "I hate you."

"We had the prettiest roses in the park," Bill said, pointing at the red dashes. "Crayon really doesn't do them justice."

"Shut uppp."

Bill laughed at her; but then, to her surprise, he said, "Okay, all right, I guess a big fancy 3D creature like you can't understand the nuances of two-dimensional sight. So, here." He flipped over the page. "Top down view."

The back of the page had what looked like a floorplan. A narrow room on the left, a large L-shaped room, a tiny room nestled into the L's top right corner, and a medium room on the right. Little shapes filled the rooms—furniture of some kind?—but she didn't see anything immediately recognizable like a top-down bed or table and chairs. Green and red spirals dangled off the bottom of the floorplan.

"I'm no Edward Bishop Bishop, but it gets the idea across," Bill said.

She studied all the strange little figures in fascination, looking for anything familiar. She pointed at a few shallow bowls filled with blue sticking out of the wall between the L-shaped room and the tiny room. "Are these sinks?"

"Hey, you're pretty sharp. Sinks and the tub."

"So the little room's the bathroom."

"Right again." Bill pointed out the rooms on the floor plan. "Master bed's on the right, kitchen and living room in the middle—and you found the bathroom—and second bed's on the left. That was my room! The one with a million books," he pointed at a wall with countless tiny multicolored lines coming off of it. "I was a big reader as a kid. I've always been an intellectual."

"Who was in the other bedroom?"

"I never really went in there, who cares." Bill made a dismissive gesture. "I think there were some desks and stuff in there too, but I didn't bother to draw them since I never used them." He picked up a yellow and a black crayon and added on to the drawing, dexterously turning the crayons in his hand to switch between colors without setting either one down. "I spent most of my time in my room." He'd drawn a little yellow triangle with an eye. He picked up a red crayon to point an arrow at the triangle and label it "Me!" "I didn't even have to leave the room to see the TV. The perks of psychic powers!"

Mabel wondered which of the weird shapes was the TV; but before she could come to a decision, she was distracted by the scale of Bill drawn in his room. Maybe he'd just drawn himself big, but he seemed cramped in that narrow space. And he'd hardly have room to turn around in the bathroom without his corner smacking something. "It looks pretty small. Is that normal on your home world?"

"Ah, I rarely spent time at home—it was just a place to sleep between speaking engagements," Bill said. "I was always on tour. Living the life of the rich and famous! Hotels, jet planes, and tour buses!"

Mabel shot him an irritated look. "You said this is where you grew up."

"This is where I grew up! I got an early start making my fortune. I was already famous by the time I was, uh..." he pursed his lips thoughtfully. "Developmentally, I think I would've been about equivalent to your age. Maybe a bit younger."

How much of all this was true? It didn't feel like a lie—and she couldn't see how he'd benefit from lying about any of it, except maybe claiming to be famous. So it probably had to be true. He'd actually made her a drawing of his house. Even after he'd complained about being so bad at art. She beamed at him. "Thanks, Bill. Your weird alien house is neat! I like the squiggly spiral flowers! Are they actually roses?"

"They were the flower that everyone mentions in poetry and that you have to bring home when your wife is mad, so, same basic function as roses," Bill said. "Fun fact, they grow in spirals so that they're pretty on the outside, but—"

####

"—but have more surface area to absorb sunlight on the inside," Mabel said, pointing at the flowers. "Alien biology! And the orange things are couches and the colorful box in front of them is his TV, and Bill says he could watch TV through the wall but he never really liked TV, he preferred live performances—maybe we should take him to a musical! And the little sideways cushions on the walls are their beds because gravity goes to the left because their house faces east—I have no idea why!—so, I guess that's their 'floor'? But if that's the 'floor,' Bill didn't explain why all his books were on the 'ceiling' without them falling off, and..." Mabel trailed off, giving Ford a concerned look. "Grunkle Ford? Are you okay?"

He was gaping at the drawing. "Wh—? Yes. Sorry. I'm just..." He shook his head in amazement. "I never even got that slippery eel to admit he has a calendar system, and you got the blueprints to his childhood home?"

Dipper said, "Yeah, this is amazing. How did you get this out of him?"

"Oh, I didn't do anything special," Mabel said casually. "Just drew our house and then suggested he was too scared to let me see his."

Dipper grimaced. "You showed him our house?"

"Don't worry about it! He already knows where we live."

"Of course," Ford said, taking a quick note in his journal. "Exploiting his ego. He's very proud; undermine that pride and he'll feel compelled to defend his honor." Ford had started goading Bill into giving away more than he meant to the same way. He wished he'd started doing it far earlier; but he'd spent so many years foolishly assuming Bill's pride was objective and justified that he sometimes forgot what an egomaniac Bill really was.

As Mabel had spoken, Ford had filled several pages with bullet-pointed half thoughts: dodges questions about the master bed—his parents' room?; no bed or bedroom for a sibling, he seems like an only child; "speaking engagements" is probably a euphemism, what was he doing to become a child celebrity; were his books his only childhood possessions or just the only thing he valued enough to draw; did he gain his "psychic powers" while amassing the power he needed to "liberate"/destroy his dimension? "Can I borrow this drawing to make a photocopy?"

"Sure! Don't forget the line on the back," Mabel said. "And you can copy the Fearamid, too! Did you know he named it the 'Fearamid'?"

"Oh yeah, I heard him call it that," Dipper said. "I think I recorded it in Journal 3?"

"I should've read that before we threw out all of Grunkle Ford's Bill stuff," Mabel sighed. She slid over the Fearamid drawing to Ford. "Bwop! He drew it tilting all weird to the left? He wasn't kidding when he said he's bad at drawing."

Ford studied the drawing and frowned. He lay his pen on the drawing to use like a makeshift ruler. "It's not 'skewed'—he drew the front face as a perfect equilateral triangle, and then extended a side on the right to turn it into a pyramid. It's poor perspective—there's no point of view from which one side would look like a perfect equilateral triangle and you could see another side, but..." He trailed off again as he made a note to himself about what this might mean about Bill's ability to perceive the third dimension and his artistic sensibilities.

"So he draws like Picasso!" Mabel concluded. "Oh! Bill mentioned a name when he gave me his house, he said he wasn't like Edward Bishop Bishop—and I remembered it because it sounds funny. Bishop-Bishop. Maybe he's another artist Bill likes? Or somebody who makes blueprints?"

"I'm sure I've heard that name. I think he was a mathematician?" Ford frowned. "I can't recall, though." He wrote down another note: Edward Bishop Bishop – mathematician/artist? Something to look up later.

Dipper glanced back and forth between Ford and Mabel as they talked, feeling his stomach sink at how excited they were and how easily they got along. First the mysterious disappearing crystal shop in Portland, now Mabel made this huge discovery about the guy Ford had spent years trying to learn about... Dipper swallowed hard and tried to tell himself he shouldn't feel jealous after he'd gotten Ford to himself for basically the past year. "I can't believe you found out all this."

Mabel immediately looked at him. "Hey, what's that supposed to mean?"

Dipper winced. He'd realized a moment too late how he must have sounded. Quickly, he said, "I mean, it's great that you did! Finding out more information about him is great. But, like... investigating the paranormal is my thing. It's what I spent all last summer doing, and it's my dream job, and... and now, the biggest paranormal mystery in human history is in our house, and you're the one getting all the info out of him?"

"Well, yeah," Mabel said. "I'm our official Bill spy, remember? I'm the one who made friends with him."

"I know, I know." He shrugged jerkily. "I'm just... kind of disappointed that I'm not prying eons-old secrets out of an alien demon. You know?"

Ford had paused in his writing to listen to Dipper thoughtfully. "I understand. When you're exceptional at something, it can be... difficult to share the limelight," he said. "Not because you don't think anyone else deserves it. You just don't know if you'll ever get it back."

Dipper's face heated up—he didn't want Ford to think he was bad at sharing, of all things—but he mumbled, "Yeah, I guess." Ford patted his shoulder understandingly.

"Aww," Mabel said. "Didn't you say that if we're running an experiment on being nice to Bill, you want to be in the control group?" She punched his arm. "Welcome to the control, bro!"

"Ow!" Dipper rubbed his arm and laughed weakly. "Yeah, okay, you're right. This is what I get."

Mabel said, "You should try talking to Bill! Maybe he'll tell you stuff too. He's really easy to talk to as long as you don't mind him sometimes saying creepy nightmare things."

"And as long as you're prepared for his mental tricks," Ford said.

"Yeah! Grunkle Ford's got a whole class for that," Mabel said. "He'll teach you about the BITE model! It's how cults sink their teeth into you!"

Dipper chuckled. "Sure. Maybe I will. We're gonna be at home handing out candy for a few hours, maybe I'll find an opportunity to interrogate him."

"You're not going trick-or-treating?" Ford asked.

"No," Mabel said, with an exaggerated sigh of disappointment.

Dipper elbowed her for her theatrics; they'd already agreed on what they'd do tonight. "We've got plans with friends. But we do get to wear matching costumes again."

"Creepy ghost children!"

"Ah," Ford said. "That explains your..." He gestured at them. They were wearing a suit and a dress, old-fashioned and gray, with tattered hems and dusty black dress shoes.

"Barty helped us put the outfits together," Dipper said.

"We still need to do our makeup," Mabel said. "What about you, Grunkle Ford? What are you doing for Summerween?"

"Ah." He glanced toward the ceiling ruefully, as though he could see The Enemy in the shack through the many layers of dirt above. Summerween had been one of the things he'd missed most about Gravity Falls; even during his years as a reclusive scientist in the woods, he'd usually taken off Summerween and Halloween to hand out candy to the children bold enough to visit his house.

But Bill's eagerness to participate had sucked the fun out of the day. The thought of celebrating Summerween in the same house as Bill felt too much like celebrating with him. "Nothing, I suppose. I was planning to stay down here." He gestured at his desk. "Continue my research."

"What are you working on right now?" Dipper asked.

Ford quickly said, "Nothing. Just—the same research," and was immediately hit with a pang of guilt. Remember what happened last summer when you tried to keep secrets about Bill out of embarrassment? Reluctantly, he said, "I've... split some research duties with Fiddleford. While I'm waiting to hear back from him, I'm looking into—some magical knowledge Bill revealed. To determine how much of it's true."

Dipper looked puzzled. "Revealed when?"

Mabel slammed her hands on Ford's desk. "Grunkle Ford, you can take a break from gathering intel on the enemy for one day! It's Summerween! Promise me you'll do something to celebrate before the day's over."

Ford let out a huff, but smiled. He wanted to do something. Surely he could come up with something that would let him avoid Bill? "All right, I promise. I won't invoke the Trickster's wrath tonight. Could you leave your costume makeup in the bathroom when you're finished? I'll find something to do with it."

"Perfect!" Mabel hugged him; then grabbed Dipper's hand. "C'mon, let's finish getting dressed. The trick-or-treaters will be here any minute!"

"Okay, okay." Dipper waved at Ford as Mabel dragged him to the elevator.

When they were gone, Ford turned back to the papers Mabel had given him. Bill's childhood home... Assuming he wasn't lying, at least. But an entire blueprint seemed like a complicated spur-of-the-moment fabrication even for him. If Bill was lying, it was a lie close to the truth.

It was strange to imagine Bill as a child with a bedroom full of books. Strange to imagine Bill as a child at all. What did a young triangle look like? He couldn't imagine anything different from how Bill always looked.

The floorplan did look small. Smaller even than the apartment over the pawn shop had been. Ford tried to remember what the homes he'd seen in Exwhylia had looked like...

He raised his head as something the kids had said registered. "Barty? Who's Barty?"

####

While Mabel was downstairs, Bill inspected her box of crayons.

The wrapper around the gray crayon was coming loose.

He took the glue stick they'd been using to reinforce the paper houses with popsicle sticks and carefully stuck the wrapper back on.

The house was too quiet without anyone around to talk to. He hated the quiet.

From the corner of the living room behind the table, when Bill leaned on the wall, shut his eyes, and listened closely, he could faintly hear the hidden elevator. He headed upstairs to stow the drawing of Mabel's house somewhere safe, and then went to the downstairs bathroom to finish dressing for Summerween.

####

(Y'all I worked hard on those fake crayon drawings. Anyway I know we're all collectively going insane today over the book news but if you took time out of your day to read this, I'd love to hear what y'all think!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls fic #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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noopienoopiernoopiest · 14 days ago

Text

Sirius Black (C) - #12 - Keep Quiet...Nothing Comes as Easy as You

For fic-o-ween @noots-fic-fests. As always thanks to @lumosinlove

Pairing: Coops! (Sirius/Remus)

Rating: E

Description: Sirius doesn't usually go to charity galas. Remus doesn't usually come to them either...

It wasn’t the usual kind of thing they attended. Sirius was more than happy to give worthy people and noble causes his money, but he wasn’t often the type to give them his publicity, his face. He’d had cameras shoved in front of him since he was fourteen—wide-eyed and away from home for the first time on his first billet. The constant attention had made him allergic to anything involving the media that wasn’t necessary (read: contractually obligated) for his job. But this was different.

It was kids and hockey. Gay kids and hockey. And Leo’s eyes had done that thing they did where they got all wide and blue when he’d asked Sirius to help. Leo hadn’t been a rookie in a solid five years, but he was still a rookie to Sirius. How Logan and Finn ever told Leo no was beyond him. Somehow, he doubted they ever did.

‘It’s still really new, you know. The foundation. Lots of high schoolers. I’m just…I want to leave something that makes all of this better. Makes it so what happened to you can’t happen again.”

That had sealed it—Leo’s earnest concern and his bare affection.

He’d almost regretted it until he’d seen Remus. Remus wasn’t exactly a snazzy dresser most of the time. Sirius didn’t care. He didn’t need it. Remus was gorgeous in his ratty workout clothes, holes and all, while he was panting and covered in sweat from the drills he insisted on running in the basement, even on days off. If Remus had his preference, he’d wear the same navy suit every single game day. Given Remus’s propensity to ritual, Sirius was kind of surprised he hadn’t already insisted on it. When Remus had shrugged at the question of his attire, Leo had shaken his head and sent him away with Finn for an afternoon.

Now he was coming down the stairs, still fiddling with a cufflink.

“Ready to go?” He asked.

“Ugk,” was Sirius’s brilliant response.

The tux jacket was a coppery kind of brown. Fairly dark, but it caught the light and tossed out warmer flashes of rust and bronze. It made Remus’s amber eyes look almost otherworldly, golden and glowing.

Remus gave a smirk like he knew what he was doing.

“What’s wrong, baby? Cat got your tongue?” He asked.

Okay…definitely knew what he was doing.

He reached out straightening Sirius’s already perfectly straight lapels and smoothing them across Sirius’s chest.

“I’ve always liked this tux on you,” Remus mused, looking up at him through his lashes.

“You like all of them on me,” Sirius croaked. When had his throat gotten so dry?

“Fair point. Your shoulders, you know?” Remus admitted with a little shrug saying, ‘what can you do?’ “C’mon handsome, let’s get a move on.”

Sirius had followed him out like a lost puppy.

The fundraiser was at an art museum. They had spent the evening taking in the sculptures and the paintings, and not for the first time, Sirius wished he had more time for things like this. What would it be like to make something for a living? Real things he could touch and feel? He wondered sometimes about how things would have gone had life been different? Wondered, but then dismissed it. He looked at Remus and thought that if life had to be precisely what it had been—Walburga included— to be right here, right now, so be it.

“Come on, there’s something I want to show you,” Remus said, tugging at Sirius’s hand. He wasn’t sure where Remus was taking him, but it didn’t really matter. Sirius would follow him regardless.

Remus looked over his shoulder before tugging him into a darkened room. By the light of the moon in the tall windows, Sirius could make out the soft pastel brush work of what looked like paintings of a million ponds and rivers, all the colors melting into one another. In the back there was an alcove. It looked like a place where a sculpture should go, but there wasn’t anything there right now.

Wasn’t until they were.

“What is—”

Suddenly, Sirius was being kissed. Not a peck or something romantic.

No, it was something filthy. Remus was kissing him like he played—full throttle, zero to 100 immediately, no time for you to mount a defense or catch your breath. And just like when Remus played, Sirius chased him.

“You’re so fucking hot. Jesus Christ,” he said against Sirius’s mouth. It came out slick and panting against his lips, and Sirius was helpless to say anything other than,

“Remus.”

Remus’s hands were knitted into his hair, pulling his head to the side so he could kiss a hot line up the cord of his neck. “I want you,” he whispered, breath hot against Sirius’s cheek.

“What? Here?” Sirius could hear the party still going from down the hall, but something about that made him hard so fast in his tuxedo trousers that he felt lightheaded from the blood loss to his brain. They’d talked about a situation like this, gasped into one another’s ears when they were teetering on the mutual brink. And then, later in the sheets, they’d discussed it more calmly in theory. If the opportunity ever presented itself, of course.

“Mmmhmm. I’m gonna ride you into the fucking ground, baby,” he said, crowding Sirius against the wall. One of his hands found the front of Sirius’s trousers. “Oh, you like that.”

Of course he liked it. It was Remus.

It was Remus…getting on his knees and drawing him out from the confines of his pants and boxers.

“Mon Dieu,” Sirius breathed.

Remus made a show of laving his tongue up and down Sirius’s cock, worshiping the crown with moaning laps and greedy eyes.

“Love the way you taste,” he panted, pink tongue pressing to the tip where Sirius was steadily leaking. “Drives me fucking crazy.”

It was incongruous. Remus looked to put together, so fussy and formal, meanwhile his mouth was wrapping around his cock, cheeks hollowing. Sirius had the urge to muss him, so he wove his hand into Remus’s sandy hair when Remus finally pulled him deeper into his mouth.

“Fuck, Re.” His head thunked back against the wall as he felt Remus’s throat teasing at him, just out of reach. God, if he kept going Sirius was going to come.

Remus pulled back. “I gotta…”

He didn’t explain further, just yanked Sirius down against the wall. Clothes and limbs were tugged and arranged until Sirius was sitting bare-assed, back against the wall, and Remus straddling him in his lap. His hands found Sirius’s jaw and he leaned down to kiss him, slow and languid.

He reached down for Sirius’s cock, next moves telegraphed to Sirius as if he’d described them.

“R-Remus,” he gasped. “What about—”

Remus did that thing he always did, knowing what Sirius’s thoughts were almost before he’d had them. He took Sirius’s hand, kissing his fingertips before guiding it to his entrance.

“Oh fuck,” Sirius moaned. “When?”

“Right before I got dressed,” Remus said, going up on his knees to grind into Sirius’s hand. “Didn’t want to have to wait. Knew I wouldn’t last…you looking like that. Fuck.” Sirius tried to ignore the image of Remus fingering himself open and fantasizing about what he was going to do to Sirius later.

“You planned for this?” Sirius asked, dumbfounded. It was hard to concentrate on anything with Remus’s clinging heat clutching around his fingers.

“Hoped, baby. Now, are you gonna let me ride you?”

Sirius nodded urgently like it was the best idea Remus had ever had. Honestly, absent the gold band on his ring finger, it might be.

Remus lined him up and worked himself down slowly just the way he liked it.

“Fuck,” Remus sighed, throwing his head back, his skin pale and perfect in the moonlight. “God, I love the way you split me open. So good. Feel so perfect.”

Sirius wanted to thrust his hips up, but the angle meant all he could do was sit there and let Remus fuck himself on him. Remus’s head came back to his ear, and he started whispering to Sirius in low murmurs punctuated every so often with sighs.

“So fucking gorgeous, Sirius. I wanted to rip your clothes off and fuck you in the middle of that gallery hall,” he admitted. “Just so everyone knew who you belonged to.” It was ridiculous that anyone looked at Sirius and couldn’t immediately glean that he was for Remus, designed and tailored just for him. Still the idea of it made him gasp.

“You like that, baby? People watching us while I fuck you?” He’d love to tell him that it was him fucking Remus, but it wasn’t really. Instead, all he could do was quiver and nod. “Everyone watching you lose it?”

Sirius’s hands clutched uselessly at Remus’s hips. He knew trying to drag him down faster would just mean slower. Harder would mean softer. Demanding would just mean refusing. He’d learned that lesson the hard way…several times.

He let the idea of it invade his mind. The shocked crowd watching as Remus made it crystal clear just who was in charge for the evening, Sirius desperately trying to choke back moans and being unable to. People seeing just what a mess Remus could make him.

Finally, Remus was seated, his ass firmly resting on Sirius’s hips. Remus started moving his own hips in little circles, just enough to be a tease, nothing that’d bring either of them relief anytime soon.

“There wouldn’t be any hiding from it, then, Sirius. Everyone would know. Intimidating Captain Sirius Black’s a desperate slut. Is that what you want? For them to know?”

That word was like a hardwire into Sirius’s brain, and he moaned a little too loudly.

Remus laughed and kissed him quiet. “Shhh, baby. Unless you’re serious.”

Sirius quirked an eyebrow at him.

Remus groaned, this time not in pleasure. “That joke will eventually get old.”

“Hasn’t yet, Loops.”

Remus laughed despite himself and then started moving in earnest. Sirius bit at his throat, one of his hands scrabbling to find grip against the stiff fabric of Remus’s dress shirt and feeling the heat of his back through it.

“Remus. Remus. God. Feel so good. So…tout.” Everything. Fuck it was true. Sirius never felt more than he felt right here, Remus as close as he could be—blood hot, vice tight, and velvet soft—both of them working together to chase this bliss. Working together to make it.

“That’s right, baby. Just like that,” Remus said, finding his mouth again and tongue licking inside.

Sirius moved to grab Remus’s cock, hard and leaking between the tails of his shirt, but Remus shook his head. “Wanna come from just your cock. You can do that for me can’t you, baby?”

Sirius felt drunk. Way more than half a glass of champagne would have accomplished. No, it was just Remus, finding and mashing every one of Sirius’s buttons in a complicated sequence only he knew.

“Fuck, yes. Yeah, yeah, I can do that.”

“Good boy.”

“Calisse. Are you trying to kill me?” Sirius hissed.

“No, sweetheart. I’m trying to make you lose your mind.”

Sirius got hazy from there, got lost in the two of them rutting into one another and keeping rhythm. Remus’s mouth was pressed to his ear, whispering and murmuring filthy half-phrases between hard rocks of his hips. And then—suddenly.

A noise.

Closer than any of the ones before. Hard heeled steps down the hallway. Closer and closer by the second. Remus pulled back.

He expected Remus to stop, freeze.

He did. Just for a moment. And then, he didn’t.

He put his hand over Sirius’s mouth.

“Shhhh, baby. Quiet now,” he whispered firmly, eyes boring into Sirius’s.

Sirius’s eyes rolled back in his head as Remus resumed their pace and kept talking to him, just barely loud enough for Sirius to hear even with his mouth so close.

“Who knows? You might just get your wish. Wanna show them some art, pretty baby?”

Sirius felt pinned down and glued in place. Between the weight of Remus on top of him, the look in his eyes, and his hand at his mouth, Sirius couldn’t have moved if he wanted to. He didn’t want to. The threat of being caught made the tension ratchet up, made the urgency of it as sharp as a skate blade. He wanted it. Wanted them, whoever they were, to see. See him held down and fucked ruthlessly by his gorgeous husband, a plaything for Remus to get off with, something needy and desperate that only belonged to Remus and no one else. Even if they wanted him for themselves, tried to tempt him away with bedroom eyes and bitten lips, it didn’t matter. It was just Remus to whom he’d crawl to on his hands and knees. Remus who he’d beg for, break for, breathe for.

The noise got closer and closer, and Sirius was certain at this point they must be close to the entrance to the room.

Remus’s eyes went glassy and then he was coming, lips bitten shut to keep from moaning out loud. Sirius could feel the hot streaks of it against his stomach, shirt rucked up and out of the way.

He paused only long enough to ride out his peak and then kept going, if anything, more intently now, watching Sirius with the same focus he gave everything he wanted.

“What’s in here?” A unfamiliar voice asked.

Oh fuck.

Sirius was coming helplessly, mouthing Remus’s name silently against his palm.

“Oh, nothing much. Come on, there’s a sculpture room down the hallway,” another voice answered.

The steps receded into the background, but Sirius wasn’t aware of anything beyond the hot pulse of his cock pouring into Remus, the solid weight of him the only thing holding Sirius down in his own body.

Remus moved his hand, replacing it with his mouth as he kissed Sirius down from his high.

“Perfect, baby. You’re so perfect for me,” he crooned between kisses. “Fucked me so good, sweetheart. Filled me up so well.”

The praise was heady, bubbling in his cortex and making his spine shiver.

“Holy fuck, Remus. You’re going to fucking kill me one day.”

Remus laughed, something dark and deep and promising.

“No way. Where’s the fun in that?”

Somehow, Remus got him back into his tux and got himself dressed, too. Sirius was certainly no help, still reeling from endorphins. He smoothed his hands through Sirius’s hair several times, eyeing it suspiciously. Sirius doubted there was anything he was going to do for it that avoided ‘just fucked,’ but if it made Remus feel better about it, he’d stand here and be pet.

They slipped back into the main room, most people lingering over after dinner drinks and fancy little desserts floating by on trays.

“Enjoying yourself?” Leo asked, giving Sirius a wry smile.

“I have no idea what you mean,” he sniffed.

“’Course not. Dumo’s house all over again,” Leo said, smirking into his whiskey.

“If I remember correctly, someone was really interested in looking at Dumo’s guest bathroom that night…” Sirius said. “Besides, didn’t Finn have that tie on earlier?”

Leo turned to look at Logan and Finn and rolled his eyes. Logan’s teal tie clashed with Finn’s navy suit. “They really are hopeless.”

“Good thing they’ve got you, huh?”

Leo laughed now. “Hardly. Who do you think it was that got them out of their ties in the first place?” He asked before wandering over toward the pair of them.

“I was going to get more drinks, but I’m kind of ready to go home,” Remus said, appearing at his elbow. “Think Leo’d be okay with it?”

Sirius snorted. “Leo will be just fine.”

He thought about getting Remus back out of all his fancy clothes, stretching him out in their bed and licking into him, tasting the place he’d just marked before pressing back into him and hearing Remus’s high whine from the almost-too-much of it all.

He looked over at Remus, who looked like he had similar ideas.

“What are you waiting for? Let’s go.”

#lumosinlove #fic o ween #coops

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buffintruder · 2 years ago

Note

for the wip ask game: truer than truth and/or DNG au

Thanks for the ask and for tagging me in the first place. (Referencing this ask game.)

DNG au is the Devil's Nest Gang au which I'm pretty sure I've talked about to you? I don't think I've worked on it any since then hah

It's the au where basically FMA goes differently and the Xing squad never go to Amestris and the Devil's Nest never gets destroyed, but Father and everyone still get defeated. Ling becomes crown prince some other way, but speaks out at the wrong moment against the Emperor or something and flees for his life to Amestris and ends up working at Greed's bar

...I thought I had posted excerpts on tumblr before but the search bar is not giving me results, so no idea if I've shared this part or not

When Ling was sent on yet another run to the butchery, he pondered over a good way to ask if Sig knew about what exactly the Devil's Nest gang got up to without sounding like some kid who had signed up for more than he could handle. By this point, he had developed a bit of a rapport with Sig. Mason was friendly, but their conversations had never gone further than generic niceties, and Ling had only met Izumi once, but she intimidated him. That left Sig as the only person in this entire country who wasn’t a criminal that Ling regularly talked to. He didn’t want to lose that. The butchery already had customers when Ling arrived, a pair of golden-haired men around his age talking to Sig. “—a trip, but she should be back tomorrow,” Sig was saying. The shorter one grumbled, but the taller one said, “Well, we’ll come by again, then.” With that, they turned to leave without buying anything, and Ling realized belatedly that they were probably Sig’s friends, not customers. As they passed, Ling noticed their eyes—both sets a shade of light brown that he had not seen on anyone else before. Perhaps that shade was more common in other parts of Amestris, but Ling had searched for immortality for too long not to be reminded of the tales of the golden-eyed, golden-haired Sage of the West. They were gone before he could think any more on that, and then Sig was looking at him, expectantly waiting for Ling to give his order.

Truer than Truth is a Donbrothers (Super Sentai) fic that was only going to be one part, but then I realized I couldn't fit the romance that I was writing this fic for into the story, so now it has a part 2.

Basically part 1 is centered around Sonoi, a guy from a different dimension of reality, and his journey through the later 2/3rds of the show (plus a bit canon-divergent post canon) as he tries to understand humans and the purpose of art, especially art that isn't realistic. Basically it plays on the idea that stylized art might not be realistic but it touches on emotions in a way that feels realer than reality (the idea came from something a professor I had said when he was talking about Japanese puppet theater)

Part 2 is post-canon (divergently) focused on Momoi Tarou. Canonically, Sonoi is into 'beautiful lies' and metaphors, so I'm trying to write his pov with a lot of figurative language, but Tarou literally dies if he tries to lie, so I'm trying to write his pov with zero metaphors or anything. Which is kind of challenging but fun. Anyway this is just the two of them doing vaguely couple-y things until someone asks them "are you dating or what??" and they're like "oh yeah i guess so."

The most fun part of part 1 is that in between each scene, there's a short section with one truth and one lie that connects thematically to the following scene. Idk how satisfied I am with it yet, but here are the first two:

Here is a lie: Momoi Tarou is like the moon, something that Sonoi can watch with ease. His existence is not harsh, neither life-giving nor deadly, not so direct and blinding as the sun. He merely tugs gently on the sea, constantly changing from night to night. Here is a truth: Sun or moon or something else, there is no celestial body close enough for Sonoi to touch.

Here is a truth: Momoi Tarou is like the sky, impossibly vast and unreachable; and Sonoi is like the sea, forever gazing up, reflecting that same blue. They could both stretch out into eternity and still never touch except for those most tumultuous of storms when cloud and rain reach down and the waves reach up and for one moment they can connect. Here is a lie: Sonoi is content with this.

#my writing

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beelsnack · 5 months ago

Text

A Shift In Perspective - An Elliot (SDV) x MC Commission for @azulcelestina

Thank you so much for commissioning me and being so patient with me!! You were a pleasure to work with.

For anyone who wants a commission, I'm still open! You can check out my prices here!

Also, just so everyone knows, I get permission from each client to share their comms on here. I send the completed fic once it is finished and only post it after being given the go ahead. It stays completely private if you want.

-----

Something about the sea air does wonders for the creative mind.

Usually Celeste did all of her painting in the farmhouse, but sometimes a change of scenery was in order. The wooden walls and floorboard were already splattered with paint, no matter how many newspapers she spread across her living room, and although she liked the artsy vibe it provided for her little cottage, she didn’t feel like scrubbing today.

Although maybe taking the forty-five minute walk to the beach with her easel and paints wasn’t the smartest idea.

Landscapes had always been a challenge for Celeste - perspective was a pain, and there was always something changing by the time she looked up from the canvas. But she had woken up motivated, so after doing her morning chores, which may or may not have included making sure every animal got a little kiss on the forehead, she packed up her art supplies, tied her wavy brown hair into the messiest bun imaginable, clipped her errant bangs out of the way with her sunflower clip and marched down to the beach.

There was a fine sheen of sweat across her forehead when her feet finally hit sand, and her arms were trembling from carrying her whole art set, but she couldn’t help but grin when she finally made it. It was still early, the sun just barely peeking up over the vast expanse of blue. Excellent.

As she approached the shoreline, Celeste bent down and undid the laces on her sneakers, slipping them off and carrying them in her unoccupied hand as she searched for the perfect spot to set up shop. The sun-warmed sand felt nice between her toes, but as she walked, she realized that loose, shifting sand may not be the ideal place to set down her easel. Maybe she should move down into the surf? But then she risked the sea water getting into her paints when she set them down.

“Oh, Celeste! What a surprise!”

The sound of a door shutting behind her made Celeste turn around. There, long golden hair tied back just as messily as hers and wearing a slightly wrinkled white t-shirt and a pair of red plaid sweatpants, was Elliot. He was smiling, but as he got closer she could see that he still looked a little bleary-eyed, and his hair was slightly damp.

“Elliot, good morning,” she waved. Well, tried to, as her shoes were still in her left hand.

“Forgive me, if I had known you would be here I would have dressed properly,” Elliot looked slightly sheepish as he approached her. The tops of his cheeks were faintly pink.

“If I had known you would be here, I would have kept my shoes on,” Celeste replied.

“No, please, don’t let me interfere with the creative process,” he stopped next to her. “I would never question an artist’s method.”

Celeste laughed, brown eyes crinkling at the edges. “I can’t wear anything on my feet when I paint, I don’t know why. One time, I wanted to paint the cows in the field, and I stepped on at least three rocks.”

“Oh, dear,” Elliot chuckled. “Did you want to paint the ocean today?”

Celeste nodded. “I wanted a bit of a challenge, but I’m running into more problems than I thought.”

“How so?”

“The sand isn’t steady enough for my easel,” she sighed, setting her load down onto the ground and rolling her sore shoulder. “I really wanted to get the waves rolling onto the beach though.”

“Perhaps the dock, then?” Elliot tilted his head, gazing past her at the long wooden boardwalk. “Nice and sturdy. You could get a side perspective of the surf crashing onto the sand.”

Celeste hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah, that would be nice. Good idea, thanks!”

“Of course,” Elliot gestured towards the dock. “I like to sit there in the morning and write a little, myself. Get the creative juices flowing, you know.”

“Why not sit with me?” Celeste bent down to pick up her easel. “Plenty of room for two, and a little company never hurt.”

“I wouldn’t want to impose,” Elliot inclined his head.

“It’s not imposing if I’m asking,” she smiled.

“Fair enough,” he chuckled. “Although, I must ask, did you intend to stand the whole time?”

Now Celeste found herself flushing. “I couldn’t carry my chair with me.”

“I have a stool you can borrow,” Elliot placed a hand on her elbow. “You go get set up, I’ll be right back.”

“Oh, thank you!” Celeste turned. “You’re a lifesaver. Or, well, a back saver, at the very least.”

Without fully intending to, Elliot’s gaze slid down her form as she mentioned her back. She really was quite lovely. Well-toned, likely from all of the hard work on the farm, and she carried herself with an air of gentle confidence. He shook himself out of his trance before it became inappropriate and cleared his throat. “No problem at all.”

By the time he returned with the stool - and brushed his hair, how could he allow himself to be seen with messy hair? - Celeste had placed her easel and had begun roughly sketching onto her canvas. The sun glinted off of her tan skin, and the water caused a rippling shine across her focused features. She was idly biting her lip as she looked up at the shoreline, and Elliot felt that familiar spark of inspiration kindle in the back of his mind.

“There you are,” he set the stool down next to her and settled himself down on the bench nearby. He had grabbed his notebook and a pen while inside, and already his hand was itching to begin writing.

“It’s nice to have someone to be creative with,” Celeste murmured, and Elliot couldn’t tell if she was talking to him or herself. Still, he smiled at her.

“Isn’t it? Sometimes it’s just the change we need to get that new perspective.”

She looked up at him with soft eyes. “Can I read your writing when you’re finished?”

He paused for a moment, thinking about what he intended on writing about, then ducked his head back down to the notepad in his lap to avoid her seeing the redness blooming across his cheeks.. “Of course."

#sdv #sdv elliot #elliot x mc #elliot x oc #commission

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khrystalsnow · 4 years ago

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February and March reads

🦋I've been swamped with school for the past two months, and these fics really saved me from dropping out of uni😭 I'm sorry if there's no reviews because this list is hella long(it’s mostly jungkook okay😭🤚🏼), but just know that I enjoyed each and every one of these fics.❤️

(pls let me know if there's any mistake or links that don’t work!)

LEGEND:

🥺Fluff

🤬Angst

😏Smut

😂Crack

❤️New Favourite

🦋KIM SEOKJIN

friends with snacks by @scriptaed 🥺

-roommates!au; friends to lovers!au; drabble

pretty girls don't get hurt by @ktheist 😏

-heir!doctor!seokjin x heiress!ceo!reader x best friend!heir!taehyung

uptown girl by @moononthejoon 😏🤬🥺

-bodyguard!seokjin + princess!reader + enemies to lovers!au

🦋MIN YOONGI

so I heard you like bad boys by @scriptaed 🥺

-uni!au; friends to lover!au; drabble

I'll Drive You by @min-youngis 🥺

-resident reader x idol yoongi

Buttering Up by @jimlingss 🥺

-Chef!AU

Fear and Dumplings by @softyoongiionly 🥺🤬😏❤️

-Underground Rapper! Yoongi, facing your fears

Greedy by @xjoonchildx 🤬😏❤️

-mafia AU

erotica by @whatifyoulivelikethat 😏

-non-idol!AU, they caught each other masturbating

baby, what's wrong? by @taeyohonic 🥺

-established relationship, idol au, reader has mild anxiety and a panic attack

until our last breath by @inkofyoongi 🥺

-Friends to lovers!AU, yoongi wants to be your boyfriend

switching my positions by @cupofteaguk 🥺🤬

-solo artist!yoongi, manager!y/n, fake dating au, friends to lovers au

universe by @personasintro 😏

-stalker au

Birthday Spanks by @jjungkookislife 😏

-free spanks!yoongi x free spanks!oc

new year, new us by @vantaenims 🥺🤬

-producer!yoongi x reader, exes au

The Mark of Yun-Ki by @ladyartemesia 😏🤬

-Hybrid/ABO AU, Royalty AU, Fantasy AU, Daechwita AU

baby, you can drive my car by @jungshookz 😂🥺😏🤬❤️

- mechanic!au, spoiltbrat!y/n

Third Wheeling by @untaemedqueen 😏🥺🤬

-Strangers to Lovers!AU, Cheating, Unexpected Pregnancy, CEO!Yoongi

desolate by @angelicyoongie 🤬😏🥺 NEW!

-cat hybrid

straight shooter by @snackhobi 😏🤬🥺❤️ NEW!

-hitman!yoongi, black market dealer/gunsmith!reader

pour some sugar on me by @yoonia 😏 NEW!

-Enemies to Lovers!au, Baker!au

🦋JUNG HOSEOK

same old mistakes by @xbaepsae 🥺😏🤬

-country club!au, rich boy!hoseok x reader

I Don’t Know What to Call This by @httphopewrld 🥺😏

-friend/lover/bfhoseok! x female reader

suncity by @jamaisjoons 😏🥺🤬

-trip to Barcelona, stranges to lovers au

cry to my room by @kithtaehyung 😏🤬

-friends to lovers, roommates au

play me like a toy by @ktheist 😏🤬

-mafia heiress!reader x ex-mafia!director!hoseok, chaebol-mafia family au. arranged marriage au

🦋KIM NAMJOON

Bear and Sparrow by @sahmfanficbts 😏🥺🤬❤️

-immigrant AU, strangers to lovers

Mr. and Mrs. Kim series by @sahmfanficbts 😏🥺

-every chapter is NSFW (married)

Call of Duty by @sahmfanficbts 🥺😏🤬

-Military!Namjoon x female!reader

you’ve got a friend in me by @wwilloww 😏

-best friend and roommate

A Match Made in Heaven by @sahmfanficbts 😏🥺😂❤️

-Med School Resident!Namjoon x Dental School resident female!Reader, Strangers to Lovers

Laundry day by @snackhobi 😏🥺

-neighbour joon who caught you masturbating

beautiful boy by @jinpanman 🥺🤬❤️

-namjoon x OC, namjoon x reader, single dad!namjoon, baby!jimin

unbroken by @sahmfanficbts 😏🥺🤬

-Idol!Namjoon x Female Bonsai Grower!Reader, from one-night stand to forever

glasses-clad boy by @jeongi 😏🥺

-tutor joon

these hands are calloused. by @ktheist 🥺🤬

-underground fighter!namjoon x florist!reader

Forget Me Not by @joontopia 🤬🥺😏NEW!

-exes to lovers, valentine’s day

🦋PARK JIMIN

Perfect Pebble by @jjkthclub 🥺

-they meet at a wedding and they go on dates because oc doesn't believe in love

PARK JIMIN HAS SEEN MY GRANNY PANTIES by @ladyartemesia 😏😂

-teachers AU, the reader falls down the stairs

delivered, I’m yours by @suhdays 😂🥺

-valet jimin x baker reader

driver’s license by @gyukult 🤬

-coming-of-age, one-sided!au, brothersbestfriend!au

plums & melons by @winetae 😏😂🤬

-brother’s best friend!au

tears on a silver platter by @flowerwrites06 🤬❤️NEW!

-Idol!Jimin x OC (Name: Gaia), jimin calls his girlfriend clingy

moonlight by @kooksea 😏🥺 NEW!

-singer!jimin, traveller!jimin, artist!reader

🦋KIM TAEHYUNG

Endymion by @marginalmadness 😏❤️

-Druid!Taehyung x Witch!Reader

welcome to my youtube channel by @tteokggukk 🥺

-idol!taehyung x youtuber!reader

Comeback Home by @another-army-spot 😏🤬🥺❤️

-exs-to-lovers!au, teenparents!au, college!tae, businesswoman!oc

heart strung symphonies by @inkedtae 😏🥺🤬

-opera singer!taehyung x pianist!reader

Saudade by @chateautae 😏🥺🤬

-idol!taehyung x choreographer!reader, established relationship

kinda hot by @kimnjss 😏🥺🤬❤️

-campus flirt!taehyung x sweet girl!reader, sm au, best friends to lovers

definition of love by @taegularities 😏🥺🤬

-college!au, tae takes interest in you, past minor character death, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of unhealthy coping mechanisms

the snow king by @bloomsuga 😏🥺🤬❤️

-princess!reader x ice prince!tae

cursed by @bloomsuga 😂🥺🤬😏 NEW!

-witch!taehyung x cursed!reader, sm au

🦋JEON JUNGKOOK

golden hour by @tteokggukk 😏

-photographer! jungkook x reader

At the stroke of Midnight by @pars-ley 🥺😏🤬

-A Cinderella story au / comedy / popular jock jungkook / best friend Jimin

cry baby by@namgee 😏🥺

-fwb au, rollerskating

Heart of the Storm by @ladyartemesia 🥺😏🤬

-Secret Feelings/Strangers to Lovers

baecation by @1kook 😏

-richboy!jk, vacation

a table turned. and a line crossed. by @underthejoon 😏

-guard jk and oc is a tease

exclamation mark by @whatifyoulivelikethat 😏

-non-idol!AU; tattoo artist, dom!Jungkook x tattooed, sub!reader

Give Me A Try by @jjkthclub 😏

-friendstolovers!au, jungkook is the campus fuckboy

Domestic Fairy by @borathae 🥺😏

-established relationship, domestic!AU

open invitation by @jimidol 😏🥺🤬

-duke!jungkook x duchess!reader

take my whole life too by @ktheist 😏🤬

-chaebol au. arranged marriage au. expecting parents au, house husband!jeongguk

love letter by @whatifyoulivelikethat 😏

-non-idol!BTS, jk gets love letters

tingle by @hansolmates 😏

-tattoo artist!jungkook x tattooed!reader (f)

come over by @bratkook 😏

-jungkook is a self proclaimed pervert, voyeurism through bedroom windows

i don't mind by @bratkook 😏🥺🤬❤️

-rockstar!Jungkook x reader, jk being chased by security and barges oc’s car

busted in busan by @hansolmates 😏🥺🤬

- snowbound at the airport, christmas detour!au

crush by @jungxk 🥺😂😏🤬

-jk got hit by a car and lost some of his memories

Days to Morning Glory by @sketchguk 🤬😏🥺

-Aspiring Rockstar!Jeongguk x Med. Student!Reader, exes to lovers, roommate AU, high school sweethearts

stranded by @gguksgalaxy 😏🥺🤬

-Enemies to lovers, fuck/badboy!Jungkook, they study for their law exam

concrete king by @bratkook 🥺😏❤️

- skaterboy!jk x reader, sweet summer romance

risky business by @jjkthclub 😏

-enemiestolovers!au, office bathroom sex

ZOOM CALL by @1kook 🥺😏❤️

-comfort fic, quarantine fic

roses, poetry and jeon by @seraphimguks 🥺🤬

-bookstore employee!jungkook x reader

ocean eyes by @jimidol 🥺😏

-firefighter!jungkook x teacher!reader, he surprised you by dying his hair based on your favorite song.

shiver by @hansolmates 😏🤬❤️

- bad boy!jungkook x church girl!reader, childhood friends to lovers

clandestine by @junghelioseok 😏🥺

-brother’s best friend!au,

One-Step Forward, Two-Steps Back by @oureuphoria 🤬🥺

-tattoo artist jungkook x college student reader, oc falls for her roommate’s fwb

I like U by @pbandjk 😏🥺🤬

-fratboy! Fwb Jungkook Au, oc is a boss lady in the tech industry

A Date With Destiny by @missgeniality 😏🥺😂

-Strangers to Lovers, Idol!AU,

the art of wanting by @venusiangguk 😏

-dilf!jk x grocery store clerk!oc

brown-eyed baby by @jeonstudios 😏🥺🤬

-exes to friends to lovers, single dad!jk x reader, a lost child at the mall

almost home by @angelguk 🤬

-dad!jungkook & nanny!oc, both jungkook and oc are scarred from their previous relationships

the secret beneath our stars by @subvk 🤬😏

-friends to lovers au, marriage pact with jk

Blue Spring by @adonis-koo 😏🥺🤬

-Single dad!Jungkook/Reader, Daycare AU, Slice of life

jealousy by @jimidol 🥺🤬😏 NEW!

-tattoo artist!jungkook, parents au

young one by @bts-reveries 🤬🥺❤️ NEW!

-photographer, dad!jungkook x hostess, mom!reader, sm au and written

effortlessly by @gyukult 😏🥺NEW!

-friends to lovers, school!au

selfie by @whatifyoulivelikethat 🥺😏NEW!

-rom-com, slice-of-life, oppa’s bestfriend!Jungkook x SHINee fangirl!reader

too close by @cutechim 🤬NEW!

-wife!reader x boxer!jungkook (ft. ex boyfriend!namjoon)

caked by @gukslut 🥺😏 NEW!

-Established Relationship, very smutty

My Time by @btsracket 😏 NEW!

-rich, dom jungkook spoiling his girl

The Speedo by @gukslut 😏🥺 NEW!

-oc thinks he’s a fuckboy, but he has fallen in love

the ebb and flow (part 8) by @xbaepsae 🤬 NEW!

-demigod!jeongguk x demigod!reader, percy jackson!au

🦋OT7/SERIES

Gangs of Fate by @pars-ley 🥺🤬

-Mafia au / feat. Members of Exo

bon appetite series by @jamaisjoons

-Valentines series

Guarded series by @xjoonchildx

-mafia AU

#ReadingList #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #FebruaryandMarchReadingList

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live-the-fangirl-life · 3 years ago

Text

Monstrous Morning Brews

Aelin Galathynius x Rowan Whitethorn - Halloween Lattes

Rowan keeps asking himself why he orders the same, overly-sweet, coffee every day when he prefers it black and bitter. Oh, the golden-haired barista—that’s why.

Fic inspired by the title image 👻🎃

Masterlist | Read on Ao3 | Halloween Collection

Warnings: Language

1838 words

*******

“Large pumpkin latte for Rowan!”

Rowan’s head snapped up as the barista’s voice rang out through the small café. He carefully finished setting down his laptop and books before striding towards the pickup counter.

Aelin was leaning onto the counter’s other side, her golden blonde hair pulled up in a precarious bun as she smiled brightly at him.

“Thank you,” he grabbed the drink and offered her a crooked smile of his own.

“I gave you a ghost this morning, what do you think?” she was grinning as he finally dragged his eyes from hers and looked at the image gracing the top of his coffee.

This was what the café was known for—well, what Aelin was known for, seeing as she was the one to pitch this particular menu item. Specialty designed latte art. Not that latte art was her idea, or new by any means, but Aelin was the one to suggest that the café start allowing customers the choice of images, letters, or patterns on their drinks, for an extra charge of course.

After the first few Instagram posts circulated of various designs, the café soon had long lines of people waiting to get their custom lattes. These days, with Autumn in full swing, many of the Halloween themed images were in high demand.

The first time Rowan visited the café it was only because he’d passed out the night before at his friend’s apartment and desperately needed caffeine before making his way home. This place wasn’t remotely close to either his house or to campus, but he found himself driving the longer commute just to see a certain barista.

He’d been struck by her golden hair and bright blue eyes the first time he’d come in and she’d barely been able to piece his order together because Rowan had somehow reverted to his flustered by a pretty girl teenage phase. Which was why when she’d asked what design he wanted on his latte (when had he ordered a latte?) all he’d managed to say was surprise me.

Watching her eyes light up and a wide grin spread across her face, Rowan decided he would let her choose his design whenever he ventured to the café and bought one of the special lattes.

‘Whenever’ then becoming every day.

But it wasn’t the artistic coffees that brought Rowan back day after day, it was the sharp-tongued, cheerful, stunning barista who smiled at him whenever he walked in. Aelin, who got excited whenever she could draw something new on his drink; who always tried striking up a conversation with him despite his multiple failed attempts at not looking foolish in front of her; who, today, had put a cute little ghost on the top of his coffee.

He chuckled at the little ghost that shook as he gripped the mug. “It’s boo-tiful”

Rowan froze, regretting his stupid pun before the words even finished spilling out of his mouth. What? Why in Hellas’ name would he make such a corny joke—

Aelin laughed and grinned wider but was cut off from replying as another customer approached the till.

Rowan hastily walked back to his table, careful not to disturb the intricate design atop his drink. As he glanced around the café, he was happy to note that besides his, there were only two other tables occupied.

He set the ghostly latte next to his computer and situated himself for the next few hours.

First, Rowan took out his earbuds and turned his study playlist to shuffle. He hated the loud, chatting crowds that sometimes overtook the café.

Next, he pulled out a few bags of snacks, some grapes and crackers. He wasn’t a fan of the overpriced too-sweet pastries on display.

Finally, Rowan looked at Aelin and watched as she ducked into the back and out of sight, before stealthily pulling out his thermos. It was filled with freshly brewed, hot, black coffee. Because he absolutely, without a doubt, hated pumpkin lattes.

***

As soon as the leaves had started changing, the café’s menu was overtaken by pumpkin, caramel, and cinnamon.

The rich aromas were comforting, especially as the weather got colder, but that also meant his already-unwanted latte was now overflowing with the sickly-sweet artificial pumpkin flavor. He knew Aelin loved it; he’d seen her make her own drinks while on shift to know she adored the pumpkin lattes and hot apple ciders.

Maybe that was why he still pretended to enjoy the monster-covered drinks.

In the last few weeks, Aelin had given him coffees with pumpkins, bones, and leaves, as well as more intricate designs like a wolf howling at a moon or a witch on a broomstick.

Rowan would buy a thousand sugar-filled lattes if it meant seeing her proud smile as she handed over his coffee.

Aelin’s voice snapped him out of his reverie as she walked over towards his table and swept some dust and old crumpled wrappers from the ground. “Not thirsty?”

Not for coffee. He shook off his immediate thought and fought the blush that rose as she tilted her head and waited for his answer. Gods, he hadn’t been this horrible with girls since high school.

He cleared his throat, “Sorry, what?” Smooth.

Her lips quirked to the side as she nodded at his latte which was as full as it’d been when he picked it up more than an hour ago. “Are you not thirsty?” Then her brow furrowed as she asked, “Or was something wrong with it? I could make you another one—”

“No!” His eyes flew wide as her brows flew up at his quick response. “Uh, I mean, no, there wasn’t anything wrong with it. I just, uh, I got distracted.” To prove his point, Rowan plucked up his mug and took a large sip. It took everything in him not to cringe at the sugary taste.

“Oh, okay,” Aelin smiled, apparently believing his role of latte-enthusiast. “Well, if you need anything else, just shout. I’ll be in the back.”

That’s when he noticed that he was the only customer left in the café. He smiled at her again and she paused.

“I just noticed you have dimples,” Aelin told him, grinning. “They’re cute.” Then she winked and walked behind the counter and through the back door.

Rowan sat frozen, blinking slowly at the spot Aelin had just been standing, trying to remember how to breathe. She noticed his dimples. He didn’t even know he had dimples. She thought they were cute.

His heart was beating hard in his chest and he couldn’t have repressed his broad grin even if he tried.

In an effort to calm himself down, Rowan reached into this bag and drew out his thermos to take a long drag of the bitter coffee. He’d just taken a second large gulp when the back door swung open and Aelin flounced into the main sitting area.

“Sorry, I forgot to grab the broom—” She halted three steps from him as her eyes darted between his face, the thermos of black coffee, and the barely-touched latte. “I—what?”

Rowan guiltily lowered the thermos to the table, swallowing the coffee as he met her accusatory glare with his own wide-eyed gaze. He felt like he’d been caught red-handed committing a felony, not drinking homemade coffee in Aelin’s café.

“I, uh, well,” he stammered.

Aelin merely crossed her arms and raised a single golden brown as she waited for him to say something. When it became clear that he wouldn’t—or couldn’t—explain, she sighed.

“Rowan, is that coffee?”

“Yes.”

“You bring your own coffee to a coffee shop?”

“Yes.” He could’ve sworn she was fighting a smirk.

“Can I ask why you bring your own coffee to a coffeeshop? Especially when you buy a coffee every single day?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, surely red from his embarrassment, and winced. “Yeah, you can ask that.”

Aelin rolled her eyes, stepping towards his table to lean her hip against it. “Okay. Why do bring your own coffee to a coffee shop, when you buy a coffee every day?”

Rowan was tall enough that even while sitting he was able to easily look her in the eye as she stood at his table. Theoretically easy, yes; Actually easy, when he wasn’t sure his embarrassment would ever fade away, no. He rubbed a hand down his face and loosed a heavy sigh.

This was it, he had to come clean. She would find out he’d been lying to her and only buying lattes as an excuse to talk to her despite never having the balls to actually say anything in his favor, and she would call him creepy and ask that he never return. But she was staring at him expectantly, and if there was one thing he had learned it was that he had no defenses when it came to Aelin.

“Here’s the thing,” he began slowly, “I don’t actually like lattes.”

Aelin blinked. Twice. “But you get always get a specialty latte.”

He winced. “I do.”

She was silent for a minute and Rowan mentally kicked himself and was already preparing to pack up his stuff and leave when she tossed her head back and laughed.

Aelin laughed.

Rowan gaped as the girl he’d been hard-core crushing over laughed relentlessly at his confession. He couldn’t even be embarrassed or confused because he was too startled by how beautiful she looked when she laughed

“You,” she gasped through another laugh, “come in here every day and pay for a drink you hate—why?”

Rowan opened his mouth to give some lame excuse, but he stared at her as she calmed down and beamed at him, as if she already knew the answer and was just waiting for him to confirm it.

Drawing up a scrap of the bravado he’d lost every time he entered the café, Rowan cleared his throat and looked Aelin in the eyes as he told her, “Because it gives me a reason to talk to you, and you look so happy making those drinks.”

By the way her smile grew impossibly brighter, Rowan knew he’d said the right thing.

“That is endearingly stupid.”

His face fell but before he could utter another word, Aelin leaned down and pressed her lips to his cheek. The soft kiss short-circuited Rowan’s brain and he remained sitting as Aelin quickly darted back behind the counter and started pushing buttons on one of the machines.

The next thing he knew, Aelin was back at his table with a large cup of fresh, black coffee. “Just so you know,” she grinned as he blinked up at her, “I liked making those drinks, but I liked the customer who ordered them more.” With one last wink, Aelin disappeared back behind the counter, the light scent of pumpkin following in her wake.

Rowan’s grin didn’t falter for the rest of day once he noticed ten scribbled digits and a small waving ghost on the side of his cup.

*****

Taglist:

@acourtofsnakes @allthebooksunderthemoon @astra-ad-mare @becarefuloflove @booklover41802 @charlizeed @cookiemonsterwholovesbooks @danibutterr @doubt-less @emily-gsh @enormousbooklover @foughtconquered @fromthelibraryofemilyj @hakunamatatazz @i-have-but-one-brain-cell @in-love-with-caramel-macchiato @jorjy-jo @lemonade-coolattas @mariamuses @mayhemories @midsizewitch @miserablesmusings @morganofthewildfire @nehemikkele @rowaelinismyotp @rowansfirebringer @sayosdreams @sheharahu @sleeping-and-books @stardelia @story-scribbler @superspiritfestival @themoonthestarsthesuriel @swankii-art-teacher @tomtenadia @westofmoon @whimsicallyreading @moodymelanist @angelic-voice-1997 @realbookloverproblems @gracie-rosee @julemmaes @yesdreamblog @the-regal-warrior @rowanaelinn @thestoriesyoutell @autumnbabylon @sunflowermoonshinewrites @maastrash @annejulianneh111

#rowaelin #aelin x rowan #rowan x aelin #aelin #rowan #aelin galathynius #rowan whitethorn #rowaelin fic #aelin and rowan #rowan and aelin #rowaelin fluff #rowaelin au #halloween #coffee shop #throne of glass #tog

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phenomenice · 3 years ago

Photo

So excited to get to post these now! I’ve been working on art for @radiantmists‘ wonderful fic, see fire in their eyes for @pilesofnonsense RQBB 2021 collaborating with @dedicatedfollower467. Please check out the fic and def’s art! The fic is a superhero AU so we decided to do comic-style works and def was a huge help laying them out because this was a GIANT challenge for me! Also, each row of panels is from a different section of a given chapter of the fic, so please check them out in context! Def and I worked on alternate chapters so there’s art for each one.

This was such a wonderful experience, thanks so much to Edgedancer and Def as well as the RQBB crew!

Image ID’s under the cut because they are CHONKY.

Panels for chapter 1:

Row 1: A digitally coloured comic panel featuring Amelie Rose from Rusty Quill Gaming. Amelie Rose, a white human with chestnut hair in a bun wears a purple jacket and holds a microphone. She says, "Amelie Rose, here live outside the Office of the Meritocracy ..." as she stands in front of a grey concrete brutalist building covered in plants. They sky is blue and the lighting is bright to indicate a sunny day.

Row 2: A digitally coloured comic panel featuring (left to right) a supervillain, Zolf Smith and Hamid Saleh Haroun al Tahan from Rusty Quill Gaming. At the top of the image, a text box reads "Hamid had watched with creeping nausea ..." On the left side of the image, Hamid's television shows a cowering supervillain surrounded by a fire he set as a huge jet of water, deployed by Zolf, douses the flames. Zolf stands in front of the villain, commanding the water. On the right, Hamid, am Egyptian halfling man with a warm taupe complexion and deep brown hair looks on. His fingers are brought to his mouth and he stares in concentrated shock at the image.

Row 3: A digitally coloured comic panel featuring (left to right) Azu, Hamid Saleh Haroun al Tahan and Grizzop drik acht Amsterdam from Rusty Quill Gaming. Azu, a brown-skinned orc woman wearing a pink tank top and holding a purple athletic back, says "Hamid! Good morning!" as she looks with a slight smile at Hamid. Hamid, an Egyptian halfling man weaing a purple jacket, responds "Good morning, Azu!" Grizzop, a grey goblin with red eyes, is walking past Hamid to get on with his day looking focused.

Panels for chapter 3:

Row 1: A digitally coloured comic panel featuring (left to right) Hamid Saleh Haroun al Tahan, Oscar Wilde and Zolf Smith from Rusty Quill Gaming. Hamid, an Egyptian halfling man wearing a purple jacke, says "Erm ... happy birthday, Zolf." Zolf, a white dwarf with white hair and a braided beard, faces Hamid. He is wearing a dark blue coat and says "Pleasure's mine." Oscar, a white human man with brown hair stands behind him, with his hand on Zolf's back, smiling slightly. He wears a grey suit with teal highlights and an aqua tie. On the right side of the image, Hamid's hand with long green thumbnail passes a small gift wrapped in purple with teal ribbon to Zolf's hand. Zolf has short fingernails and white arm hair.

Row 2: A digitally coloured comic panel featuring (left to right) Sasha Racket, Hamid Saleh Haroun al Tahan, Azu and Grizzop drik acht Amsterdam from Rusty Quill Gaming. On the left side of the image: Sasha Racket, a white woman with dark hair and a scar on the side of her face wearing a dark grey jacket and trousers opens a trap door in the floor. Azu, a brown-skinned orc woman in a pink and purple costume and Grizzop, a red-eyed grey goblin in a dark grey tactical outfit gather around to investigate. The back of Hamid's head is visible at the bottom of the image as he looks on. On the right side of the image: Azu and Grizzop have climbed into the basement through the trap door. Hamid's knees are visible as Azu holds out a hand to help Hamid down. Grizzop says, "Oh -- sorry" as he looks up at Hamid as he's forgotten to turn on his flashlight and it is very dark in the basement.

Row 3: A digitally coloured comic panel featuring (left to right) Einstein, Eldarion, Hamid Saleh Haroun al Tahan, Azu, Grizzop drik acht Amsterdam and Sasha Racket from Rusty Quill Gaming. Einstein, a white man wearing a full-face Venetian mask with white feathers around it and a grey coat, stands behind Eldarion. Eldarion, an elf woman, also wears a full-face Venetian mask tied behind her dark brown bun. She is wearing a dark burgundy velvet sleeveless evening dress and opera gloves, with a watch under her glove around her right wrist. On the right side of the image: Hamid, an Egyptian halfling man wearing a purple jacket; Azu, a brown-skinned orc woman wearing a pink and purple costume; Grizzop, a grey goblin with red eyes wearing a dark grey tactical outfit; and Sasha Racket, a white woman with a scar on the side of her face wearing a dark grey jacket and her arms crossed face off against Einstein and Eldarion. Grizzop says, "And you worked with this person?"

Panels for chapter 5:

Row 1: A digitally coloured comic panel featuring (left to right) Azu, Hamid Saleh Haroun al Tahan, Oscar Wilde, Apophis and Zolf Smith from Rusty Quill Gaming. At the top right of the image, a text box reads "As the door before him had been wrenched open, his whole world had been washed in heat." The text is italicized. Hamid's arms, originally those of a halfling with a warm taupe complexion, have become dragonlike. He has brassy and orangey scales, and his green-pained nails have become more clawlike. He is clutching several test tubes which have broken, spilling neon pink liquid over his hands and throwing shards of glass into the air. To the right of the image, a huge burst of orange, red and yellow flame throws three figures into silhouette. Sparks and black specks of ash surround them.

Row 2: A digitally coloured comic panel featuring (left to right) Azu, Hamid Saleh Haroun al Tahan, Sasha Racket, Grizzop drik acht Amsterdam, Oscar Wilde, and Zolf Smith from Rusty Quill Gaming. Azu, wearing a pink and purple costume; Hamid, an Egyptian halfling man wearing a purple jack; Sasha, a white woman with dark hair in a dark coat with a scar on the side of her face; and Grizzop, a red-eyed grey goblin wearing a grey jacket all approach a set of bars. Grizzop says "Yeah, we're here, you absolutely idiot". On the other side of the bars, Oscar Wilde leans against the grey stone wall. He is a white man with brown hair wearing a grey coat with teal accents and an aqua tie. He is bruised and has blood on the right side of his mouth. Zolf, a white dwarf man, sits beside him. He is also a bit bruised and wears a dark blue coat. He has white hair and a braided white beard.

Row 3: A digitally coloured comic panel featuring (left to right) Hamid Saleh Haroun al Tahan, Oscar Wilde and Zolf Smith from Rusty Quill Gaming. Hamid, an Egyptian halfling man, is on the left of the image in extreme close-up. He wears a shocked expression and there are bright orange lines around his face to emphasize his shock. Wilde, a white human man with brown hair, is bruised and has blood on the right side of his mouth. He says "they want Hamid." He is wearing a grey coat with green accents and an aqua tie. Zolf is to the right, looking intensely at Hamid. He is a white dwarf with a braided beard and scar on hsi left temple.

Panels for chapter 7:

Row 1: A digitally coloured comic panel featuring (left to right) Eldarion, Oscar Wilde, and Azu from Rusty Quill Gaming. In the top part of the image, a black military boot and a copper stylish men's shoe stand on floorboards. Below the floor, Eldarion, an elf woman, Oscar, a white man with bruises, and Azu, a brown-skinned orc woman look apprehensively towards the upper floor. Wilde is wearing a coat with teal accents and an aqua tie. Azu clutches her morningstar over her shoulder. The background of the image is a dark reddish room in deep shadow.

Row 2: A digitally coloured comic panel featuring (left to right) Azu, Hamid Saleh Haroun al Tahan, Oscar Wilde, Apophis and Zolf Smith from Rusty Quill Gaming. Azu, a brown-skinned orc woman, is wearing a pink and purple costume and stands behind Hamid, backing him up. Hamid, an Egyptian halfling man, is in a purple and green suit and in a defiant stance with his arms out. He is addressing Apophis, an Egyptian man, and says, "As long as you're going to be transparent with us, and you're trying to make the world better ... yeah. We'll help." Apophis sits in a wingback chair in the middle of an indistinct, dimly lit red room. His fingers are steepled and he is regarding Hamid thoughtfully. He wears a grey suit, copper ascot, and red shirt. The back of Wilde's head with his brown hair is visible a the bottom of the image. Zolf stands off to the right, a white dwarf man with white hair and beard. His beard is braided with a golden ring set with an emerald. He wears a blue coat.

#rqbb2021 #rusty quill big bang 2021 #rusty quill big bang #rqg #rqg fanart #rqg fancomic #rusty quill gaming #my art #art for fics

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perseusjackson-jasongrace · 4 years ago

Text

Come Alive

A huge thank you to @kiragenta for letting me write a fanfiction based on their incredible art!

Masterlist, Kiragenta's art that inspired this fic (please go check it out and give it some love!), Kiragenta's Tumblr; passerotto means little sparrow: someone who is learning how to fly

This was honestly the most fun and probably one of my favourite pieces to write. And, with their permission, here is one of the two panels that @kiragenta did!

Percy Jackson leans his head against the rough stone wall of the coffee shop and sips the café con leche he had taken to go. The streets of Rome are just starting to wake up and people rush around each other and into various shops. It seems a Friday morning in the city is a hive of energy before the slam of the weekend. Yet something inside him feels uncharacteristically dull. In fact he has felt like this since the beginning of this trip and frankly it is starting to piss him off. Nobody should be able to make him feel like this. And especially not his dick of a father who decides when and where to drop into and out of his life without warning. It was a new low to abandon him in a city he knew nothing about but to his credit he's only a little surprised.

Now he drains the rest of the coffee and chucks the cup in a trashcan nearby, punching the air when it lands inside with a rattle. The cobblestones under him press into the soles of his shoes as he picks a direction and starts down it. He doesn't have a destination so whichever way he goes he'll land up where he needs to be. Or at least that's what's supposed to happen. So far his wanderings have led him to a dried up fountain, a little cottage on the outskirts of town with more vines than wall, and just yesterday a café that admittedly sold delicious gnocchi and unbelievable coffee, but was not a life changing venture as he had hoped.

The flowers spilling onto the sidewalk from the outside of every shop make him want to become a florist, just so he can spend his days amongst them. He stops in front of a box of daffodils and brushes his fingers against their soft petals. Gods he loves flowers. He loves their colours, and how two flowers on the same branch don't even look the same but they're both gorgeous nonetheless. A woman comes out with warm brown eyes and a kind smile.

"You like them?"

"They're beautiful," He nods.

"Then you must have one,"

And before he can protest her hands are already reaching for the bloom and gently breaking the stem. "When people look at my flowers the same way you do," She hands him the daffodil. He puts it behind his ear. "Their souls are made of sunshine."

A tiny kernel of gold unfurls in his chest. "How do you know that?"

Her smile is warmth and sweetness and full of compassion, "Only the people who care about things that do not serve them can have that look."

"Thank you," He touches the flower tucked behind his ear, "For everything."

"Something is going to change to day passerotto," She looks into him then, her molten brown eyes staring into his ocean green ones, "The winds of the sea say so."

Percy would have called her crazy but for some reason he believes her, can feel it to. He just nods trying to wrap his head around the day and the conversation and, and, and...

"Come back for coffee this afternoon. We have the best americanos on this side of the square."

"I will," He promises preparing to head off in his destination-less direction, but something stops him, "Do you—" He swallows, "Can you recommend a place I should visit?"

"Have you seen the Grazia Salvatrice yet?"

He shakes his head, intrigued.

"Walk a ways, past the fountain in the square and over the bridge. There is usually a big crowd there but it should be relatively empty at this time."

"Thank you," He smiles, bright and hopeful for the first time in a while, "And I'll come back at the end of the day."

"Goodbye Perseus." She gives a motherly pat on his cheek before disappearing into her café once more.

It's only when he's past the fountain that he realises he never told her his name. But suddenly he's standing in an archway and there's a group of people excitedly chattering near him and he feels like he's known the world since he was stardust. He feels...alive.

He moves out of the archway and into an open space with little else save for the statue and small orange tree, just starting to ripen. He makes his way around until he can see the statue in all its glory. And gods is it glorious. It's as if someone draped a blanket of stone over a person. It looks so real. He looks real. A strong jaw and a fierce expression. Fists clenched like he's ready to fight, or holding back. And shoulders that look big enough to carry the world. Percy wants to know everything about the statue. Wants to know why it’s there, who it is, why they chose that gorgeous grey stone instead of bronze or brass. He wants to know the story. The group of people who were cooing over the statue moments ago now disperse until only a couple stood there, hands joined and eyes looking hopeful as they stare at the hardened expression.

He sits down on the bench and watches them, not expecting much.

But then one of the ladies drops a flower at the statue’s feet and he finally notices the small pile of brightness collecting there. Curious still, he looks at them and watches with wide eyed fascination as she swipe a thumb over the cool stone of his chest and then gently, ever so gently, place a kiss to his lips. The other girl does the same ritual and then they giggle and kiss each other.

His feet are moving before his brain has time to think and suddenly he's standing in front of them.

"Hi," He waves, "Sorry to interrupt."

"Hello," The girl with dark brown skin and braided hair grins at him, her black eyes sparkling. "How are you?" American, he deduces.

The other girl, tawny skin with white patches across her chest and on her cheeks, looks at him inquisitively but offers nothing but a smile.

"I'm good thanks. I just—" He looks past them at the statue, which was so much closer now. Close enough that he felt the strange warmth it emitted. "I just wanted to ask why you left a flower and kissed the statue?"

"Oh," The American girl laughs brightly, "Apparently if you leave a flower the statue will grant freedom. If you swipe its chest you will be granted love. And if you kiss it you will find home."

"And you can just do all three?"

"According to my girlfriend here," She points to her right.

"It is true." He can here the girl is native Italian. "Many people have found what they are looking for at the Grazia Salvatrice." She nods deftly.

"Okay," He offers them a smile and hopes it doesn't reflect the butterflies racing through his stomach. "Thank you."

"Bye," The American says before lacing her fingers through her girlfriend's and tugging them both away.

The little area is weirdly quite, save for the coo of a few birds and the bustle from the street there is nothing and no-one. He takes a deep breath and turns to the statue. There's something about its eyes he cannot get over. It's the way they burn. No that's not right. They almost...... crackle. It reminds him of electricity, lightning, storms. And the air around the stone is charged, makes the hair on his arms stand up. His eyes graze over the piece and catch on the clenched fist. He wants so badly to unfurl those fingers and interlace his own with them.

He's surprised by his reaction but something is drawing him to this ancient stone that he cannot, will not ignore. Taking another deep breath he steps closer until his hoodie brushes against the greyed chest. He doesn't even care about the dust that marks the blue fabric because suddenly the world disappears and the only thing he can hear is the crashing waves of an ocean and the rolling thunder of a storm. Slowly, carefully, he takes the daffodil from behind his ear and drops it by their feet.

"For freedom." He whispers.

And then a shaky brown hand is reaching up and he swipes a thumb over the stony chest.

"For love."

He looks at the sculpted cheekbones and sharp brows and reaches up to touch the perfectly styled hair. He wishes he could run his hands through it. Instead he let's his hand fall to the statues neck, cradling the back of its head softly.

"For home."

And then Percy Jackson sears his lips to the stone and light bursts from his chest. Rays of sunshine radiate from their bodies, but his eyes are closed and he is lost to the world. The statue moves beneath his fingers and he pulls it to him. He doesn't want this to end.

The stone is soft under his palms and he tugs at the warm skin to get them closer, together. This kiss will last for—

He jumps back with a gasp. The stone moved. The stone is moving. It is soft. And moving.

He collapses to the cobbled ground as he watches the statue come alive. The rays of light spilling from his own chest go unnoticed. Slowly the grey tinge bleeds away to reveal golden skin, and faded black pants, and hair that he is sue is spun from sunlight, and eyes the colour of topaz, of brooks, and oceans, and the sky.

"What the—" He splutters, "Who— How—"

His brain is on fire, underwater, buried alive. This is not real.

"Hello," The voice is gravely, naturally or from disuse he doesn't know.

"You were a—" He gasps, "And now you're a—"

Words. He needs words. What's language? What's the alphabet?

"Where am I?" The statue— no, boy—asks.

Percy cradles his head in his hands and tries to form a coherent thought, any thought.

"I'm sorry," The golden boy mutters, staring at the buildings and streets and everything. "Could you help me? I don't know where I am?"

"Yes," He answers rawly, "Apparently neither do I."

"What's going on?" He can hear the frown in the boy's voice.

"You were a statue, about one minute ago. And now you're... well a human?" He chokes out.

"I was what?" Those eyebrows knit in confusion.

"Yes. See that stand there?" Percy points to the empty block of polished bronze with a small plaque on it. "You were standing there a few moments ago, as stone."

"I don't understand."

"Welcome to the club." He groans, running his fingers through his already messy black hair. "What's your name?"

"Jason." He whispers, staring at the space he once stood in disbelief, "Jason Grace."

"Hello Jason, I'm Percy Jackson. And I just made you come alive."

#Jercy statue AU #Jercy #Jason grace #Percy Jackson #Thank you again to kiragenta for the idea #Your art was so beautiful and inspiration just struck me like a brick #Jason #Grace #Percy #Jackson #Baby fanfic #Baby fanfic series #PJSSG series #PJSSG fanfic #not edited

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this-idiots-left-eye · 4 years ago

Text

In Plain Sight

Cover art by Stlyrica on instagram!! I’ll put a link to it in a reblog!!

Fandom: Pandora Hearts

Summary: When Break hides Gilbert's favorite Christmas ornament somewhere in the Rainsworth manor, the Golden Trio must spend the afternoon looking for it. But why is it so special to Gil?

Notes: I originally wrote this for the prompt "Ornaments" in an alphabetical Christmas prompt list my friends and I did in 2017--(it was going to be part of a group of Christmas fics we all wrote for different fandoms. Some of the people in that group hadn't read PH, so that's why this fic has some explanations for who the characters are). Then I posted it for Pandora Hearts Month 2018 for the Golden Trio Prompt: Friendship. I hope you like it! I would really appreciate it if you could reblog and/or leave a comment to let me know if you enjoyed it!

“You’re the tallest, Gil, you should put the star on top!”

“Ooh! It looks yummy! Like a big cookie!”

“It’s not a cookie, Stupid Rabbit!”

It was a few days before Christmas, and the trio was at the Rainsworth manor. Finally, everything was ready for the holiday; a fire was dancing in its place, the stockings were all lined up on the mantle, and they had just put the finishing touches on the tree. The only one who hadn’t been informed about the festive season, was the sky outside; it had been raining for the past few weeks. There was a chill in the air, it was frosty, but snow hadn’t quite come yet. Still, they made the most of their time indoors.

“Perfect!” Oz exclaimed.

Oz Vessalius was the fifteen-year-old heir to the Vessalius dukedom, but after his escape from the Abyss that year, when he wasn’t off on adventures, and missions, he spent most of his time at the Rainsworth’s.

“It’s so pretty, Onii-chan!”

On account of the ten-year gap, Oz’s sister, Ada, was older than Oz now, but, no matter what, she would never stop seeing him as her older brother. She was on Christmas break from Lutwidge Academy, and more than happy to spend it at the Rainsworths, with her brother. She had, of course, brought her two cats—Snowdrop and Kitty—with her, (which Gilbert maintained a healthy distance from, due to his phobia of cats).

“The Rainsworths will have the best-decorated tree in town!”

Oscar, their uncle, was spending the afternoon with his niece and nephew too. He was a bearded, bespectacled man, with the same blonde hair and green eyes as the rest of his family. At the moment, he was sitting on one of the couches, with a cup what he called ‘tea’, but which the rest of them guessed probably had something stronger in it.

“I can’t take all the credit, Gil and Alice helped a little,” Oz joked.

“‘A little!’”

Gilbert was Oz’s servant; a dark-haired man, who often appeared cold and reserved, but who was rather sensitive, and a worrywart. He still sometimes acted as though they were only a year apart in age too, despite the fact that he was now ten years older than his master.

“Yeah, manservant!” Alice challenged, “More like we did all the work!”

“I was just teasing!”

“Well,” Sharon had a way of returning things to order with her calm and proper words, “you all did a wonderful job.”

Sharon was the heiress to the Rainsworth dukedom, and looked like a thirteen-year-old girl, though was really in her twenties or thirties—(they knew better than to ask her exact age). Her chestnut hair was usually tied back into a kind of half-ponytail, and, as always, she outmatched them all on style points; today it was with a dress of a wintery blue that looked as if she was trying to encourage the snow to fall. As per usual, she held a cup of tea in one hand—peppermint, she had informed them, for the Christmas season—and a pastry in the other. She was sitting at a small round table on the other side of the room, with Reim—duke Barma’s bespectacled, hard working, servant, who spent more time at the Rainsworth’s than anywhere else, with his two best friends—Sharon and Break.

“Well, I’m beat,” Alice stretched and yawned, “Seaweed-head, when are you going to make me some meat?”

Most Chains (creatures from the Abyss) didn’t look like Alice did; like a fourteen-year-old girl, with floor length brown hair, and an almost cat-like physique—(though it was a giant rabbit she often turned into). Also unlike other illegally contracted Chains, she did not have a thirst for human blood, although she did have a particular love for meat, as well as almost anything edible.

“I suppose I can make you something, now that we’ve finished,” Gil sighed.

“Oh? Have you now?” they turned to see Sharon’s servant, Xerxes Break, grinning as he poured himself another cup of tea. “Are you sure nothing’s…” he leaned back against the table, “missing?”

Break was a red-eyed, white-haired man, also much older than he looked. Even those close to him would say he was a bit of an acquired taste; his love for teasing, the creepy doll on his shoulder, and his general lack of regard for other people and their feelings, made it difficult for those subject to his mischiefs—such as Gilbert—to acquire any kind of affection for him.

Gilbert froze, turning his head slowly to the tree. His eyes immediately found the empty space where a certain ornament had been.

“Break!” he shouted, spinning back to him, “Must you do this every year?!”

“Let an old man have his fun.” Break grinned.

“I believe he must, Gilbert-sama,” Sharon answered Gilbert’s question, nonchalantly taking a sip of tea before continuing, “It has become something of a tradition.”

“I should have spent Christmas with he Nightrays this year,” Gilbert grumbled, reluctance in his motions as he began to pick up books, and other objects around the room, as if searching.

“You’re so mean,” Break chided playfully, then spoke a little more seriously, knowing Gilbert had no intentions of spending much time with his adoptive family, and real brother, “You’d rather spend Christmas with the sewer rat, than us?”

Gil gave him a death glare.

“Sorry…but what’s a tradition?” Oz asked, turning to Sharon and Break.

He wouldn’t admit it, but sometimes, especially with things like this, the ten-year gap could make Oz feel like an outsider.

“Every year Break takes Gilbert-sama’s favorite ornament,” Sharon explained, “And hides it somewhere in the manor.”

“Ooh! That sounds like fun!”

“It’s not fun, Oz!” Gilbert hollered at his master, “It’s a waste of a perfectly good afternoon! Not to mention annoying, and rude!”

Break laughed. Gil had yet to learn his outrageous reactions were what made this sort of thing so fun for the prankster.

“Don’t worry, Gil!” Ada bounded up to him, “I’ll help you look!”

Gilbert flushed, “T-Thank you.”

“What does it look like, Gil?”

He looked at Oz, then turned back to Ada, and explained it quietly enough that only she could hear.

She nodded, beaming, and began to look in a different part of the room.

“What’s the matter, Gil?”—Gil gasped as his master appeared suddenly at his other side—“You don’t want me to know what it is?” Oz’s laugh faded into a more puzzled expression when Gil averted his eyes, turning redder.

“It’s a secret, Onii-chan!” Ada answered for him, “You’ll see when we find it!”

He didn’t get the chance to ask anything more, because Alice broke in, having been observing all their interactions,

“Does…Does this mean I won’t get my meat?”

“Uh huh,” Gilbert sighed, “That’s exactly what it means.”

“No! I will not allow it!” Alice shook her head, and whirled around on Break, pointing at him in an accusatory manner, “Clown! Return Seaweed-head’s stupid ornament his instant!”

“It’s not stupid, Stupid Rabbit!”

“Aren’t you a spoilsport?” The Mad Hatter teased, then the doll on his shoulder, Emily, finished,

“Why should I listen to some dumb bunny?”

Alice growled, her hands clenching into fists. She spun to Gilbert, declaring as she ran up to him,“Then I won’t rest until I find that ornament! With the great Alice-sama on your side, you cannot fail!”

“Sure you won’t just get in the way?”

She kicked him in the shin, crossing her arms, “You’d be lost without me, Seaweed-head.”

“Don’t kick me, Stupid rabbit!” he rubbed his leg, “Now go look for it over there!” he stamped his injured foot back down and pointed to the opposite corner of the room, (to which she quickly ran, proceeding to tear her designated space apart in a matter of seconds.)

“Is this ornament really all that important, Gil? I mean, we have lots of—”

“Yes!” he answered before his master could finish, “it is!”

Oz sighed, knowing how attached his servant could get to things, “Alright. So…is us helping against the rules?” he asked, watching Alice destroy the room in search of it, Ada calmly remove things, and put them back where they were meant to go, and Gil as a mix of the two.

“Don’t you think we would have stopped them if it was, Oz-kun?”

Sharon shook her head, “It doesn’t matter who finds it, watching him search is the fun part.” Her mischievous side was showing; most of the time she was this prim and proper lady, but being close to Break had its effects.

“That’s right; the more people searching, the funnier it is when they can’t find it,” Break sang. “Though, tell me, Ojousama,” he turned to his mistress “are you merely saying that because you wagered he’d find it early—before 18:00?” he asked knowingly, sitting up on the table—(Reim gave him a look that could only be interpreted as: can-you act-any-less-like-a-servant?)

They turned to the clock—it was 15:00.

“Why do you want to know, Break?” his mistress asked with a tone of false interest, “Are you afraid your skills as a prankster have gone down with age?” she patted her mouth innocently with a napkin.

“What do you take me for, Ojousama?” he smirked, crossing his legs, narrowing his eyes at Gilbert, “He’ll need all the help he can get.”

Gilbert returned to him an even more murderous look.

“You… betted on this?”

“All part of the tradition, Oz-kun,” Break mentioned, stealing a mini pastry from Reim’s plate—(the incense was more than evident on Reim’s face, and probably why Break did it).

“It’s not money we wagered, though; If I win, Break has to swear off sweets over Christmas—as well as make me a lavish dessert full of those sweet things he can’t have. And if Break wins, I have to buy him an equally lavish amount of extra Christmas candy and sweets.”

“Nice! Break, I didn’t know you could bake!”

“He really can’t,” Sharon chuckled, “But it’s fun to see what he comes up with.”

Break glared at her.

“So… is this how you bet every year?”

“Sometimes it’s different. But it’s usually something to the effect of giving Break a taste of his own medicine…Though I seem to recall one year, I wanted Break to do this dance I had heard of in a book, if he lost. I believe it was called ‘Futterwacken.’”

“That’s a weird name for a dance!” Oz laughed, “So? How did that go?

“I suppose it is,” she smiled, “That was one of the tamer punishments, but, when he did lose, he refused—rather blatantly.”

“Really?!” he turned to Break.

“How many times must I tell you? I have no talent for dancing.”

“Truly, as a servant of the Rainsworth Dukedom, it would be better fitting that you learned,” she shook her head, then turned back to Oz, “Anyway, after that, we thought the chance to take away his candy was rather enjoyable.”

“Aw, I want to join the bet!”

Gilbert looked affronted, but before he could speak, Oz continued, boyish excitement simmering in his tone,

“Say, what if, if Break loses, I get to eat his candy instead?!”

Sharon and Break glanced at each other.

“Let me ask you something, Oz-kun;” Break set down his tea, “Are you willing to risk the consequences of such a wager?”

“Ehh…consequences?”

“Why of course. I couldn’t give little Oz-kun the chance of stealing my candy without the proper torment in store if he lost.”

“Eh…” Oz knew just how mean Break could get, and that this could very well turn into a prank war that ended in actual blood, “I think I’ll pass.”

“I always said you were smarter than you looked,” the Mad Hatter picked up his tea again.

“Maybe you could join in by helping me look, instead of encouraging them, Oz!” Gilbert whirled on him.

“Aww, do I have to?” the fifteen-year-old groaned.

“Oz!”

Oz turned to the masterminds, as if silently asking for them to give him an excuse not to.

“Hey, Oz-kun is sharp,” Break began, then Emily added,

“Probably smarter than these three put together!”

—two of the aforementioned three gave him what can only be described as ‘fight-me’ faces, and Ada looked disheartened—Break took no notice, and finished,

“So that depends; whose side are you on?”

“Well,” Oz thought for a moment, then mused, grinning, “it would be fun to see Break trying to swear of candy!”

“Is that so?” Break’s eye narrowed.

“In any case, why isn’t Reim-san helping?” he shifted the focus. “You’re not the kind of person to sit back while others are in trouble”

Reim sighed, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “While that may be true, these two are often harsher with me, than others. If I help you, I have a feeling I shall pay for it in some way later,” he shot them an icy look, “dearly.”

“Whatever do you mean, Reim-san?” Sharon asked innocently. “We thought you enjoyed our company.”

“Yeah, it’s only because you’re our favorite, Reim-san,” Break gave a fake sappy voice.

“Then pick a new favorite!”

“That’s not how it works! You have a lifetime guarantee!”

“Sharon,” it was Ada who spoke. She had been focused on searching on the mantelpiece, and inside the stockings, “Why are there nine stockings?”

“What do you mean, Ada?” Oz asked, stepping over to her.

“Well, I was just thinking; there’s me, Onii-chan, Uncle, and Alice,”—Alice looked annoyed at Ada mentioning her name—“since we’re staying here for Christmas,” she pointed at each of the stockings in turn, “and these belong to Sharon-sama, Break, Duchess Rainsworth-sama, and Reim-san, right? But who does this last one belong to?” she held the bottom of the last one, careful not to pull it off the mantle.

They turned to Break and Sharon, who glanced at each other, their mischievous grins fading into more somber, reminiscent expressions.

“It was Break’s idea,” Sharon answered.

“Well, I can’t take all the credit—“

“It’s for my mother…That has become something of a tradition as well. We just thought it would be nice, to have something to remember her by during the Christmas season.”

The tone in the room quieted; the rest of them knew that Shelly was Sharon’s mother, who had died sometime after Oz’s coming of age ceremony.

“That’s…actually really sweet,” Oz noted, “Break, I’m surprised you thought of it!”

“You think you’re cute, don’t you? And you say that like I’m cruel.”

“Well…” Oz rubbed the back of his neck, smiling nervously, trying to formulate a non- insulting answer in his mind.

“I think what Oz is trying to say,” Reim started out gently, then finished harshly, “Is that it’s high time you realized you can be a jerk, Xerxes!”

“Well, I wouldn’t say jerk’…” Oz began.

“I would,” Gil mumbled.

“My…I cant believe that you all….” Break began softly, then Emily jeered,

“Just figured that out now!”

The anger was evident on all of their faces.

“Really, why are you all ganging up on me,” Break grinned, without a hint of hurt in his voice, “when you should be focusing on the task at hand?”

“Because it’s your fault we’re in this mess!” Gilbert shouted, then ran his hand frustratedly through his hair, observing the mess they had made of the room, before demanding, “Is it in this room?!”

“Given up already, have you?” Emily teased.

Gilbert clenched his hands into fists, biting back a retort.

“Did anyone see him leave the room?!”

Everyone looked at Gilbert blankly, or up at the ceiling, trying to think if they had, realizing they had no idea, and knew full well Sharon could have used Eques to transport him when their backs were turned anyways. Gilbert put his hands on his hips, sighing at their silence “Alright. We have a whole manor to look through, it’s best we move on from this room,” he paused, turning again to Break, with malice in his eyes, “Right?”

“Sure, kiddo!” Emily replied, and he gave the fakest grin yet.

Gilbert gritted his teeth, then shook his head, directing them,

“Let’s split up; Ada, you go down the left hall, Stupid Rabbit, you take the right. I’ll go downstairs.”

“I won’t let you down, Seaweed-Head!” Alice sped down the hall, not even searching, as if she had forgotten the task she’d been given.

Ada nodded, “Come on, Snowdrop, Kitty!” she called to her cats.

Oz sighed, “Alright, fine. I’ll help too.”

Gilbert smiled, about to thank him, when Oz added,

“But I expect to be rewarded for my troubles!”

His servant rolled his eyes.

“I kinda need to know what it looks like, though, don’t I, Gil? You seemed to want to keep it a secret earlier.”

“You’ll…um….You’ll know it when you see it,” Gilbert looked anywhere but at his master.

Oz sighed, putting his hands on his hips, “Really? That kinda makes things harder, you know.”

“Oh, not up to the challenge, are you Oz-kun?” Break goaded.

“No, no, I can do it! I just feel like we’re not addressing a key part of the puzzle here!”

With that Gilbert pulled him out of the room and into the search.

Gilbert was right; it did seem like a bit of a waste of an afternoon; exhausting wasn’t the only word that came to mind after rifling through each room one by one, with no clue as to where it might be. Especially because the feeling began growing in them that Gilbert was way too attached to things, as well as that Break was, indeed, a jerk. They didn’t know how much time had passed before they met up again in the hall, everyone hanging their heads in shame and disappointment.

“What should we do?” Ada asked quietly.

“We can’t let the clowny bastard win!” Alice slammed a fist into her other palm to emphasize her point.

“That’s right!” Gilbert agreed, “For years I had to put up with his constant teasing, it’s high time we got him back!”

“I don’t think losing the bet is really going to make him stop. I mean, he’s lost before, right?”

“You don’t have to be so blunt about it!” Gilbert complained.

“Sorry,” Oz shrugged.

In the moment of silence that followed, Ada’s cat started rubbing against Oz’s leg, as if trying to comfort him.

“What do you think, Snowdrop?” Oz asked jokingly, picking up his sister’s cat, (Gilbert eyed it, a whine developing in his throat, scooching away), “Do you have any idea where it is?”

Oz gasped.

“What is it, Onii-chan?”

Tied into the cat’s collar was a ribbon, attached to a little ornament. He pulled it free and placed the cat on the floor (it meowed and padded away).

The other three gasped in turn, leaning in to get a better look at it.

“That bastard!” Gilbert slammed his fist into the wall behind him. “He knew I wouldn’t go near your cats!”

“Yeah,” Oz laughed, “leave it to Break to take the cheap shot.”

“What are we waiting for?!” Alice demanded, “Didn’t I just say we can’t let the clowny bastard win!”

“You’re right!” the others said together, and bolted down the hall.

“We found it!” Oz held the ornament high, like a trophy, as they burst through the door.

At the same moment that he held up the evidence, the hour chimed.

They each glanced at each other, then at the clock, which read exactly 18:00.

“My, my, isn’t this an interesting turn of events?” Break remarked, stretching, “It looks like it’s a tie, Ojousama.”

“It would appear,” Sharon smiled “In that case, would you please excuse me for a moment?” she gathered her dress and hurried out of the room.

“So, which one of you found it?” Break asked, walking over to them.

“I did.”

The prankster smirked, “What did I tell you?” he ruffled Oz’s hair, “Oz-kun’s sharp.”

“So… what does that mean about your wagers?” Oz tried to put his hair right. “Since you tied?”

“Just a moment Oz-kun,” he put his hand on Oz’s head, his sleeve falling over his eyes, and looked over their heads

Sharon quickly did return, a little out of breath, holding a small package wrapped in a ribbon.

“Here you are, Break!” she held it out for him.

He took it from her and unwrapped it, opening the little red box to reveal that it was filled with the the candy she had promised.

“Just the thing I needed” he patted her head, unwrapping a piece and tossing it into his mouth. “Better luck next time, Ojousama,”

Oz and Alice stared at him, open-mouthed, dumbstruck that he had beat them.

“Now I suppose I should get started on that dessert of yours,” he waited until the proper moment to add.

“Please do.”

“Huh?” Oz and Alice asked simultaneously.

“Since we tied,” Sharon spoke, as they both turned to them, “we both win.”

“So…does that mean the clown still has to swear off candy?” Alice asked hopefully.

“No—Unfortunately,” Sharon added, glancing at her servant, who rolled his eyes, eating another piece, “We both get the rewards of the wager, but no one gets the punishment.”

“More in the Christmas spirit, wouldn’t you agree, Ojousama?” he said between candy crunches.

“Since when do you care about ‘Christmas spirit’?!” Gilbert demanded.

“Better luck next year, I guess,” Oz tried to put a positive spin on it.

“Next year?!” Alice fumed, “I want to settle this now!” (Gilbert held Alice by the neck of her jacket.)

“Believe me,” Reim grunted, eyeing Break, “it’ll only end worse for you,”

“Who knows?” Break shrugged, “There may not be a next year, Oz-kun.”

Alice continued to seethe while the others glanced at each other, unsure of how to respond to such a statement.

“There you go again,” Reim scolded. “You can’t just mention something like that!”

Break dismissed him with a wave of his hand, chuckling to himself, and muttering something about his uptightness, as he made his way down the hall to the kitchens.

After Break left, Oz looked down at his hand, opening his fingers to reveal the little clay, painted oddity he was still holding. Alice came behind him and looked over his shoulder at it.

“What…is it?”

“You didn’t know what you were looking for?!” Gilbert questioned.

“Because you never told me, Seaweed-head!”

Gilbert looked away, clearly wanting to bite back, but without argument with which to do so.

Oz shook his head, staring at it. It was rather crudely made, ineptly painted. But he couldn’t mistake it for anything else—and Gil had been right, he did know it when he saw it.

Because he was the one who made it.

“I can’t believe you kept this, Gil.”

Gilbert looked away, nodding and turning red.

Now he understood why Gilbert was so intent on getting it back. This ornament had probably become a symbol to Gilbert—much like Shelly’s stocking on the mantelpiece was for Break and Sharon—for Oz himself. This ornament, through the years, had probably become tied to his faithful valet’s unending hope that his master would come back. Each year Break took it, as if teasing that perhaps he wouldn’t (and, maybe this was his roundabout way of him trying to prepare him for that), but Gilbert always got it back, as if displaying that he would never lose that hope.

“Oy! What is it?!” Alice demanded again, upset her ‘manservant’ wasn’t focusing all his attention on her.

“It’s a bird, Alice,” Oz answered simply.

“Really, how do you figure?”

“Yeah, it doesn’t look very good does it?” Oz laughed.

“Seaweed-head, why would a crappy ornament like this be your favorite?”

“Oy! You don’t see me criticizing your bad taste!”

“Bad taste?! I have impeccable taste! I eat meat every day!”

“That’s not what—”

“Its because I made it for him,” Oz answered her question quietly.

“You?” Alice laughed, slapping him on the back, “You have pretty poor skills, Oz.”

“Give me a break! I was a kid!”

Oscar laughed, walking up to them, “You’re still a kid, Oz. Yes…I can’t remember how old he was, but he made me, Ada, and Gilbert ornaments,” he laughed a little, putting his arm around Gilbert, “I remember how offended Gil was at his master making him a gift.”

“Yeah,” Oz laughed, they all looked up at Gil, who got steadily redder the more they spoke, “We had to force him to accept it.”

“Why are you surprised he kept his, Onii-chan?” Ada asked, “Uncle and I kept ours. They’re back at the Vessalius manor. But! we could bring them over here if you want!”

“That’s okay, I believe you! Still… Like Alice said, they don’t look very good.”

“But, like you said, you were the one who made them for us,” Oscar ruffled his nephew’s hair.

“What were the ornaments you made for them, Oz?” Alice asked.

“Well, I made Ada a little cat, and uncle Oscar a camera. I didn’t really know what Gil liked, so I just made him a bird. Funny, how your chain is Raven now.”

“How come you haven’t made me one, Manservant?!” Alice hit Oz on the head.

“Hey! I’ve been busy!” he rubbed the spot where she hit him.

“In any case,” Alice turned to Gilbert, jumping quickly to the next subject, “now you can make my meat, Seaweed-head!”

“Break’s using the kitchen, Stupid Rabbit!”

“Then let’s go to the market! I’m starving!”

Gilbert sighed into his hand, “Fine. Let me get my hat and coat.”

“Can I come with you guys?” Ada asked—Alice looked peeved, but Gil and Oz had already welcomed her.

“I’ll go check if Break needs anything!” Oz ran off towards the kitchen.

As Oz arrived, he saw that Break had changed out of his white coat and purple shirt into more casual closing—likely so he wouldn’t ruin his normal outfit. He had rolled up the sleeves, and was wearing a pink apron Gil sometimes wore when he cooked for them here, but which probably belonged to Sharon’s grandmother, or mother. He had already begun to make a mess of things; flour was all over the counter, chocolate was on the walls, somehow there were even ingredients in in his hair.

“You need some help?” Oz asked, half-jokingly.

Break looked up.

“Oz-kun,” he noted, then grinned, “You? Help me? Gotten bored of Gilbert-kun, and Alice-kun already?”

“Nah. I just wanted to know if you needed anything. We’re going to the store.”

Oz knew that Break could have asked for help from the staff, or Gilbert, but Sharon called him ‘Mr. One-Man-Show’ for a reason; sure, it might not taste or look all that good, but at least he would have made it himself.

“You really think I wouldn’t have come prepared?”

“But, if you won, you wouldn’t have to make—”

Oz gasped. Realizing something:

They both had bought the supplies ahead of time. Oz thought one of them would have to go to the store, depending on who won the bet, (perhaps dragging the other begrudgingly along), but they both had already bought the necessary ingredients. Which meant, either the food one of them bought would go to waste, or be used in some other way, or, regardless of who won or lost, they still intended to give each other the gifts.

“You already had the ingredients,” Oz thought out loud. “and Sharon-chan already had your candy...”

“So?”

“I would have thought one of you would have to go to the store, depending on who won.”

“What’s your point, Oz-kun?” Break pushed his hair back.

Oz shook his head, grinning like he now had some secret information. “Break, you really are a nice guy, aren’t you?”

Break put his hand on the table, turning to him, “Wipe that cheeky grin off your face before I do it for you.”

Oz put his hands behind his back, sauntering closer.

“Oh, nothing,” he whistled, “Just that, well, you do this every year, don’t you? Sharon likes to give you a taste of your own medicine if you lose, but you both use this an excuse to give each other extra gifts, don’t you? I bet it was your idea in the first place.”

“How do you know we weren’t planning to use the supplies in some other way?”

“Because you’re not considerate enough to let others use your stuff,” he grinned, “Didn’t you just say there would be punishment in store if I got your candy?”

“Well,” he smirked at Oz’s discovery, twirling the spoon in his hand, “‘nice’ would be stretching it. But maybe occasionally I’m not a complete ‘jerk.’”

Oz grinned. That was all the confirmation he needed.

As if he were brandishing a sword, Break flicked chocolate on Oz’s face with the spoon, “Now get out of here.”

Oz rolled his eyes.

“Good luck, Break!”

With that he exited the room, and ran to the front door to catch up with Gil, Ada, and Alice, who were gathered there, waiting for him.

“Break doesn’t need anything!” he called to them, “Let’s go!”

At first it may have seemed like a waste of time, but, in the end, Oz realized; an afternoon playing a game, learning that after ten years Gil had still cherished the small gift he had once been reluctant to accept, seeing how Sharon and Break found ways to bring each other joy, spending time with his friends, spending time with his real family, would never be a waste of an afternoon for him.

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pleasantwizardphilosopher · 3 years ago

Text

This is the third chapter of my current fic, please let me know your thoughts!!

The news are going insane, who is this anonymous hero? People cannot even decide on her features, some say she has brown hair, some say she’s blonde, others claim she’s redheaded (?). Not even those who were in the attacked building, which was afterwards closed by the FBI for further investigation; could give any more information aside than the fact that she was a woman, mid-twenties (or was it thirties?), with similar powers to those displayed by Superman, no one saw her face up close though, to preoccupied with surviving and helping others.

One bold reporter, who was also in said building, decided to give her a name, and so, not even twelve hours after that tragic event that almost took 120 people’s lives, “Supergirl” was everything the news outlets were talking about. Blowing off in a futile desperate attempt to find out whether she was another Kryptonian or a super-powered alien from a different planet, under the knowledge that Earth, and particularly National City, is the home of several misplaced aliens from throughout the galaxy. There were lots of testimonies from people who supposedly saw her that night, saying Rao knows what, and others who actually got to see her in action, those being a little more reserved on their testimonies, making thigs a lot more confusing.

Kara squeaks in excitement for the nth time this day, she cannot even focus on the task at hand as she molders a few wires together, the grounding smell of melted tin and burnt plastic filling the room; swaying her hips enthusiastically to the upbeat pop music playing loudly in her lab, giving a few tiny jumps of excitement every now and then. The always-present humming of several industrial-level refrigerators and a constant typing and beeping coming from the room above along with the music drown the noises of the city, a few miles away. She is in a towering scary-looking warehouse, one that she and Winn bought together in order to make it the official Zor-El Technologies headquarters, there are three floors, mostly empty since it’s only the two of them and Roland, the janitor who comes in once a week to clean every preposterous failed experiment and organize a little, always handling their devices carefully; it has a basement, where they keep their new inventions and innovations locked down in a vault, the ground floor where they keep most of their tools and utensils, where Kara is currently working in her own projects, the first floor, where Winn has his state-of-the-art, kind of futuristic-looking super computer console and the third one, which is empty. The warehouse is provided with huge floor-to-ceiling windows, allowing sunlight to stream freely all day long, much to Kara’s delight, and being this the factor that tipped the scales when deciding where to buy, at least for her.

She is so enraptured in her own gleefulness that she doesn’t hear Winn come in (probably to consult something with her about his current software design), and everything seems to move in slow motion, for Kara it really does. She is singing the chorus at the top of her lungs while remembering how good it felt to save so many people, and so she twirls giving a small jump, but instead of landing on her feet immediately, she hovers a few inches above the floor, and is at that exact moment when Winn bursts through the door, literally catching the woman mid-air.

They stare at each other in silence for a few minutes, Kara still hovering above the floor, not even breathing, afraid to scare her closest friend (Alex doesn’t count). Winn just stares blankly at her, jaw dropping in a way that would be comic haven’t he caught his best friend fucking flying. Kara lands softly and quietly moves forward to where Winn is still standing jaw-slacked, and she carefully places a warm comforting hand on his shoulder, trying to measure his reaction. But when she looks into his eyes all she sees is glee and curiosity, maybe even a hint of smugness. They break into a fit of laughter, Winn laughing so hard for not catching the clues that tears prickle his eyes. And Kara is filled with warmth and familial love for this man who has become so much to her. After all, they have been together since high school, which is quite some time to get to know someone.

After that, Winn is the best partner in…law enforcement (?). The computer geek is the best ally she could’ve asked for and the most supportive friend ever. He designs a suit for her, one that bears her House crest, because even after all her parents did, she can still proudly display the Zor-El name and family crest and help people, maybe even work to make up for their crimes and mistakes; and the characteristic red and blue that her cousin also sports, the red skirt was definitely a no go (Rao no), instead, she goes for pants and knee-high red boots, with a golden trimmed belt at her waist. Starting off as a superhero proved to be way harder than she had expected.

The first time she goes out to stop a bank robbery, she collides like a missile with the vault’s doors (Shoot!), ripping them from their hinges. The second time she tries to stop a fire, she mistakenly freezes the whole block’s heating pipes (Rao!). However, she never gives up and after a very heated conversation with Alex, she manages to convince her to let her help, to be the beacon of hope she was always meant to be and to protect Earth and its citizens, human and aliens alike. Alex throws a chair, or two, towards the wall in frustration, unable to convince Kara to stop this nonsense and stop risking her life (the irony Special Agent Danvers). And then, hazel eyes lock with ocean blue ones Kara sees fear in brown eyes, and she understands, she really does, but Alex cannot ask her to keep such important part of herself hidden anymore, not when she could be out there, helping, she is a super-powered Kryptonian after all. The certainty and compassion the agent sees in cerulean blue eyes isn’t something she’ll ever stand in the way of. Kara is her sister after all, and even though she fears for her, she’ll always be by her side, supporting her. This starts a new facet into their relationship, as Alex becomes part of her Super-task force (rename pending), being an FBI agent, she has access to a lot of information and having the Girl of Steel by their side, several agents’ lives could be spared.

After more than a year of fighting crime, human and aliens equally (she’ll never understand why aliens attack the species whose planet is giving them refuge), she has come to a certain balance between the cheery, sweet looking and clumsy Kara Danvers and her alter-ego, strong-looking and inspiring, Supergirl, taking more distance from projects at Zor-El Technologies and dedicating more and more time to saving people and helping wherever she can. It isn’t as fulfilling as she thought it’d be, it’s almost empty the way she has come to have to decide between helping people one way or another. She does love science after all and helping the little citizen as well.

She sighs. She has been getting less and less time in her beloved lab and it’s finally taking a toll on her cheery attitude and sunny personality. Grumbling a little she keeps reading the opinion column in the newspaper she’s holding “Brilliant, gorgeous and…sociopath? The last of the Luthors” the title reads, is an extremely extensive, and horribly written piece, she must say, about Lena Luthor and how “aside from appearances she’s just as insane as the rest of her twisted family”; the piece is so biased that the Kryptonian is not sure how someone was allowed to publish that, and is extremely long, taking almost three whole pages. She hasn’t meet the raven-haired genius in person and hasn’t actually bothered to look her up, it feels like a huge invasion to her thin and almost non-existent, privacy; she knows what the general public does, she doesn’t live under a rock for Rao’s sake, her brother went insane and as such she had to take over the company, now renamed L-Corp, and has been working restlessly to drift it away from weapons manufacturing and turning it into a force for good with science and engineering, very similar, in a way, to what Zor-El Technologies aims for. She is so mad at whoever wrote this …crap, that she entirely misses the small sidenote that reads “Third alien assassination this week, hate or patriotism?”.

It’s just the beginning of August, she’s perched in a bench right in front of National City’s Central Park, next to a cafeteria that she absolutely loves, the wind is blowing softly and is quite chilly, announcing the upcoming winter, claiming it to be freezing cold. The sky is cloudy, grey clouds filling it with very little sunrays being filtered through them; there are huge mountains of orange and brown-ish leaves scattered across the sidewalk, some kids are playing with them, throwing them at each other and breaking into fits of giggles, the street is filled with their laughs, the soft smell of recently baked bread, upcoming rain, and hot coffee. The trees are almost bare now and make low whistling noises when the wind rushes through them, shaking violently whatever leaves they have left to the ground and lifting the ones that have already fallen into spirals in the air. Kara is tucked into a fluffy light brown sweater and ripped jeans, glasses perched on her nose and hair up in a tight ponytail as she keeps skimming through the article. Her heart breaks every single time she encounters pieces like this one about the green-eyed genius, it’s absolutely unfair judging someone based on their family’s crimes instead of measuring them on their own merits, that’s what she believes in after all, what she was taught those many years ago in her home world, and after following up-close every article the Irish woman has written for scientific Journals, she’s fairly certain that the Luthor is nowhere near to how the papers and the press paint her to be, she’d have to meet her to be sure but there is no doubt in her mind about it.

She stands to leave, folding the latest version of the Daily Planet and tucking it into one of her jeans back pockets, just then a strong gush of wind comes from apparently nowhere and ruffles her hair in her face and almost blowing the paper from her hand, making her stop to put everything back into place. While taking her hair and awoken leaves out of her face, as if drawn to a magnet her eyes fixate on someone standing just by the main entrance of the park, across the street from her. She is a little shorter than herself, she guesses, is wearing sleek black boots, tight black jeans, and a very soft-looking red sweater under a leather jacket, the woman’s hair is jet black and falls in soft waves over her shoulders. Her lungs seem to forget how to work as she just stands there, jaw-slaked staring at the woman, she’s too far away from Kara for her to make out her factions precisely but she’s certain that the woman is gorgeous. Her body feels heavy and slacked as if something was pinning her into her spot, or most accurately someone, the blonde woman across the street to be precise, Lena doesn’t know what’s come over her, but she’s certain that whomever that may be, she wants to get to know her, there is just something in her posture that pulls her in, as if the woman emanated warmth that Lena feels drawn to like a moth to a flame, furthermore, she is like a ray of sunshine, with her soft-looking, blond mane, her outfit screams soft, and it hits something deep within the CEO.

They don’t know how long they stay there, fixatedly staring at each other, the world seemingly vanishes, brown and orange leaves floating throughout the space between them, neither seems to be able to breathe or even blink. Lena is too scared someone might have recognized her to move a single muscle, at least that’s what she tells herself, but is actually the soft, tender, pull to her heart that keeps her there, feeling like the permanent hole in her heart has finally been filled, she’s certain that the blonde can feel it as well. Kara has never felt like this in her whole life, she had even started to believe that she wasn’t capable of such feelings, having heard every cheesy pop song about love at first sight it had seemed quite ridiculous to be honest, but she’d be lying to herself if she said that she doesn’t feel absurdly drawn to the woman. Out of nowhere, a car rushes past, lifting curtains of leaves in its wake, while passing near the blonde a ball comes rolling into the road from a pile of leaves, where the kids were still playing and right behind it, a young boy no older than 6, just jumping in the way of the car; between the leaves the driver mustn’t have seen him since they don’t stop; fortunately Kara is just a few paces away and manages to grab the child by his armpits and lift him, pulling him out of the way and back to safety. When she turns around to look at the woman again, she is no longer there, vanished between orange streaks, it all feels cold and empty now for the Kryptonian, the same way one feels after waking from a beautiful dream.

Kara shakes her head, what was she thinking? With a light giggle and after receiving several ‘thank you’ from the child’s mother, she turns around to leave, only to almost run over Nia and Brainy, her boyfriend, who, miraculously, had apparently just materialized behind her. She and Winn met Brainy at a trade fair, about six months ago; he had approached their stand and started asking questions, very precise and specific ones, the ones that only someone with wide knowledge of the subject would be able to do; and making suggestions here and there, Winn following suit to add his own input to the conversation. Brainy was a Computer Engineer with a double degree in Electronics, and his mind rivaled Winn’s, he even challenged him, that’s how he was added to the team. He and Winn became a whole new department in Zor-El Technologies. They designed software, firewalls and other products meant to protect devices from outside infiltration and whenever Kara worked on a techier device, they'd provide its software and failsafe; he sometimes worked on side projects mostly theorizing and experimenting with chemical compounds. It worked out like a charm, they complemented each other like a well-oiled machine, allowing both computer geeks to spend more time in their own computer and AI innovations and inventions rather than just supporting Kara with other projects more engineering-like.

Later on, he introduced them to Nia, an Actuarial Science undergrad, who decidedly loved their work, having read thoroughly about their previous projects and future launches; and joined to take care of Zor-El Tech. finances, because honestly, although Kara and Winn where great minds, finances weren’t their strongest suit, pun intended. The whole thing contributing to Kara being able to take on a lower workload, allowing her to spend more time saving people and having to worry less about small perks of the business, without raising suspicious. Around three months ago, however, Kara realized that Nia had powers, after falling asleep at work and having woken up startled and stammering something about an imminent threat to a Kryptonian, a week later, Lex had stroke, declaring war on Superman and turned the sky red to try and take him down with a Lexosuit of his own design, trapping her sister in the cross-fire. After that, the whole team decided to leave secrets aside and the four of them started fighting crime together, with Nia and Kara on the field and Winn and Brainy being their eyes and ears, both of them brilliant strategists.

Nia is looking at her with a knowing smile, as if she had been witness to the staring contest between the Kryptonian and the unknown woman, she truly hopped she hadn’t, fortunately for her Brainy was as oblivious as always and so she decided to start a conversation with him. It was easy talking to Brainy; he didn’t have many issues with emotions, he did, well, he kind of just didn’t understand them and hence didn’t know what to do about them; Kara’s mind is barely into the conversation as her thoughts keep drifting to the beautiful woman who had managed to make her feel dizzy and giddy without even being within reach, without Kara actually being able to get her face and figure entirely, damn lead-lined glasses. She hopes their paths cross once more, although she is not certain how that is going to happen when she didn’t even get to see her face. She lets out a soft groan of frustration. Kara has been feeling particularly irritable recently, since she hadn’t really had time to work on her projects, and after this quite frustrating encounter she is at the brink of blowing up.

She hates the feeling, so, as soon as they hit Zor-El headquarters she heads to her journal, the one she keeps on the bottom drawer of her lab’s desk, she is always filling it with unfinished or half-baked ideas, scrolling through it, deciphering her doodles and notes, analyzing every idea she has ever written in it. She has made up her mind, she is going to do something big, one of her greatest projects so far, she knows Zor-El has kept launching projects, but she hasn’t really been involved in them, or truly invested, having to save the world, every now and then. This would be her project, something for her to focus on entirely, to take the most advantage or her brain and to challenge herself, she knows the others would understand and give her space.

The Girl of Steels slams her journal in her lab table with a little triumphant ‘aha!’ immediately wincing after seeing how the stainless-steel table bended underneath her strength. She should definitely get nth metal benches from now on, note to self. The journal is open on a page that talks about solar panels, it’s an idea that has been nagging her for some months now, it makes a lot of sense, her own cells are super-charged batteries, if she could figure out exactly the way they metabolize solar radiation into energy, those solar panels would be the best ones on the market. That is, assuming she can build the circuitry, she is well-versed on engineering, but this is way out of her league, the solar cells culture would be the easy part, she already has well-cemented physics and alien biology knowledge to do so, even without actually growing some of her own cells (she can ask Alex to take a tissue sample to analyze); and the hardest would be the software, she could totally ask Winn and Brainy’s help for it, but the circuitry, neither of them could build it from scratch, or maybe they could, but it would require a lot more time and money that the one they currently have for out-of-the-blue prototypes; and taking a pre-designed one from the currently available on the market wouldn’t be powerful enough for mechanism.

She starts biting her nail and pacing around her lab. There must be a way for her to manage this, not only would it be an amazing project for the company to make it into the front pages, but it would also greatly improve the lives of millions, especially those in sun-filled countries, such as African countries and Central America countries. She feels like this is an old problem and the solution is just there at the back of her mind, but refusing to be caught, then, out of nowhere, she gets it, it’s so clear know that she can literally watch a light bulb light in her head. Lena Luthor, the heiress to the Luthor empire has a whole department dedicated to sustainable energies, moreover, they are currently working on improved solar panels and renewable energies, this could totally work, a partnership with a high-standard company such as L-Corp would prove to be good for the development of Zor-El Technologies and if this project ended appropriately, L-Corp would also benefit from it.

One thing she knows for sure: she needs a good proposal, excellent in fact, so she throws herself on the nearest chair and starts typing her proposal into a document, she is using her superspeed leading her to finish it soon enough, deciding to take some time to go grab a doughnut, giving her computer time to buffer and finish the ordeal, Winn would definitely call this a “computer onslaught”. While she’s munching on her chocolate and strawberry sprinkles doughnut a thought crosses her mind, it would be a good idea to notify the whole crew, the Superfriends as Winn call themselves. Once gathered she gives a very inspiring pep-talk about how this project is going to bring Zor-El Technologies into the spotlight for good, and maybe even keep them there, she wants to do this for herself, almost entirely, she won’t ever refuse help as she was taught that they were stronger together, but she wanted to do most of the work herself, having being deprived of working on scientific projects for so long, she needed this. Hence, they agree on supporting her, taking off her back as much Supergirl duties as possible, Dreamer, Nia to friends, would take her place on the street and she’d only be called if the emergency needed her particular set of abilities, aka brute force and invulnerability. They also agree on providing the Kryptonian with moral support, advice and food, yesss food!, and everything seems to be set. Now only the hard part is missing, arrange a meeting with L-Corp to present her idea.

That’s when it hits her, she has to present her idea at L-Corp (!!) which means, she has to talk directly to the CEO aka the one and only Lena Luthor *full blown panic. It has to be spotless; she know for sure that the woman will be attracted to the idea, however, she hasn’t really met her and is not entirely sure how stern or demanding she may be. Sitting again in front of her computer, the blonde starts proofreading her proposal, adding a few details here and there, like the fact that the panels are going to be improved by platinum oxide nanoparticles, maybe a core-shell with iridium, she’s not entirely sure about that last part, she has to do some research to see which nanoparticles oscillate most under solar radiation; and that step of the project is going to lay entirely on her court, since she’s going to base her whole research on the way her cells work and that’s definitely something private, secret even.

The youngest Danvers is sitting outside the office of The Lena Luthor, her leg keeps bouncing unstoppably, as her nerves are quite taking the best of her, she shouldn’t be nervous, this isn’t the first time they are turning towards a bigger company for sponsorship, nor the first time she has been face-to-face with an important person, but there is something different about asking for sponsorship directly to the head of one of the biggest consortiums of the country, who also happens to be the sister of a maniac who tried to kill your cousin and who also is the woman whose career you have been following closely for five years, glup. When the double doors open and her assistant, Jess, signals her to get in, she is not at all sure what to expect, partly because of her nerves, she is going in auto-drive, and partly because, coming to think of it, she has never actually heard anything about the raven-genius from someone who has directly dealt with her and it’s kind of worrying. She is not sure whether to expect a cold-blooded, cocky-demeanor and over-the-top CEO or a kind, friendly, but straight-forward one.

When she finally gets over herself and manages to drag her feet into the office, she almost drops herself to the floor. The first thing she notices is the pristine-white decoration that prevails in the office, the floor-to-ceiling windows give it a very open-space, clean appearance. The second thing she notices is the smell, it smells like coffee, expensive perfume and …scotch (?). The third thing, and the one almost sends the Girl of Steel barreling out of the office is the CEO, Kara is absolutely not expecting, nor ready for, a stunning, raven-haired, Irish beauty that she has seen previously, more specifically, a month ago, outside National City’s Central Park, she freezes. What Kara doesn’t know is that Lena isn’t expecting her either, the blonde woman who stole her breath a month ago, the CEO is not used to feeling giddy, like she is now, she finds herself blushing slightly and feeling a little silly, what are you Luthor a love-struck teenager? Pull yourself together! The idea just randomly pops into her head and makes her blush a little harder, she certainly feels like one, surrounded by the scent of vanilla and flowers that irradiates from the other woman, seeping into her like the soft warmness of hot cocoa during a cold snowy winter. She is beautiful, with those cerulean bright blue eyes, and sun-kissed skin, the navy-blue tailored suit and light blue button up definitely fits her. In her eyes, she can see, and feel, her kindness, she is certain that this woman has the biggest heart she has ever encountered, blue, like the ocean, a sight she would gladly get lost into, but underneath all that, there is something else, which terrifies and captures her, Lena suddenly finds herself wishing to know all about this Kara Danvers.

The Maiden of Might certainly cannot believe that all it took for her to be and absolute mess, aside from her usual clumsy-self, is a set of forest-green eyes paired with crimson red lipstick, a black pencil skirt and emerald-green blouse, which certainly seems to make her eyes pop out more. But what really drags her in are precisely those eyes, filled with curiosity and amusement, maybe a little bit of fear and so so much hurt, like open wounds that have never healed, buried just under the public eye, to protect herself. Whereas she first thought that Lena was unbreakable with her power pose and 7-inch Luboutins, now she isn’t that certain. Her aura yells “power” and “control”, but the almost invisible quirk of her brow says fear, her pose, if you look carefully enough seems stiff, carved into her through punishment and humiliation; her hands are holding a pen, innocently, however, being the observant hero is, she is capable of recognize the soft movements of her wrist as if the raven-haired woman wanted to fidget but were refraining from it.

For a moment neither of them move, too absorbed in the sight in front of them. Then, as if realizing she was staring, Lena shakes her head, returning to the real world and leading the blonde woman to her desk, so they may discuss the matter at hand. When the Kryptonian takes a second too long to move, her crimson lips move upwards into a smirk, and oh boy is she lost. Mentally slapping herself, Kara manages to move towards the modern white desk and take out her proposal, praying to Rao not to stumble over her words while the genius woman is staring intently into her eyes like that. She feels her palms sweat, she didn’t even know that could happen, but manages to catch herself and go through the proposal with the CEO. Lena is stunned to say the least, her department has been endlessly and fruitlessly trying to improve solar panels effectivity for several months now, a huge crew of the most recognized scientist in their fields have gotten nowhere, and out of the mist, Kara, on behalf of Zor-El Technologies, which she has heard about but very little; comes forward with not only the most complete proposal, but the design is already planned, the system and functioning have been researched and started to be developed. She has crossed paths with extremely bright people, studying at the best universities and all that, but this, this is entirely different, unexpected and is directly poking into her curiosity.

After Kara has finished her proposal, Lena decides to negotiate a little with regards on how this joint project is going to work, she is curious by nature who can blame her. For starters, L-Corp is not going to provide a team, she herself is going to work on the project, it’s been a while since she has had the opportunity to be hands on with a project with the move and rebrand of the company, however this is the opportunity she unknowingly has been waiting for and she is going to take it, she has a lot of experience in bioengineering and nanotechnology after all, and several ground-breaking discoveries in those areas have been hers. Albeit Kara was certainly not expecting the green-eyed woman to propose working herself directly into the project she cannot say that she isn’t pleased with the idea, heck, she has been wanting to work alongside the genius ever since she first heard of her. A contract is printed, were both parties agree on working together and the details of the launch and profits for each company are thoroughly detailed. The main change into the proposal it’s that Winn and Brainy are not going to be the ones designing the software but Lena, who is also going to work, along with Kara, on the circuitry and Kara herself will help design the absorption and conversion system, a dual design based on nanoparticles.

Once all the details are polished and both women have agreed to the terms and signed, they stand up to shake hands and close the deal. What neither of them is expecting is the soft buzz, current-like, that goes through their hands when they touch, while it is electrifying, it is not unpleasant, a soft tingle that goes from the tips of their fingers all the way to the base of their spines, thrumming alive every nerve termination. If they linger a little, holding hands and smiling dumbly at each other, coffee and flowers mixing in the air between them, no one can blame them. Lena lets go first, a little breathless, as if her soul had just went for a ride outside her body, fingers still tingling, she has to will herself to not rub her hand on her skirt in an attempt to make it stop. She lifts her gaze from where they were shaking hands and fixates her eyes into ocean blue ones, seemingly searching for something into her jade-green ones. She doesn’t know what this is, neither does Kara for that matter, but she doesn’t mind, staring into ice-blue, strong and confident, she sees power and strength, and somehow, she knows that those shoulders hold the weight of the world.

When Kara gets out of the office that day, she wonders what the future may hold for both of them, while the project is definitely going to revolutionize green energy production, she is certain, she is willing to allow her mind wander into endless possibilities for the both of them, she has been struck dumb twice by the CEO, and that is not of common occurrence, as Kryptonian, and from the House of El nonetheless, she is not easily flustered or left speechless, less more breathless, but the stunning woman behind those doors has managed somehow. And she is nothing short of a scientist after all, hence, she will take her time to find out the meaning of this. Smiling happily to herself, she leaves the building, with a slight bounce to her step, after all, this project will change the future of Zor-El Technologies. What neither of them know is that it will also change both their futures and perceptions.

#supercorp #lena luthor #karlena #supergirl #i wrote this on a whim #i am supercorp trash #kara danvers #They're a mess #Kind of soulmates #We're starting off #Please be nice #I love reading your comments

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zabrak-show · 4 years ago

Text

The Magnificent Twin Suns

A/N: Hello, omg this is my ObiMaul Magnificent Seven Crossover Fic. what have I done?!! Please do not hate me for this. I actually worked hard on it and honestly wanted to do more character work with all of the “seven” but ultimately, only ever wanted this to be a short one shot.

This is an AU of AU’s which if you know the history of Magnificent Seven is fitting. (it’s a remake of a remake of a remake) Which is also fitting of Star Wars being that it is essentially a remake of western films that were remakes of samurai films LOL anyway, expect much OOC weirdness and just whatever I felt like, OK! There is an OC, but she is mostly just filler as are the rest of the characters beyond Kenobi and Maul.

This was heavily inspired by one of my favorite artists on here @savagesleftarm Cowboy Art of ObiMaul this art broke my brain and the aforementioned fic ensued. I hope you enjoy it and if not, go easy on me cowpokes. I am but a simple fic writer tryin to get by.

Also, because I obsessed over this for a week, here’s a playlist I made while I wrote this 😆 I made it to play on shuffle, but I’m not the boss of you, play it how you like if you like!

Warnings: Violence, Blood, Death (no major character death, but still), Curse Words, Alcohol consumption, Cigarette smoking, Angst, specifically ObiMaul Angst

Word Count: 5.7K

gif from tombstone another western gem

The desert suns blazed unrelenting into the face of a crimson zabrak with intricate obsidian tattoos accenting his hardened and chiseled features including a crown of small horns. He brought his Colt Paterson revolver over his shoulder, still hot from the kill shot performed. Another bounty successfully tracked down and bagged. A half smoked cigarette hung from the zabrak’s lips, his face scowled from the smoke and the sun. Gunpowder, cigarette smoke, and death permeated the hot air. The zabrak took one last drag from his cigarette before throwing it down into the sand next to the dead body, the butt still slowly burning until finally it ran out of tobacco and paper to ignite, puffing out into a dusty pile of ash.

The zabrak holstered his gun and roughly wrapped the dead body in a canvas tarp and strapped it to the back of his pale grey horse, Scimitar. He mounted the horse and took off down the dusty path, hoping to get to Mos Eisley before sundown. The zabrak rode fast atop Scimitar, his black leather boots digging into the horse’s sides. His black jeans and black vest collected dust and sand that flew up from the horse’s galloping.

They rode for hours, until finally the zabrak pulled back on the reigns signaling Scimitar to slow down as they entered the Mos Eisley city limits. The city was still growing, with several buildings under construction around the edge of town. The main street area was bustling with different galactic species. Some native jawas and tusken raiders milled about amongst, rodians, weequays, twi’leks, and humans. Many turned to stare at the strange zabrak. His bright golden eyes staring straight ahead, not giving any mind to the civilians around him. He rode Scimitar up to a red brick building, dismounted and tied her to the hitching rail at the front of the building.

He slung the body over his left shoulder and entered the brick building with a calm authority to his every movement, a slight limp to his gait. He dropped the body at the feet of a weequay, leather brown skin matching his long leather overcoat. The weequay’s off-white shirt unbuttoned to show much of his chest; dark dirty jeans and mud covered boots, told their own story of hard work and life on Tatooine.

“Maul!” the Weequay exclaimed with jovial comraderiere, reaching out to grab the zabrak’s shoulder.

“Hondo.” Maul responded flatly.

“Eh, Money for blood’s a peculiar business wouldn’t you say?” Hondo pressed as he peeked inside the tarp and quickly obtained the credits for Maul’s bounty. Maul grunted in response as he stashed the credits inside his vest, and made his way for the door.

Nighttime was approaching, the sky a painted medley of pinks, oranges and yellows as the suns dipped down past the horizon. Maul headed for the Mos Eisley saloon for a well needed drink and to look for his next job. He stepped into the saloon doors and headed straight for the bar.

The saloon was lively and most paid no mind to the ruby red zabrak as he sauntered into the establishment. A red Nikto sat at the piano playing a twangy melody, while animated voices and glasses clanging together filled up the saloon’s auditive atmosphere. The smell of old beer, must, and disappointment assaulted the zabrak’s nasal cavities.

“Whiskey. Neat.” Maul ordered the blue Twi’lek at the bar. She eyed Maul suspiciously and slowly made his drink and slid it down the bar to him. He took out a few credits and dropped them on the bar as he walked away to find a place to sit.

Maul limped to the back of the bar to sit in a small table by himself in the shadows. A light skinned bearded man with a brown cowboy hat, brown poncho, tan shirt and pants burst through the saloon doors, drawing the attention of most people in the saloon with his dramatic entrance. He walked up to a rodian at the bar and they had a quiet conversation, the rodian clearly uncomfortable by the man’s presence. In a flash, the rodian’s head slid off his body as a beam of blue light cut through his flesh. The man was wielding a lightsaber and the show stopping stunt had all but silenced the bar as the patrons all looked on in horror and shock.

“Jedi scum.” Maul growled quietly to himself.

The man having everyone’s attention, now spoke to the crowd.

“Greetings. I am Kenobi, a warrant officer in 3 systems and a licensed Jedi Peace Officer in 10. This rodian was a wanted criminal,” he held up a worn piece of paper with the rodian’s likeness on it. Maul squinted his bloodshot amber eyes at the man and slowly recognized who he said he was. It had been almost ten years and he almost didn’t recognize his old nemesis.

“Jedi. I have been waiting for you,” Maul spoke in a deep commanding voice as he stood and walked over to the man.

“I’m not sure I’ve made your acquaintance.” Kenobi said, barely acknowledging the zabrak.

“I am surprised you could have forgotten me so easily after I killed your boss and you left me for dead on Naboo.” Maul spat out at him.

“It is you.” Kenobi replied in astonishment now looking directly at Maul.

“You may have forgotten me, but I will NEVER forget you.” Maul bared his teeth practically growling at Kenobi, before he stopped in his tracks, hand hovering over his holstered gun. Kenobi stared into Maul’s bloodshot amber eyes with his own ice blue eyes studying the movements of the zabrak.

“I have defeated you before and I can defeat you again!” Kenobi declared, his hand on his lightsaber hilt. Kenobi ignited the lightsaber as Maul drew his gun and took several shots, Kenobi blocking each one with fast as lightning reflexes. Several patrons yelled in terror at the commotion, but the dueling men paid no mind.

“I almost didn’t recognize you, but you’re still half the man in my eyes.” Kenobi leered at the zabrak. At once, Maul jumped towards Kenobi, firing his revolver until he was out of bullets. The Jedi grabbed the zabrak mid air and threw him to the ground, straddled his chest and held his lightsaber to his neck. Maul hissed and Kenobi put his full weight on the zabrak and turned his lightsaber off. To everyone’s shock and amazement, especially Maul’s, Kenobi began laughing hysterically.

“Can I buy you a drink, old friend?” Kenobi stood up over Maul, extending his hand to help the zabrak up.

“You realize I still hate you with every fiber of my being.” Maul snarled at Kenobi as he rose back to his feet.

“Ah yes, ever dramatic as always.” Kenobi replied, putting his hand on Maul’s back and leading him to the bar. Maul growled quietly and drank with the Jedi despite his distaste for the devilishly handsome man.

“Excuse me are you bounty hunters?” a strong feminine voice rang out from behind them. Both men turned to look at the short slender human woman speaking to them. Her brown hair was pulled back into a braided bun and she wore a plain light blue dress that hugged her torso in a worn-in way.

“No, we are not for hire. Move along.” Kenobi brushed off the woman.

“I have money. It’s everything I have.” the woman pleaded her brown eyes searching both men for some acknowledgement.

“It’s not enough.” Maul grumbled and turned back to his drink.

“I’m willing to give you everything I have. Don’t you want to at least hear what the job is?” the woman rang out attempting to appeal to the two rugged men.

“There’s a village. Not far from here. Peaceful folk. Moisture farmers, just trying to get by. The Hutts are trying to take our land out from under us. Killing innocent men, women, and children in cold blood in the streets.” she stated firmly, throwing a satchel into Kenobi’s hands. He opened it and peeked inside at the credits.

“Miss, you don’t need a bounty hunter. You need an army.” Kenobi responded as he threw the bag back into the woman’s arms.

“Missus. My husband was shot dead in the street by Jabba along with several other innocent civilians.”

“So it is revenge you seek?” Maul inquired piqued with interest now.

“I seek righteousness as should we all, but I’ll take revenge.” she responded cool and stern.

“The Hutts you say?” Kenobi perked up a bit, “What’s your name Missus?”

“I’m Jade Abernathy.”

“How many folks are still at your village?” Kenobi inquired, leaning back onto the bar with his arms crossed.

“60 or so. These folks are farmers. Not fighters.” she clarified.

“And how long until Jabba returns to your village?” Maul questioned.

“He said he’d be back in 3 weeks 8 days ago.” Jade stared at them both as she spoke. Maul let out a chuckle and downed a shot of whiskey.

“Well we best get started then.” Kenobi declared. Maul almost spit out his drink at this declaration. Kenobi slapped his back,

“Relax, old friend. We will recruit some help along the way.”

“I am NOT your friend.” Maul shot back with a glare.

The next day the 3 of them rode towards a settlement to which Kenobi was privy, where an old friend would be camped out. They came up to an old sand hut and each dismounted their horses to have a look around. The smell inside the hut was putrefying and large flii buzzed around, fat from whatever death they’d been feeding on. Jade walked into a room where a decomposing body of a tusken raider slumped on the floor. She covered her face and ran out of the room gagging. A figure of a man appeared from the darkness of the hut.

“He was dead before I got here.” a deep booming voice reached out from the shadows.

“Mace is that you?” Kenobi questioned walking further into the room to try and see.

“Obi Wan?” The strange man stepped forward into the dim light. He was a tall, bald, dark skinned man wearing a tan shirt, brown vest and brown pants. The two men embraced without thought of the decomposing body next to them.

“How did you find me?” Mace questioned Kenobi.

“I acquired a tip at Mos Eisley.” the jubilant Kenobi responded. Maul stood back and rolled his eyes at the reunion.

“Jedi scum,” he mumbled under his breath.

“What’s the job?” Mace stepped back, taking a serious tone.

“Going against the Hutts to help out a farming community. Paying us everything they got.” Kenobi replied matter-of-factly.

“What are our odds?”

“It’s suicide.”

The team of three plus Jade made their way now to recruit their next team member. Another friend of Kenobi’s, who went by the name of Anakin. They entered into a small town, where a congregation of people surrounded a young togruta woman giving a show throwing knives at burlap sack dummies. She had orange skin with white markings on her face, blue and white Lekku instead of hair, and wore a maroon vest and pants. A drunk kel dor man stepped out into the area where the togruta woman was performing.

“Yes, you can hit a dummy. Where’s the real show? Hit something live.” he slurred and stumbled towards the togruta.

“Keep talking and I’ll show everyone how easy it is to take someone down.” she threatened.

“oooh I’m sure they’d all love to see it!” he declared raising his arms in a mocking gesture turning his back to her to try and gain favor from the crowd. The togruta reached for the knives stowed at her back and threw them with clean precision into the kel dor’s back immediately taking him down into a pathetic slump. The crowd gasped and cheered.

A man dressed in all black, a scar running down his fair skinned face over one eye, walked around to the crowd with a hat extended taking payment for the show.

“Anakin?” Kenobi asked as the black clad man made his way around to them.

“KENOBI?!!” the man’s blue eyes lit up and reached out to hug Kenobi, nearly spilling his hat of money, “What are you doing here? How’d you find me?”

“Well we are recruiting for a job. Who is your companion? I’m surprised to see you relinquish yourself to the sidelines like this.” Kenobi asked with a concerned look on his face.

“Oh that’s Snips, er Ahsoka. She saved my life. And I help her navigate the wild terrain of Tatooine. She goes anywhere I go.” Anakin explained.

“Well we’d be happy to have you both. We’ll need both of your skills for this job.” Kenobi smiled.

They camped out that night outside the small town where they found Anakin and Ahsoka. The night air was crisp and cool, insects buzzing while Mace built a small campfire. Maul laid out his makeshift version of a bed and propped himself up to attempt resting. Kenobi walked over to his spot and sat down next to Maul.

“I already question why I have agreed to work with the likes of you. Do not try to make it worse with meaningless banter.” Maul scoffed barely looking over at Kenobi.

“I mean no harm. I only wish to bury our past and attempt to start over.” Kenobi spoke softly and sincerely.

“Start over?” Maul ridiculed, “are you going to grow my legs back? Am I to bring Qui Gon back from the dead? We have a past Kenobi. We will never have a future. And I mean never.”

“Such a Sith.” Obi Wan laughed, “it doesn’t need to be like this. We both did what we needed to survive at the time. The war is over. Let it go.” he started to stand as he spoke and walked away from Maul, who growled at the Jedi.

“You are such a pain in my ass.” Kenobi finished while shaking his head and walking to the other side of the campfire. Maul’s eyebrow ridges furrowed in anger as he stared at the dancing firelight in front of him. His body filled with rage and wanted nothing more than to kill the despicable Jedi, consequences be damned. He could not bring himself to do it, frozen to his small patch of desert. He hated the Jedi. He hated Kenobi more than anything. Yet, he respected the Jedi’s skills and combat techniques. The handsome and charming Jedi somehow infiltrated his way into Maul’s impermeable heart and that was what really drove him mad.

Jade sat to the side of both of them and watched the whole thing go down curiously. She gnawed on a dried piece of meat, before finally lying down on the hard rocky terrain to attempt getting some rest. The fire crackled and the soft hum of voices around the fire slowly died down as everyone decided to get some rest. Obi Wan took the first watch of the night, sitting atop a ledge and looking out into the darkness.

They packed up their belongings at first light to set out to find another old acquaintance of Obi Wan’s. Jade rode next to Maul and asked him about the Sith.

“Why don’t the Sith like Jedis? It seems like ya’ll are pretty similar.” she asked innocently enough, but it made Maul gnash his teeth together before responding.

“We are nothing alike. Jedi are fools and liars. They brainwash everyone into admiring them, and for what? For the power they claim they do not desire.” He scowled and spat the words out in his deep theatrical voice. Anakin over hearing this, let out a big laugh and Maul whipped his head around to glare at the smiling young man.

“I would be careful to make too much noise, Anakin.” Maul shot back at him and looked over to Jade, “This man took out an entire tribe of Tusken Raiders.”

“They were enslaving good folks, I did what I had to do to bring justice.” Anakin shouted back.

“There were innocent women and children that died at your hand. Was that for the good of everyone? Justice is merely the construct of the current power base.” Maul’s response was cut short by Obi Wan stopping the team with a fist up in the air.

“We are being followed.” Kenobi voiced quietly while everyone reached for their weapons. They were on a path surrounded by tall rock ridges on either side of them, everyone’s eyes darting around to watch for who was following them. A slender bald pale woman walked out beyond an outcropping guiding her horse on the rocky terrain. She carried a bow and arrow, wore tattered black and red form fitting clothes and had tattoos around her eyes and mouth.

“Quite a mix of strays I see.” She declared as she sauntered over, all eyes on her.

“Ventress,” Kenobi almost sighed out the words, “What are you doing out here?”

“I should ask the lot of you the same thing.” she suggested as she looked around at everyone.

“We are on a mission to drive the Hutts out of a peaceful farming community. Care to join?” Obi Wan asked the pale woman.

“Like you even had to ask.” she smirked.

“When did you become one of the good guys?” Kenobi questioned with a look of surprise on his face.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Kenobi. I’ll take any chance I can get at tormenting you.” she winked and mounted her horse now next to Kenobi. He rolled his eyes and they rode on down the dusty path.

They arrived at an old hut tucked away off the trail and Kenobi dismounted his horse to walk up to the two Jawas milling about outside the front door. They had a short conversation in Jawaese.

“You killed the old man who lived here?!” Kenobi asked them in astonishment. Suddenly, a green lightsaber flew through the air at the 2 jawas, cutting them down where they stood and then flying back into the hand of a short wrinkled green creature wearing torn furs and leathers.

“Left me for dead, those two Jawas did.” The old creature announced as he slowly walked towards Kenobi, dried blood covering the side of his face.

“Yoda, we are assembling a crew to take down the Hutts.” Kenobi cut to the chase and explained the mission to the small wizened creature.

Once Yoda was on board, they planned their initial attack into the town. Jabba was not currently there, but he had several of his cronies watching over the town so they’d need to carefully infiltrate at first. Then it would be a matter of days to train everyone there to fight back once Jabba did show up. The dangerous appeal of the mission was now starting to set into feelings of daunt and apprehension for everyone.

The team rode toward the town with everyone’s mind full of what their mission was as soon as they got there. It was late afternoon and the suns blazed onto the team of misfits. The air was arid and smelled of horses and nervous body odor. Kenobi and Maul rode side by side leading the group. Much to Maul’s bedevilment, as his body and face tensed up at the Jedi’s presence next to him.

“Kenobi.” Maul acknowledged him finally through grit teeth.

“Maul, don’t you think this is childish to still hold onto such a grudge?” Kenobi scrutinized the zabrak.

“I am unlike you foolish Jedi, sequestering your emotions. I was cast aside, I was forgotten, but I survived. Fueled by my singular hatred for you. ” Maul snarled at the Jedi.

“And yet here you are tagging along with us; some former and current Jedis and me, the bane of your existence.” Kenobi pointed out.

“I have my reasons.” he quietly retorted back and they rode on in silence for some time.

As they neared the town, the team split up and everyone besides Obi Wan took the back way into town led by Jade who knew the shortcuts and where Jabba’s infiltrators would not be monitoring. Obi Wan rode his horse directly into the town, it felt like a ghost town. Windows shuttered and barely anyone out and about. Finally, he reached the main drag and several armed beings; humans, twi’leks, and many gamorreans stood in a line on the street. The tall blue twi’lek spoke first,

“We don’t allow weapons in town. Check them in and we’ll return them after you leave.” he stretched his hand out, his long nails glinting in the sunlight.

“Of course. I wonder why it is such fine folks as you should be armed to the teeth when no one else is?” he asked as he reached for his lightsaber to hand over.

“We are this town’s protection against any outside force that wishes to bring harm to these townspeople.” the twi’lek responded looking agitated and spitting out a wad of tobacco as he finished. Obi Wan saw Ventress signal to him from on top of the building behind the men without letting them see his acknowledgement.

“That is not the story I am told. And not the story my friends believe.” Kenobi looked past the line of armed beings and they all slowly turned around to see they were surrounded. Kenobi ignited his lightsaber and cut down the twi’lek while Ventress shot several more from the rooftop with her bow and arrow. More Gamorrean guards rushed out into the street at hearing the commotion. Mace and Anakin shot several down narrowly missing getting shot themselves by a couple guards coming in from the sides. Ahsoka threw her knives at the guards in an instant hitting them in the throats and killing them on impact. Yoda and Maul stood on opposite sides of the street taking down the rest of the guards with calculated precision. As fast as it started, it was over, the warm air overcome with gunpowder, blood, and smoke.

Jade rode in on her horse, yelling for the townsfolk to come out of hiding.

“Everyone! Come out! They are here to help us!” her voice rang out as she rode her galloping horse through town. The townsfolk cautiously came out of hiding, looking around like scurriers expecting to see a rancor or other predator. Kenobi started to walk towards the congregation of people forming when he sensed a hidden Gamorrean under the wooden stairs to the bank building. He reached down and forcefully grabbed the Gamorrean by the arm to drag him out of hiding.

“You work for Jabba?” Kenobi shook the gamorrean in his hands and he squealed in response.

“You tell your boss if he wants this town, come see me. Tell him Kenobi sent you.” He instructed the Gamorrean who grunted in response and ran off with a squeal.

“These folks have assembled to help our town.” Jade’s voice rang out to the small crowd.

“The Hutts will be back in two weeks. How can we go up against them? We are simple farmers not warriors.” a distressed voice called out from the crowd.

“We are going to train you. Sleep well tonight. It may be the last good sleep you’ll see for awhile.” Kenobi answered the disembodied voice and a murmur of nervous voices rose in the air like steam.

The townspeople assembled at dawn to start training with the team of strange warriors. Kenobi had asked them to bring all their weapons and while many showed up wielding guns, axes, and knives, some only carried shovels.

“Oh good they brought shovels. I was worried about our chances otherwise.” Maul snarked at Kenobi, who tried to ignore the zabrak, but had to turn his head and hide his soft chuckle at the jeer.

The days were split up into different lessons. Tactical planning with Kenobi, short range shooting with Anakin and Mace, long range shooting with Maul, bomb building With Yoda, bow and arrow lessons with Ventress, and finally knife wielding with Ahsoka.

The days were long and grueling. The townsfolk were not lying about not being fighters. Everyone’s patience was thin, but Kenobi couldn’t help but notice Maul’s steadfastness with the townsfolk. He was patient and kind, but not afraid to motivate them through controlled aggression.

“You have to hate what you’re shooting at!” Maul yelled out behind the line of townsfolk armed to shoot dummies.

“Maul you have quite the knack for this.” Kenobi later remarked to the zabrak.

“A knack for survival? Yes. I care nothing for these simple minded people. You must know that about me by now.” he scoffed.

“Yes, I think I am getting to know you quite well.” Kenobi raised an eyebrow and moseyed away. Maul’s already hot internal temperature went up and he felt flushed and frustrated from the small interaction.

The week went by in a flash. a day like any other, Mace rode back to town after his watch to alert everyone the Hutts were a few hours away. It was go-time. The children and others unable to fight were hidden in the basement of the general store. The shovels had proven useful after all and many of the fighters hid in trenches that had been dug to camouflage their location. There were mines and bombs set along the path to town to take down as many of the Hutt soldiers as possible before they were able to enter town. Ventress and anyone who excelled at bow and arrow or Maul’s long range shooting course were perched atop different buildings in town.

The tension in the air could be cut with a knife. Kenobi swallowed his spit and it ran slowly down his esophagus seemingly snowballing into a hardened knot of anxiety until it settled into his empty stomach like a stone. He pulled the brim of his hat down to shade his face from the sun, and looked over at Maul. The zabrak’s golden eyes soothed him in an unexpected way, a calmness washing over him like drinking a warm shot of whiskey. A little intoxicating, but just the one did not dull him too much to think and respond clearly.

Maul nodded at Kenobi as he rode Scimitar down to the trenches, a smile creeping along his face for no one to see. He thrived in the chaos and sensing Kenobi’s nervous energy brought him a small amount of joy. He checked in with the trenches and made sure they understood their directions and to wait for the signal.

Jabba and his soldiers stood off in the horizon. Even from a great distance one could see the enormous slug-like nature of Jabba, laid out onto a big floating sled. He gave the signal and a line of soldiers on horseback ran towards the town.

“Steady, Steady.” Yoda’s voice rang out into the trenches. At last, Yoda gave the signal and shots were fired at the incoming soldiers. Once they reached the marked line of bombs Yoda pressed the lever and a giant boom deafened everyone. Horses and soldiers flew into the air in a cloud of dust and body parts. The survivors broke through the dust and ran forward into town. There was no time for anyone to think. Bullets whizzed past ears and into body parts. More bombs were set off taking down several clusters of soldiers at once.

The surviving soldiers made it into town, firefights ensuing all around. Ventress and the others on top of the building taking down soldier after soldier from their vantage point. Mace, Anakin, and Ahsoka all on foot on the street below shooting down anyone in sight. Kenobi and Maul, still on horseback, rode through the town shooting down their assailants at every chance they got. Yoda and the others from the trenches ran back into town to keep fighting as well.

If there had been only one or two waves of soldiers from Jabba, things would have been looking pretty good. Unfortunately, someone as rich as Jabba had an endless resource for anything they desired in life, including soldiers and weapons. More and more soldiers descended onto the small town. Already, many townsfolk had sacrificed their life for the cause. The foul stench of death and direness infiltrated the air of the town, quickly taken over by the smell of fire.

The General Store was set ablaze and the children were all trapped under the building. Without thinking, Maul shot his way through to the store. Inside, smoke filled his lungs and burned his eyes. The trap door to the basement had a burning beam on top of it, trapping anyone underneath it. A swift, force-ful kick and the beam was slid across the floor. Maul crouched down to lift the door and help pull up the children out of the basement. Jade had now made her way to the store to help and her and Maul led the children and others to safety outside of the burning building. They shot down several soldiers on their way as they protected their helpless herd.

Once the children were safe with Jade, Maul mounted Scimitar and rode over to Kenobi.

“We have to take down Jabba. These soldiers only fight because he pays them, if he is gone they stop fighting.” Maul did not even let Kenobi respond as he reached down and grabbed a stack of TNT from the stockpile, and galloped off on his horse.

“Maul, wait!” Kenobi finally yelled after the zabrak, now disappearing into a cloud of dust.

“You chaotic ass!” Kenobi huffed and rode after Maul. As far as Kenobi could tell, Maul’s mission was suicide and he rode to catch up with an urgency never quite felt before. His jaw was clenched, hands formed tight fists around his horse’s reins, and heels dug into the sides of his horse signaling the beast to go FAST.

Maul already had practically made it to Jabba and narrowly avoided being shot too many times to count. The bullets whistled past his ears but he was running on too much adrenaline to be stopped. He dismounted Scimitar about 50 meters from where Jabba lay out on his sled surrounded by his fiercest guards.

Maul held his hands up in the air in an act of surrender, and slowly walked towards the evil slug. Before he got halfway there, one of the overzealous guards shot Maul in the stomach. The impact of the shot stopped him in his tracks and he fell down to his knees in shock clutching his stomach. He pushed the pain aside to stick a cigarette in his mouth and fumbled with his matches. His hands wet with blood and sweat and shaking found it impossible to light the damned cigarette. Several guns were still pointed at him, but Jabba instructed them to hold off, and one of the guards was sent to light his cigarette for him as Jabba laughed at this foolish zabrak dying in front of their eyes.

Once Maul got his cigarette lit, a feverish smile curved his lips. He reached for the dynamite strapped to his back and fell face down ass up into the ground. The guards all laughed at his death and turned away from the pathetic slump of a corpse. Maul sensed when they weren’t looking, lit the end of the dynamite fuse, and threw it at Jabba’s sled before anyone had time to register what was happening.

As soon as the dynamite left his hand Maul was ripped off the ground and on top of a horse fiercely galloping away. The explosion set off narrowly behind them deafening them both.

The fight was over. The remainder of the guards and soldiers left alive ran off now that Jabba had been destroyed in the explosion. Kenobi slowed his horse’s pace and eventually stopped to assess the situation of Maul’s injuries. He gently carried Maul off the horse and into a soft patch of dried grass. Blood was spilling out of the zabrak’s midsection at an alarming rate. Kenobi ripped his shirt off to apply pressure to the wound. Maul groaned fighting off the urge to pass out from the pain and exhaustion.

“You almost got yourself killed, you fool.” Kenobi exasperated holding down on the wound.

“You know first hand how hard it is to kill me.” Maul coughed out.

“Yes, very well, you are incredibly lucky to have survived that just now.”

“Of course I survived.” Maul reached up to touch Kenobi’s face tenderly. Kenobi took his hand in his own and pressed it into his face, blood dripping down from his hand, his eyes filled with tears.

And so they saved the little town. Jade Abernathy gave them all the payment as promised and they stayed to help clean up the town and give burials to those lost in the battle. Kenobi never left Maul’s side as he recovered in the small doctor’s office in town. Eventually, the rest of the team headed out for their own separate next adventures.

Maul slipped in and out of consciousness for several days. Kenobi figured it was the first time the zabrak had actually rested in his whole troubled life. Eventually, Maul’s strength was enough to fully wake up. He immediately saw Kenobi in the corner of the room napping. Kenobi was sitting in a wooden chair, his legs propped up on a footstool and his hat covering his face.

“Kenobi!” Maul growled. The cowboy in the corner of the room slowly reached up for his hat and a relieved grin spread across his handsome face.

“Maul, I am so happy to see you have your strength back enough to be angry again!” Kenobi laughed.

Maul got out of the small bed and limped over to Kenobi with a menacing look. Kenobi stood tall to meet Maul’s fiery amber eyes attempting to cut through his watery blue gaze. Maul, now close enough to touch Kenobi, slowly leaned in to kiss Kenobi on the lips. Initially, Kenobi slightly flinched so taken aback by the act of affection. He couldn’t help the swelling of his heart, wrapped his arms around Maul’s waist and passionately kissed him back. The moment so pure and beautiful, Kenobi finally softly pushed Maul back.

“Maul, I care deeply for you. But you have got to brush your teeth.”

-.-.-.-.--.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

once again thankee sai for reading my humble writing! Please do leave a comment or heart, it warms my soul.

Tag list: @brilliantbutbatty , @maulieber , @botherbother-blog , @emissarydecksetter , @marvel-starwarsfangirl , @wolfpack-arts-industries99 , @formerly-darth-now-just-maul @mayday1284 , @justalittlecloud ,

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thdorkmagnet · 5 years ago

Text

Where in the World is Janna Ordonia?

Hello everyone! Here is my Carmen Sandiego AU/ Master Theif Janna AU, whichever you want to call it! So this is, as you probably guessed, inspired by the new Netflix series "Carmen Sandiego". Ever since I watched the first episode I've been picturing Janna filling this role so much and I just had to write it! But I did change some things around from the show like making Janna a straight up thief rather than a thief who only steals from other thieves. This will also be a Jantom fic since I don't think there are nearly enough of those out there right now and I wanted to help add to the collection. This ship needs more love!

Also big shout out to Andychipss for the awesome cover art! If you get a chance check her out over on Instagram! She always does an incredible job!

Disclaimer: Star vs and all its characters belong to Daron Nefcy and Disney. Carmen Sandiego belongs to Broderbund Software, Netflix and Lauren Elliott. All right go to them.

The city of lights was dazzling that particular evening, its namesake casting a brilliant and beautiful glow across all of Paris. Even the dark corners seemed to hold a life to them, making the whole city feel as peaceful and romantic as they say. And on one particular rooftop stretching high above the paved streets below stood a young woman. She wore a black long-sleeve shirt with matching pants and long black boots, giving her the outward appearance of a shadow herself. But blending in would be rather difficult for her since over that she wore a bright red trench coat and matching fedora. Her short dark hair hung slightly out from beneath her hat. She had tanned skin and brown eyes. Her appearance was eye-catching that was for sure, which was why it was a strange choice of attire coming from one of the most elusive and legendary thieves in the world. Her name which was known across the world was Janna Ordonia, the Scarlet Thief.

The girl looked coolly out from under the brim of her hat, holding a pair of small binoculars to her eyes. From her sight, she spotted her next target up ahead, a museum. She watched as some security guards made their rounds, in the exact pattern she memorized over the last few days of staking the place out. "Predictable," she sighed slipping the pocket-sized spying device into her coat pocket. "I was hoping for a bit more of a challenge," she groaned in boredom.

"Well y'know, you could wait until Acme shows up," came a voice from inside the communication device in her ear. "You know some of their agents are on your trail since you set fire to that shop earlier today." His voice was accusing now, clearly trying to make her feel guilty for her crime.

But Janna was unaffected by the attempt, saying plainly, "Come on, Alfonso, I can hardly be blamed for that, they were asking for it."

"How?" Alfonso asked in exasperation.

"Charging 30 bucks for a stupid model of the Eiffel tower is insane!" Janna scoffed. "And they call me a thief."

The young hacker just sighed burying his head in his hands. "Anyways, am I all clear to head inside?" Janna asked returning the conversation back to the task at hand.

Alfonso complied, doing a few keystrokes on his computer, but still grumbling under his breath in annoyance. "Yeah, hang on," he mumbled, shutting down all security in the museum as if it were no big deal. "There, done. But you better do this job fast before someone realizes it's down."

"Hey no problem, fast is my middle name," Janna said, doing a quick stretch to loosen up her muscles. It was important to stay flexible in this line of work.

"I thought you didn't have a middle name," Alfonso pointed out.

"Well I just gave myself one," the girl replied, before leaping off the roof. As she fell she whipped out a grappling gun she kept in her sleeve, firing it and attaching it to another building's side. She felt the string go taint as she sailed around the side of the building, detaching it fluidly off the wall before flying into an opened window and right into the museum.

Her feet hit smooth tile as she tried to slide to a delicate stop. But she didn't predict her momentum correctly as she stopped just short of hitting a wall and knocking a small pedestal holding some priceless vase on it. Janna didn't even have time to dive for it before it hit the floor and shattered into a million pieces. The young thief sucked in a breath waiting to see if the loud noise had attracted any guards, but after a couple beats of silence, Janna declared it a false alarm and let her body relax once more.

Alfonso, however, was less calm, as his squeaky voice spoke up from Janna's earpiece, "What was that noise?! Janna did you break something!"

Janna scoffed, kicking the fragmented pieces under a nearby fancy rug. "Aw, relax I'm sure it wasn't that important."

"Janna!" The young hacker screamed and the girl was tempted to take the earpiece off to avoid the inevitable rant but settled for merely reminding her friend, "Better keep your voice down, Al. Wouldn't want to wake your roommate."

The audible groan through the earpiece was her reward as she sauntered superiorly though the quiet museum, keeping her eyes peeled for her target. Alfonso's roommate Ferguson often got on the young hacker's nerve, especially when they were on a caper. The loudmouthed teen seemed to have no self-control as he would frequently butt in and distract Al while he was trying to hack, getting overeager and nosy over what the two were doing (treating it more like a game than a life or death situation), and just being a general nuisance, which frayed Alfonso's last nerve. But this seemed to do the trick as the boy stopped with his incessant whining and Janna was able to enjoy a couple minutes of silence, taking everything in. She walked with practiced ease through the marble halls, making sure her footsteps made no sound as she traveled deeper inside. Her brown eyes scanned the area, alert and precise, despite her relaxed posture, taking in slow breaths of musty air.

She always loved being in a dark museum at night, the empty and quiet always soothing to her. As much as she loved chaos, even Janna couldn't deny how beautiful and simplistic a simple trip through the abandoned hallways could be. It was like looking into a hidden world, a peek behind the curtains. During the day, the museum was close to bursting with tourists and tour groups and kids on school field trips, making the experience feel cheapened and hallow. But at night, that was when the museum could truly be itself, no lights, no spectacles, no overzealous explanations of what made its contents art, it could just exist and allow its art to speak for itself. And that was something Janna could relate too.

Her eyes glance lazily around at the paintings and sculptures and all forms of artistic achievements, each one a masterpiece in its own right and each one probably worth a fortune. But none of them were what she was looking for. She had a much bigger prize in mind.

The girl came to a stop in front of a large painting, the image a portrait of a sailor, the delicate paint strokes perfectly encapsulating the man's gruff demeanor. Janna cocked her head to the side as if admiring it closely as she said into her earpiece, "Alfonso, I'm at the painting."

"Great, the panel should be behind it, I've overwritten the security codes but you'll have to pick the lock yourself," the hacker replied, all business now.

Janna smiled mischievously. "Not a problem." She took a step closer to the painting, saying softly to the image, "Sorry about this, captain." She gently grabbed the painting's frame, lifting it off its hook and moving it as carefully and quietly as she could. As she did she noticed that her eyes were now level with the deep angry eyes of the painting and she muttered under her breath, "Hey, don't give me that look. You brought this on yourself." Without another word, she set the painting down on the opposite wall, before turning back to her next objective. It was a small safe, made of thick unbreakable metal, and Janna could see it had two sets of locks on its smooth surface, an electronic lock with a small series of buttons and a panel, as well as a combination lock next to it. On closer inspection, Janna could see that Alfonso had already done his part, the panel flashing the word "Entry". Now all that was left was for Janna to do her part.

Janna cracked her knuckles, flexing them a little to make sure they were nice and loose. She carefully grabbed hold of the small turn-style knob, putting her ear up to the door as she began to ever so slowly move the knob left. Soon she heard a click echo through the cold metal and smiled, immediately turning the knob the other way, waiting for the next click to sound. She continued on with this meticulous task, making sure to move slowly and preciously with each turn of the dial. Until finally, the last click sounded and she took a step away, whispering smugly, "Child's play."

With one swift motion, she turned the handle and pulled the safe door open, staring inside with a victorious smile. Inside the small metal box sat a plain black briefcase with a simple lock that took the highly skilled Janna only a minute to pick. She flicked up the latches before opening the container, wanting to make sure she had the correct package. And just as she had predicted inside sat a small golden statue sealed tight in the foam covering they had carefully placed around it so it wouldn't be jolted or damaged. The statue was in the shape of a woman, a ballerina, her arms raised in a graceful and beautiful pirouette.

"Is it there?" Al asked nervously, he always got anxious when he couldn't identify the item firsthand.

Janna whistled, eying the statue closely as she muttered under her breath, "Oh it's here all right."

The young hacker let out a sigh of relief, before saying, "Good."

"Must be pretty special if our client wants it so badly," Janna commented.

"The Golden Dancer is one of the rarest statues in the world. It is one of a set of three identical statues kept in hidden locations around the globe. They originated in-"

"Geez, Professor Al, I didn't ask for the history lesson," Janna interrupted, sealing the briefcase back up and closing the safe. It was time to cover her tracks. Hopefully, no one would even notice it was even missing, at least for a while.

Alfonso let out a groan of annoyance but decided to change the subject, informing the girl instead, "Okay Janna, you'll need to be extra careful moving around the statue, we don't want to risk damaging it."

"Come on, Al, we've worked together for how long now?" Janna told him, setting the large painting back in its place from before. "Don't you know me better than that by now."

"The fact that I know you so well is exactly why I said something," Alfonso deadpanned.

Janna made a hurt scoff into the tiny device, telling him, "Well that's just rude." Her face showed a different story though, as she just smirked and nodded in satisfaction at her work. The painting was now perfectly aligned on the wall again, not an inch of it out of place, you couldn't even tell it had been moved at all. She picked up the briefcase, saying smugly, "Okay, now I think it's about time for my dramatic exit."

Just then a loud shout sounded from elsewhere in the museum, the echoed voice bouncing around the walls and Janna turned to it with a start. "Jan, what was that?" a nervous voice asked in her ear, Alfonso clearly hearing the voice too.

Janna, however, just whispered softly to herself, "Hmm, I was wondering when they'd show." Her smirk widened as she added, "This should be fun."

…

The two Acme agents walked side by side through the dark museum, both on high alert, their eyes darting as they meticulously searched the room for any threats. Well the young man was, the other seemed too entranced by every painting, sculpture, and statue they came across, her blue eyes gleaming with admiration as she looked over each piece of art. This wasn't the only contrast between the two, the two seeming to be as different as night and day, despite their similar style. Both wore fancy black suits (the standard for all Acme agents) but where the boy's was well-pressed and had not a crease out of place, the girl's was wrinkled in a few places but still quite beautiful on her slim frame. The man's short spiky brown hair was perfectly styled and lay even on his tanned face, his brown eyes narrowed in grim determination, which was almost thwarted by the adorable mole just under his left eye. His blood-red tie was a stark contrast to the pure white dress shirt he wore underneath his suit. The girl's long blond locks seemed to almost flow down her back, a small blue butterfly clip resting just above her bangs. She had on a carefree smile and walked with a noticeable skip in her step. She had on a dark blue tie and wore a black skirt and dark blue stockings rather than the dress pants of her partner. The only similarity the two seemed to share were the matching golden rings they both wore on their right hands.

"Do you really think someone is in here, Marco?" the blond asked, her eyes still gazing around in curious innocence.

"Well according to our intel-" the boy began.

"Meaning you," his partner interrupted, giving him a teasing look.

Marco smiled and blushed slightly. "Well, yeah. I mean, I am a man of many talents." He cleared his throat, willing away his blush before continuing in a matter-of-fact tone, "Anyways, Star, I heard news that the Scarlet thief was recently spotted in this area earlier today after setting fire to a local shop..."

"Classic Janna," Star commented.

"And then the whole security grid for the museum just happens to go offline the same day," Marco continued. "A place where they are keeping one of the rarest and most priceless statues in the world, mind you. Seems just a bit too suspicious if you ask me."

Star shrugged, saying, "Makes sense to me."

"In fact, Janna is probably in here right now, so we need to stay focused and not get distracted by anything."

"Got it," Star said, doing a small salute. But as she turned her head she let out a small gasp, grabbing onto her partner's arm and squealing, "Oh my gosh, Marco. Look at that adorable painting of a kitty! I have to take a picture of it!" the girl pulled out her phone but it was quickly snatched out of her grip.

"Star," Marco scolded, pulling his arm free of his girlfriend's surprisingly strong grip. "We aren't tourists, we have a job to do, remember?"

"Okay..." the girl muttered, giving him a pouting look that caused Marco's stomach to do flips at how adorable she looked. But he held back his coo as he simply nodded and told her, "Good."

The two had only gone a few more steps before something new caught Star's eye, the girl saying, "Look Marco it's a unicorn vase, ooohhh I want one!"

"Starrrr," the boy said, gaining the girl's attention before gently reminding her, "Focus."

"Right, right," Star said, nodding, her eyebrow now furrowed in determination. "Focus, I got this."

The two continued on a few more steps only for Star to gasp in shock again, causing Marco to sigh in annoyance. "What is it now?" he asked in defeat. Star quickly pointed up at one of the large statues towering over them. A big, hulking ox looking thing with an angry expression on its stone face. "Oh my gosh, Marco that statue guy looks just like you!"

"What, that looks nothing like me?!" the boy exclaimed, putting his hands on his hips as he gave the girl an angry glare.

Star had to fight to hold in her laughter as the boy's expression and demeanor matched the statue creature perfectly, the girl barely managing to stifle her chuckle by slapping a hand over her mouth.

"I don't know, Marco, I think it's pretty spot on?" a voice said behind the pair, and Star and Marco both turned to see Janna staring down at them from the floor above, leaning against the railing with a casual ease.

"Janna," Marco growled under his breath, reaching into his jacket pocket and whipping out his stun gun. He aimed it up at the thief, shouting out, "Don't move!" Star did the same next to him, yelling up at their target, "Hands in the air!"

"Well, which is it?" Janna asked, an eyebrow slowly raising but making no sign of complying.

The two agents shared a look, their cheeks now slightly pink, before Marco said in slight annoyance, "Just stay where you are."

"Sure, no problem there," Janna said, leaning a little heavier on her arm. "I'm quite comfortable up here."

"Well hopefully you'll be just as comfortable in prison, cause that's where you're headed, Janna Ordonia," Marco commented bitterly.

Janna scoffed, shaking her head. "I see you haven't changed any, Diaz." She paused looking over at Star before asking, "So how have you been, Star?"

"Oh, I'm great," Star replied brightly.

"Hey, don't change the subject!" Marco shouted.

"What? I'm just seeing how you two have been. It's been a couple of months since the last time we hung out, after all."

"If by 'hung out' you mean you swiping my wallet and using it to buy drinks for every pub in Ireland," Marco muttered in annoyance.

"Hey, you should be thanking me, you're a local hero there, now," Janna replied.

Marco's eyebrow twitched, but he said nothing more. There was never any point in fighting with Janna.

"Look, Janna," Star took over, picking up on her boyfriend's increasing annoyance. "We all know you stole something from the museum so why don't you hand it over and then we can-"

"Whoa, hang on a second!" Janna interrupted her face and voice showing interest for the first time since they had arrived as her eyes finally spotted the matching rings on the agents' hands. "Since when have you two been engaged!" She quickly picked up on the intense blush that soon coated the young couple's cheeks, as well as the quick loving look that passed between Star and Marco, before their focus returned to Janna.

"For a few weeks now..." Star admitted, clearly overjoyed to be confessing this, even if it was to their enemy.

"Unbelievable, I can't believe you two didn't tell me!" Janna scoffed out, shaking her head in disapproval.

Marco rolled his eyes, muttering under his breath, "Maybe because it's none of your business."

"So how did it happen?" the thief asked, leaning closer to the two, her eyes shimmering with questions.

The brown-haired boy opened his mouth to remind her once again that their personal life was none of her business, only for his fiance to blurt out in an excited squeal, "Oh my gosh, it was the sweetest thing, Janna. You should have seen it. One minute we're beating up a group of VILE agents, the next Marco's down on one knee proposing!" Star let out a long sigh at the memory, putting a hand to her blushing cheek, her shoulder just barely touching her finance's side. "It was so romantic."

"So, where's the wedding going to be?" Janna asked with genuine interest.

"We decided to have it in Marco's old hometown," Star replied instantly. "Nothing too fancy, just a simple wedding with our closest friends and families. Don't want to attract too much attention, y'know."

"Staarr," Marco whispered to her in warning, trying to remind his future wife not to divulge too much information to the perceptive thief. He knew she was excited and everything but Janna was the last person he had wanted to know about their special day, considering her track record for making his life miserable every chance she got.

"Huh, sounds nice," Janna commented from above, sounding genuine and sincere, even going as far as to flash them what could almost pass for a warm smile. But Marco wasn't buying any of her act, he had been fooled by her one too many times. "So when can I expect my invite?" she added.

"Uhh, never," Marco deadpanned.

Janna gave the boy a fake hurt look, feigning ignorance as she asked, "What, why not?"

"Maybe because we don't want a common criminal hanging around during our wedding," the boy snapped, giving her an accusing glare.

"Plus, we're kinda arresting you, soooo," Star added, with an apologetic shrug. At that, the two agents held their guns up once more, their gazes hardening as they kept their focus and attention on their target.

The young thief let out a dejected sigh, sitting up and turning her back on the two but still keeping a light grip on the railing behind her. "Fine, I see how it is," she said in the saddest tone she could muster, watching out of the corner of her eye to see if they would let their guard down any.

She inwardly smirked as Star lowered her gun just an inch, her face softening in sympathy, while Marco only seemed to grow more suspicious, his eyebrows somehow furrowing more than they already were. "Look, Jan, just toss us down the briefcase and we won't have to use force," Marco said in a slow, even tone, but Janna easily caught onto the hidden threat that lay beneath.

She let out a deep sigh, before saying softly, "Whatever you say." The next few seconds went by in a flash as Janna instantly turned and jumped over the railing, now falling back to the first story. Star and Marco flinched, Janna seeing their fingers tightening on the triggers of the stun guns but before either could react fully, the girl threw the briefcase in her hands, it smacking directly into Marco's chest causing the boy to grunt in pain and surprise and crash to the floor hard. Star turned to her boyfriend in fear, Janna forgotten as she screamed out a panicked, "Marco!"

Janna, meanwhile, quickly shot out a grappling line from inside her sleeve, where it roughly attached to the ceiling. The string went taunt allowing the young thief to soar over the two agent's heads. She detached the line, tucking into a roll as she hit the ground and soon she was back on her feet once more.

Janna turned, seeing Star checking on her partner, who was more stunned than hurt and didn't even hesitate to shoot out another grapple line which latched onto the forgotten handle of the briefcase, before being zipped back over to her at record speed. Janna caught it with practiced ease, looking smugly over to the pair of agents now shooting her confused but angry glares, and she merely winked and tipped her hat toward them, saying in her typical sarcastic wit, "Thanks for holding onto that for me. But I think I'll be going now."

The thief took off at a run, knowing it would only be a few seconds before the two agents pursued her with a fiery vigor and she needed to put as much distance between her and them as possible. And just as she predicted within seconds Janna heard a loud voice shout, "Hey wait!" and she increased her speed, heading straight for the top floor of the building.

Star helped Marco to his feet before the two quickly ran after the escaping thief, the latter growling under his breath for being outsmarted again by the willy Janna. He ignored the slight heat in his cheeks, keeping his focus entirely on his target, whose head start was doing little to match his and Star's speed, quickly gaining on the girl.

The door to the roof busted open as Janna emerged, running toward the edge with Star and Marco right on her heels. Janna didn't even hesitate as she jumped off the roof, sailing flawlessly through the air before landing on the rooftop of the next building. She turned to give the two a victorious smirk before running away at top speed again.

Marco and Star, however, were far from beaten, the two racing ahead with no fear or hesitation as they too leaped off the building's side, landing on the next roof in perfect synchronization. Janna turned to see the two chasing after her again and she smiled to herself. This was just the challenge she had been hoping for.

The chase across Paris continued, Janna leaping from rooftop to rooftop, with little to no regard for her own safety, even the breakneck drop that waited below and the cold, bitter wind rushing against her face doing nothing to slow her pace. She began trying to dissuade the two agents from following as she took riskier and more dangerous jumps, knowing from experience that Marco would more than likely take the safest route available, rather than risk injury for him or his girlfriend. That boy was always too overly cautious for his own good, something Janna was hoping to use to her advantage.

But for once, Marco didn't seem to be falling back on his safe ways, keeping pace with his target as he precariously threw himself across every gap he came across. Star happily doing the same, looking like she was having the time of her life, chasing after the elusive thief with her boyfriend.

At this point, Marco's lungs and limbs were screaming at him to stop and allow them to rest. But the boy didn't listen, instead pressing them harder to continue. He was going to catch her this time, he was sure of it. And his hopes rose as he saw the row of buildings was soon coming to an end, instead opening up into a near-empty harbor, the light from the moon catching in the gentle waves and causing the water to shimmer and dazzle. That was definitely too far for even Janna to jump.

The girl seemed to notice this as she brought herself to a stop, just inches away from the edge. She turned to face the two agents, who were both huffing and puffing at this point, exhausted from the long trek over the Paris skyline. But they smiled at her with tired but victorious smirks, Star saying in a gasped breath, "Ha, looks like we win! You're trapped!"

"Just give up, Janna, there's nowhere else for you to run," Marco added, his voice low and full of finality.

"Maybe not," the girl said in a soft tone, keeping her face blank, before she smirked and added cryptically, "But maybe I don't have to." Her eyes snapped over to the waiting harbor below, before returning over to the two agents. Star and Marco gave her quizzical looks for a second before they both gasped in shock, realizing what she was saying.

"Wait, you aren't seriously going to try and jump that, are you?!" Star asked in disbelief, her eyes widening some in worry.

"No way, Star, she's just bluffing!" Marco said confidently.

"Are you sure about that?" Janna asked, taking a step closer to the edge, a gust of wind nearly knocking her hat off her head but she stood unmoving against it, bracing herself against its biting chill.

Star looked over to her boyfriend, cupping a hand around her mouth as she whispered to him, "I don't know, Marco. She seems pretty serious."

The boy agent paused, heeding his girlfriend's advice and giving his target a closer examination, taking in Janna's relaxed and almost teasing posture, her eyes showing no sign of hesitance or concern. Marco inwardly cringed, Star was right she was definitely up to something. But he didn't let it show as he again warned the girl, "You can't make that jump, Janna. Just surrender peacefully and things will go easier for you."

Janna cocked her head to the side, making a big show of thinking this over, tapping a finger against her chin in a clearly mocking manner. "Hmm, I don't know. 'Surrender' and 'peaceful' aren't exactly in my vocabulary." Keeping her gaze locked on the two agents she took a step closer to the edge, her foot now partially off the building, a wide smirk growing on her face as she added, "Besides since when have I ever taken the easy route."

Then, without another word, the girl turned and lunged forward, kicking off of the roof with all her might, sending her form flying smoothly through the air. At the same time, Marco lunged for her, hoping to catch her before she was out of reach. "Oh no you don't!" he screamed, his hand reaching out to grab onto her signature cloak. But he was just milliseconds too short, his fingers barely brushing the bright red fabric before it slipped through his fingertips, leaving him touching nothing but air... and falling quickly and precariously toward the waiting water below. Marco let out a high-pitched scream, his arms flailing in a desperate attempt to somehow slow himself, before splashing into the cold moonlit harbor, a spray of water sent hurtling through the air.

Janna, however, remained as calm as ever, holding out an arm and firing off her grappling gun once again, it easily connecting to the side of a building across the stream before yanking her quickly towards it, the trained thief doing a quick flip in the air before landing expertly on the rooftop.

Star, who had watched the whole display from the safety of the nearby building, muttered to herself, "Oh right, grappling hook. Forgot she had that."

Down below, Marco surfaced, coughing and spluttering as he spat out as much water as he could from his lungs, looking shocked and bewildered from the unexpected dive. His spiked hair now lay flat and clung to his head at awkward angles, his form shuddering in the frigid temperature.

Janna looked smugly down to the young agent and then back up to Star before saying, "Well this has been fun, but I got to run." The girl then began making her way across the rooftop, walking smoothly and steadily now that she didn't have to worry about being pursued. She kept her back to them as she waved her goodbye, shouting, "Congrats on the wedding by the way! Make sure to send me some pictures."

Once the girl was out of sight, Star turned her attention back to her boyfriend, asking in concern, "Marco, you okay?"

The boy let out an exhausted sigh. "I'm fine," he said dejectedly.

"You sure?" Star questioned, not looking quite convinced. "Nothing's hurting?"

"Just my pride," the boy admitted, looking sadly off into the distance, the exact direction his target was now headed.

Star gave her fiance a sympathetic look, before adding, "You want me to go after her."

The boy shook his head, slouching forward as his face hardening into an angry scowl. "Nah, there's no point. She's probably long gone by now."

"Okay well, in that case, I'm coming down to help you," Star replied.

Marco's eyebrow raised in confusion, not quite understanding what his girlfriend was implying. "Wait, what do you mean by-" he started to ask, only to be interrupted by a loud shout above, looking up to see Star diving off the building too, letting out a cheer of excitement as she free-fell through the cold, night air.

"Wait, wait, wait, Star don't, it's too cold!" The boy shouted in warning, waving his hands wildly but it was too late as Star splashed down into the bay right next to him, sending a wave of freezing cold water into his face and leaving him spluttering once more. Star surfaced a second later, water dripping from her bangs as she giggled at her Marco's startled face.

The boy let out a few deep breaths, still in shock from being pelted with the icy cold water but soon found himself smiling too, his fiance's laugh too infectious for him to resist. And pretty soon Marco was laughing too, pressing his forehead to Star's and bringing his arms around her, the two floating on the water's surface as one. "You know we're gonna be in big trouble for not catching Janna, right?" Marco reminded Star, though it was light and warm in comparison to just a few minutes ago.

"Aww, we'll get her next time," Star reassured the boy, cupping his cold cheeks in her hands, the warmth of her fingers causing Marco's whole face to tingle. "Besides, I already know where's she heading."

"Wait, you do?" Marco gasped in surprise.

Star gave her boyfriend a quick wink, saying in a flirty tone, "You're not the only one who can gather intel, y'know." Marco continued to give his partner a disbelieving look, not that he should be too surprised. Star was amazing and when she put her mind to it, there was nothing she couldn't do.

"So where's she headed?" Marco asked curiously.

"Welllll, judging by the direction she was going I would say our Scarlet Thief is heading for the train station. It's only like a block away from here and we both know Janna is known to try and skip town the first chance she gets," Star explained, while her fiance just listened in awe. "So all we gotta do is head over there and find out which train she got on."

"How do you know that?" the boy asked, raising a playful eyebrow at his bride-to-be.

Star shrugged. "Reasons," she said vaguely.

"Like?" the boy pressed, giving her a flirty look he knew she couldn't resist.

Star blushed slightly as she replied, "Let's just say I've had my eye on this place for a while now. You may be in charge of planning the wedding, but I'm in charge of the honeymoon."

The boy instantly froze, his face turning a dark shade of red that easily surpassed the color on his tie. He definitely hadn't been expecting that answer and he had to cough into his hand to clear his tight throat, looking away from the beautiful piercing blue of his girlfriend. "Oh yeah, okay, great, that's uhhh... that's great," the boy muttered nervously, Star holding back a giggle at the embarrassed blush on her Marco's cheeks.

Instead, the blond let out a loving sigh, giving her adorable fiance's small form a quick squeeze, as she squealed out, "Aw Marco, your so cute!" But she quickly added in a determined, serious tone, "But we can flirt later! Right now we got a job to do!"

"Yeah!" Marco shouted, pumping a fist into the air, too, before the two shared a quick high five. Just as their hands connected, a motorboat sped by them, sending a wave of freezing cold water washing over them. Both of the highly trained agents froze in place, their hands still touching as Marco muttered behind chattering teeth, "But first things first, let's get out of this water before one of us freezes to death!"

"Agreed," Star replied, her form shaking in perfect sync with her boyfriend's as they both began furiously swimming for shore and hopefully some much-needed warmth.

…

Janna was able to board the train out of Paris without any complications whatsoever. Mostly due to the fact that Alfonso had purchase Janna a ticket in advance, under his partner's direction, though being sure to give the conductor a fake name since Janna was a very wanted criminal at the moment. The young hacker had shown reluctant at first towards the plan, saying that even with a fake name she could still be recognized and that it would safer to just sneak onboard. But Janna had been quick to argue, saying that Al was just being paranoid and worried too much... which he absolutely did. But despite his concerns, Alfonso had gone ahead with the purchase, making sure Miss Hanna Orlandia had a ticket out of the city.

And just as Janna had predicted, nobody paid her any mind, the conductor barely batting an eye in her direction as he just lazily punched her ticket and sent her on her way. Janna, of course, making a smug comment to Alfonso which caused the boy to groan in annoyance and accept defeat... this time.

From there it had been as simple as stashing the briefcase in one of the storage cars, making sure it was buried under a pile of luggage and wouldn't be accidentally discovered by any noisy passengers, leaving Janna free to enjoy the trip.

She slowly walked through the row of cars looking for her seat, ignoring the irregular shifting beneath her feet as the train carried forth at rapid speed, already fast on its way to her destination. "Sooo that could have gone... better," Al said in her ear, trying to lighten the mood and the girl chuckled.

"Yeah, but we did get to see the power couple so I'd call that a win," she responded, ignoring the weird looks she was getting from the few passengers that went by. "And we just got away scot-free."

"I don't know Janna," Al responded nervously. "This just seemed too easy."

Easy. Yeah for him, maybe, all he had done was sit there and give out directions, Janna was the one who had been in a hot pursuit across Paris with two of the most highly-trained secret agents in the world. "Oh relax Al," Janna replied with a roll of her eyes. He could be so over-dramatic sometimes. "We're fine."

"Yeah, Al relax," came a familiar voice through the earpiece.

"Ferguson! How long have you been up?!"

"Mmm," Ferguson hummed thoughtfully. "Probably about three minutes or so."

"Well if you're up than can you do me a favor and clean the dishes, the sink is full again and it's your turn."

"Whaaaattt nooo," Ferguson whined. "Why can't you do it?"

"Because I'm busy helping Janna," Alfonso explained, sounding exasperated with the discussion already.

"Well let me help Janna and then you can do the dishes," Ferg suggested excitedly.

"No way! I'm not letting you touch my system, you don't know anything about it!" Al argued loudly.

"Aw come on how hard can it be if you do it?"

"Ferg, I said no!"

The speaker quickly filled with the sound of the two wrestling, Alfonso probably trying to push Ferguson back from his expensive and highly breakable equipment. After a few seconds of listening to the annoying grunts of them fighting, Janna pulled out her earpiece, knowing they could go on like this for a while and she was in the mood for some peace and quiet.

She reached her own reserved car, smiling softly to herself as she saw the door was already open, alerting her someone was already inside. And she had a pretty good idea who.

And the moment she stepped inside her smirk widened as her suspicions were proven correct, he was there. He sat with his legs crossed and his arms stretched out on the back of his seat trying to look as casual as possible. His hair was spiked just like she had remembered it and the familiar pink color made Janna inwardly chuckle. He wore a bright red shirt with a star on the front and a long black leather jacket, black gloves with the fingers torn off, and black jeans. His shoes were his typical orange boots. In short, Tom Lucitor looked as great as ever.

He gave her a devilish grin, saying in a smooth tone, "Thought you'd show up, took you long enough, though."

Janna put a hand to her hip and said in the teasing tone she reserved only for her greatest rival, "Aw, Pinkie what a surprise."

The boy's calm demeanor shattered as he growled at the hated nickname. "I told you my hair is salmon!"

"Mmm yeah I'm still gonna call you Pinkie," Janna replied with a shrug, taking the seat across from him.

Tom groaned, crossing his arms in a pouting gesture. "Yep your still as intolerable as ever," he grumbled, rolling his eyes.

"And your still as angry as ever," the girl replied, leaning back in her seat, crossing her legs and resting her hands behind her head. "So what brings you to Paris, the City of Love, don't tell me you've gone all sappy and turned into a romantic."

"You know me better than that, Jan," Tom replied, flashing her a cocky grin. He leaned forward a bit, before saying in a knowing tone, "And I think you already know why I'm here."

Janna smiled. "Yes, but I wanted to hear you say it."

Tom's gaze narrowed slightly before he began in a threatening tone, "I want you-"

"You want me?" Janna interrupted with a mock look of surprise. "Well looks like you are turning into a romantic."

Tom growled angrily under his breath as he spat out through clenched teeth, "I want you to give me the statue."

"What statue?" Janna asked, feigning ignorance.

Tom just rolled his eyes before snapping, "The Golden Dancer! The one you stole from the museum."

"What makes you think I stole anything?" Janna asked, her cryptic tone never ceasing and the smile on her face told Tom that she was very much enjoying herself, much to his annoyance. "Can't a girl visit Paris without having some ulterior motive?"

"Yes, but you're not most girls," Tom stated simply, and for the first time since she had gotten there Janna's cheeks got the slightest tinge of pink.

"Aww, you flatter me, Tom," Janna cooed coyly, winking at him.

"That wasn't a compliment," Tom stated, trying to hide the joy he felt at making her blush. She was so cute when she was blushing, it almost made him forgive how aggravating she could be.

"Yes, it was," Janna said calling his bluff, and Tom felt his cheeks heat up again against his will, growling to try and hide his embarrassment.

Almost. He almost forgave her. But something told him, she wanted it this way, which was why being around her was so frustrating. She always knew just what to say to set him off. "Look are you gonna give me the statue or do I have to make you," he threatened, wanting to just get to the point and get this whole confrontation over with before he was reminded anymore how much he had missed her. His hand slowly moved to his pocket, making sure his movements were subtle enough she didn't pick up on them.

"Hmmm," she hummed, tapping a finger to her chin, clearly thinking it over or at least pretending to. "Yeah no, I don't think so. I stole it fair and square. You want it so bad you should have stolen it yourself." Tom smirked. "Why would I do that, when I got you?" He leaned forward, his malicious grin widening with every word, looking proud of himself for conning the elusive thief. "I followed you all the way, here, y'know. And I didn't even have to try to find you, you made your presence well known. If I didn't know any better I'd say you were slipping Janna." His hand now grasped the electric stun baton from within the confines of his pocket, ready to draw it out and use it to knock his annoying rival out cold. But then Janna did something unexpected, she leaned in closer to him, freezing the boy in place as his heart began hammering in his chest. Soon their faces were just inches apart, Tom looking deep into Janna's brown gaze, a soft, almost sincere look on her face and he wondered if she was actually opening up to him for once. Her fingers began tracing lines on his shirt as she softly whispered, "Or maybe I wanted you to find me."

Tom tried not to shudder as her warm breath tickled his skin. Her lips were so close now, challenging him, teasing him to move in, but no matter how much he wanted to (oh man did he want to) he knew better than to let his guard down around her. "Wh-Why would you do that?" He asked, trying to hide the squeak in his voice.

And then Janna moved in even closer until her lips were almost touching his as she said in the most honest and sincere tone he had ever heard come from her lips, "Cause I missed you, Tom."

The boy gulped but found himself actually moving in for the kiss, all ulterior motives, all scheme, all logic thrown out the window as he attempted to capture that which he had never yet been able to steal: Janna's affection.

But just before their lips brushed, Tom felt a stinging sensation in his side, which then turned into a powerful burning. He let out a yelp of pain as he looked down, only to see Janna had snatched the baton from his pocket and had it pressed into his side, electrocuting him.

"Sorry, Pinkie," he heard Janna say to him in an apologetic tone, but it was distant and fuzzy as his brain began to shut down. "But you know the first rule of dealing with a thief. Never let them get too close."

Tom let out one last growl of annoyance before he lost consciousness, falling back against his seat, asleep.

Janna pulled the device away the second she saw the boy's eyes close and quickly pocketed the device. It was very nicely made, she might have some use for it in the future. For a few seconds, she just stared at his sleeping face, looking so cute and peaceful you couldn't even tell that beneath lie a hotheaded, temperamental thief. He was too much fun to tease when awake, but asleep he was irresistible. Which was why she couldn't help but lean over and place a gentle kiss on his cheek, letting her armor crack for a second as she whispered to his sleeping form, "See you around, Tom."

She stood, stepping back out into the hallway, giving him one last longing look over her shoulder before closing the door to the train car sealing the sleeping teen inside.

Once she had put some distance between her and her unconscious rival, she slipped her earpiece back on, saying smoothly, "Hey Al, what'd I miss?"

"Janna?!" Came the worried, expected shriek of her friend. It was clear he had been panicking for a while now. "What happened? I lost contact with you. Did something go wrong?"

"Nah, not really," the girl lied instantly. "Must have just had a bad signal there for a while."

"Well that's a relief," Alfonso said with a sigh. "For a minute there I was afraid you ran into that hot-headed rival of yours. That would have been a total disaster."

"Wellllll, actually," the girl said in a purposely overly hesitant way.

Alfonso let out a long sigh. "Spoke too soon," he muttered under his breath.

...

The train pulled into the station an hour later, a crowd of passengers emerging from the train in a hurry, eager to stretch their legs after the long trip. And hiding in plain sight, the thief in red whistled as she strode along, an almost skip in her step as she carried the large briefcase loosely at her side. She made her way to the dock, where a large boat waited for her, giving the captain a wink as she boarded, letting him know it was her and he nodded to tell her he understood. He said something over to one of the crew who ran off to inform them now they were good to go. Not even a minute later the ship was already plowing it's way out of the harbor and heading toward open ocean.

The captain went over to greet her, saying pleasantly enough, "Miss Ordonia, glad to see you made it." His gaze slowly lowered to the briefcase, eying it greedily for a second. "And by the looks of it, your heist was a success."

"Captain Carrots, a pleasure as always," Janna said with a smile. "I trust my colleague already paid you in full."

"Aye yes, your friend already sent us the cash."

"And did he give you my instructions?"

The captain nodded. "Aye, he did."

"Good, then since you know our destination, I'll leave the rest to you," Janna said, going to walk around him but he stepped into her way, blocking her path off.

"Why don't you let me take that off your hands," the captain offered slowly reaching down to grab the briefcase, Janna hearing the greed and desperation in his voice. "Me and my crew will make sure it reaches its buyer safely."

Janna quickly bat his hand away and positioned her body so the briefcase was no longer in his line of sight, wagging a scolding finger at him while clicking her tongue in disappointment. "Nice try, Captain, but I wasn't born yesterday," she said with a smirk, the captain gritting his teeth at her. "And I was given strict instructions by my employer to deliver the statue myself and to make sure I personally handed it over to him. But if you'd like I'd be happy to call and let him know-" Janna made a show of reaching into her pocket and pulling out her phone.

"No!" The captain shouted, putting a hand up to try and stop her. Janna gave him a knowing smile as he cleared his throat, continuing much softer, "No that won't be necessary." He plastered on a forced smile that was just priceless to the young thief who was enjoying every second of this, though she made sure not to let it show... not too much at least.

"Good," Janna said, slipping the phone back in her pocket, the superior grin never leaving her face. "Then I'll leave you to your job and you can leave me to mine."

The young thief then pushed her way past the man, leaving the fuming captain alone to rage as she found a seat near the back of the boat, her back literally against the rail that prevented her from falling into the crystal clear waters below her. The second she sat down she felt a lurch as the boat propelled forward at an even faster speed now that they had reached deeper waters, quickly on it's way to Janna's next destination. The girl set the package down at her side, before letting out a relaxed sigh, leaning back in her seat, feeling the cool breeze of the ocean washing over her as she stared out at the picturesque ocean waves for a second.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?" Alfonso said in her ear.

"What messing with the captain, of course, I did?" The girl admitted, no shame in her tone. "He was trying to con me, so I just let him know who he was dealing with."

"You know, you wouldn't have to do that if you let me hire a law-abiding citizen instead of a dirty, crooked conman."

"Wheres the fun in that? Besides haven't you ever heard the phrase 'honor among thieves'."

"Yes, but the more time I spend with you the more convinced I am that it's a bunch of nonsense," Al deadpanned.

Janna chuckled at that, before saying, "I'll take that as a compliment."

"It wasn't."

"I know."

Alfonso sighed and she heard the distinct sound of the young genius banging his head against his desk (it wasn't the first time one of their conversations had ended that way and the thief was slightly curious if there was an indent in his desk from how many times he had done it). Janna decided to show a little mercy for her friend and change the subject, saying, "Oh relax, Al. Look on the bright side, we got the painting with minimal damage, got to see our favorite power couple, and even managed to get away from Tom unscathed. Sounds like a pretty successful mission to me."

"Yeah," Alfonso agreed halfheartedly. "Guess there is that. Let's just hope we threw that hothead off our track for a while."

Janna smiled thoughtfully to herself, bringing up the mental image of the handsome thief into her mind. "I don't know, something tells me we'll be seeing him again very soon," she replied, unable to resist adding a knowing edge to her tone that the young hacker picked up on instantly.

"Janna, what did you do?" He asked in exasperation, hoping she hadn't done what he feared she had done. Knowing her, it was entirely likely.

Janna didn't reply, just smiling smugly to herself as she stared across the waves at the fading sunset on the horizon, wondering what the next day would bring her, while her head spun with the image of gorgeous red eyes.

…

Tom was furious the moment he had woken up with a splitting headache and a dry mouth, feeling a bizarre mixture of regret, disappointment, and rage. But mostly rage. And all of it was directed at one soul individual. Stupid Janna! He couldn't believe he had actually fallen for such an obvious trick and he silently cursed himself for actually letting her get too close.

And now here he was, storming through the nearly empty train with a sour scowl on his face. He ignored the few passengers remaining, wanting to just leave without any further complications. Not that he was worried about getting caught since he had swiped a ticket out of some unfortunate soul's pocket when he snuck onboard, he just didn't want to be bothered until he got the chance to cool down. He wasn't sure where he was at this point since he had no clue how much time had passed while he was unconscious, for all he knew he could be in another country, for crying out loud!

Stupid Janna! This was all her fault. If she hadn't tried to-

Tom growled as his cheeks lit up with a blush, willing them back to their normal hue. How could he have been so stupid! He should have known better than to try and actually do that with her. Of course, it was a trick, ugh, how could he be such a moron?!

Suddenly, Tom stopped in his tracks as he spotted a pair up ahead, his heart leaping into his throat as he recognized the well-dressed couple, the boy holding a picture out toward the train conductor while his blond partner practically lay up against him as she stared over his shoulder, these two clearly having no sense of personal space with each other.

Great, Star and Marco were here, as if he didn't have enough to deal with, now he had the two best agents in Acme on his tail and he doubted they'd be all that happy to see him once again. Tom didn't waste any time as he quickly ducked into the empty train car beside him, knowing they were sure to recognize him the moment they spotted him his few run-ins with them memorable enough for him to leave a lasting impression and make him weary from encountering them again. He left the door open only a crack as he listened to the two's conversation while cursing whatever force had decided to give him this string of bad luck.

"Please look closely, sir. Are you certain you haven't seen her, it's very important," Marco asked the conductor, his voice friendly but professional as he pressed the man for more info.

"Hmmm, now that I'm looking at it, I do think I've seen her before, pretty sure she was sharing a car with a young man, I'll go check the books, see if I can find out which car it was," the conductor said, Tom listening as a pair of footsteps faded off into the distance.

Perfect, just perfect, Tom silently groaned. Now those two knew about him! Hopefully, they wouldn't put two and two together-

"Sooo Janna was with a young man, huh? Are you thinking who I'm thinking?" Star said in a knowing tone and Tom winced. Never mind.

"What, Tom?" Marco asked, sounding like he was deep in contemplation. "It could be, but that's a pretty big conclusion to draw Star."

Star scoffed loudly, Tom hearing a light smack (probably the girl lightly tapping her partner's shoulder). "Come on, Marco. It makes total sense. Think about it, those two are always hanging around each other..." Well, she wasn't entirely wrong. "... and you know they can barely keep their eyes off each other." Again, it was true, just not for the reason the blond agent seemed to be drawing.

"So what you think their partners?"

"Well that and also secretly dating," Star added, sounding so proud of herself for figuring it out.

Tom nearly fainted right there, his cheeks filling with so much blood he nearly passed out from blood loss in the rest of his limbs. How could they seriously think he would have any feelings toward his annoying rival other than disgust. But his mind betrayed him, momentarily flashing back to Janna's form slowly moving in for what seemed to be a loving kiss and he vigorously shook his head to relieve himself from the memory, willing down his now racing pulse.

"Dating?" Marco said skeptically. "I mean I guess it's possible..."

"Of course it is!" Star said confidently. "Those two are crazy about each other." She paused before adding in a sappy, loving coo, "Almost as crazy as I am for you."

"Well I don't think anybody could be more in love than I am with you, Star," Marco replied in an equally flirty tone. Tom tried not to gag at the young couple's overly affectionate ways. Could these two be any cheesier?

"Aww Marco, you are too sweet!" Star squealed. She sounded more like a lovesick teenager than a highly trained agent.

The boy let out a long, disheartened sigh as he muttered, "But y'know, I still can't believe I fell for her tricks again!"

Marco face-palmed, flushing in embarrassment as the previous events of the night came back to him, looping through his head and making him feel more and more ridiculous with every cycle. "Why is Janna always one step ahead of us! Every time I think about what happened, I just feel like an idiot." He buried his head in his hands with an audible groan, while out of sight of the two Tom was nodding in agreement and annoyance. He could totally relate.

Star gave her boyfriend a sympathetic look, seeing just how badly he needed cheering up. Luckily, the blond knew just what to do to help. She gave Marco a flirty grin, grabbing onto his tie and lightly pulling him towards her, causing the boy to let out a startled squeak, their faces now mere inches from touching. "Well, I think I know a way to get your mind off of that," she whispered coyly, causing a shudder to jump up Marco's spine.

"Starrr," Marco muttered in embarrassment, his eyes jumping around the empty train car, making sure they were, in fact, alone. "This isn't a good time, we're on a mission, remember? What if someone sees us?"

But Star didn't seem to be giving up, simply replying seductively, "Let em look. I've been waiting to kiss my future husband all day and I'm not waiting any longer." With that, Star moved in for the kill, her fiance's lips about to be captured and claimed by her once more.

Meanwhile, the disgusted Tom was busy debating on either staying quiet or slamming the door open and turning himself in (both of which had some major cons) when the voice of the conductor suddenly cut into the moment, much to Tom's relief, saying pleasantly to the two agents, "Okay I think I found it."

Tom could hear a small shout from the two, followed by noisy shuffling as they obviously pulled apart from each other. The thief could hear a loud cough from Marco (probably trying to clear his tight throat) as he said in a forced, formal tone, "Uhh, good. T-That's excellent news, sir."

There was a pause before the conductor asked, "Am I interrupting something?"

"No!" the young couple shouted much to quickly and Tom couldn't help but smirk from his hiding spot. Geez, why were they acting all embarrassed? Weren't they about to be married or whatever? "Anyways, what'd you find out?" Marco asked, clearly trying to change the subject.

"Well according to the record, someone with your description purchased a ticket in advance under the name of Hanna Orlandia," the conductor explained.

Star scoffed loudly, saying in a disappointed tone, "Really, that's the name she went with? Come on, Janna you're more clever than that."

"Star, don't compliment our criminal," Marco scolded.

"I'm just saying, that's kinda a lazy fake name," Star said, defensively.

"Oh yeah, and what would your fake name have been?" Marco asked his girlfriend in a playful tone.

"I don't know maybe something cool like Carmen or something."

"Ummmm, did you want me to go on or-" the conductor asked hesitantly.

"Oh yeah, right," Marco said in realization. "Continue."

"Well, she was staying in train car 15 along with a young man with pink hair." Tom had to suppress the growl he felt rising in his throat. It was salmon, not pink? Why did nobody ever get that?!

"Ah hah!" Star exclaimed in victory. "Told you it was Tom!"

"Yeah, guess you were right. I mean, i don't really know too many guys with pink hair," Marco replied in agreement. Salmon!

"Can you take us to their car? Maybe they left behind a clue or something," Star asked, the conductor immediately complying, saying, "Right this way."

Tom listened intensely as the sound of footsteps retreated deeper into the train, fading into the distance, along with Star's long rant to her boyfriend about how he and Janna were clearly dating and working together (which he did his best to ignore). He waited until they were completely out of earshot before pulling the door to the train car open, doing a quick check left and right before smirking and making his way over to the exit.

Once he was outside on the narrow streets of some unknown city, he picked a random direction and started walking, needing to put as much distance between himself and the two agents as he could. That had been a close one, much closer than Tom liked, but at least he hadn't had to deal with Star and Marco directly. He still had bruises from their last encounter, those two packing a big punch despite their appearance... especially when working as a team. No, as annoying and inconvenient as it had been, it could still have turned out much worse for him.

Sure they knew he had been there, but they wouldn't find anything. That much he was sure of since he had made sure to leave nothing behind that could be used to track him, despite the blinding rage he had felt after-

Tom let out a low growl as the memory of earlier entered his mind, anger filling his chest once again. Right, he had almost forgotten about stupid Janna and her stupid tricks. Why had he even followed her there in the first place? Hadn't he learned by now to steer clear of Janna and her obnoxious, charming ways? All she ever did was make trouble for him. What had he been thinking?

The boy roughly shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, trying to ignore the obvious answer that kept popping into his mind, refusing to admit just how badly he had wanted to see her again. He paused though, as his fingers brushed up against something. Tom came to an immediate stop as he dug around in his pocket, his fingers tightening around what felt like some sort of ticket or something before pulling out a small slip of paper. Tom stared at it stunned for a moment, knowing instantly who it was from. There was only one person who could have slipped this into his pocket without him knowing, presumably when he was unconscious. Finally, after a few more seconds, he slowly unfolded the note, confusion pinching his eyebrows as he read the soft, delicate handwriting, his heart thumping once against his will. Can't wait for our next date. See you in Venice, Pinkie. -Love, the Scarlet Thief

For a few moments, all Tom could do was read and re-read the note over and over again, his cheeks pooling with more and more blood every time his eyes crossed the words 'Pinkie' or 'Love'. Finally, after several minutes of contemplation, Tom silently folded the note back up, slipping it back into his pocket.

He just stood there for another moment, letting the words sink in, his gaze slowly turning to the rising sun over on the horizon, its bright colors seeming to be a perfect representation of his heart right now. Glowing.

And then Tom did something he almost never did, he let all his barriers drop, allowing himself a long, warm smile. But this was not just any smile, this was the widest, goofiest, most lovestruck smile that had ever crossed his features, one only those who were hopelessly and passionately in love could conceive. And despite how annoying and obnoxious and difficult Janna Ordonia the Scarlet Thief could be... Tom would be lying if he said he wasn't excited to know he would be seeing her again very soon.

Hope you enjoyed! Jantom is impossible for me to resist and I had to put in my daily dose of Starco or it just wouldn't feel right to me. So I might continue this someday in the future but for now I'm keeping it as a one-shot. I just don't have enough time at the moment to make more (plus I don't really have any more ideas for heists or whatever) but if you want you are welcome to send me ideas for it in case I ever do continue. Like I said no promises.

Anyways that'll do it for me, hope you have a great week and stay safe and healthy! Stay awesome, Stardom! Especially all you Jantom shippers out there ;)

#Star vs #Star vs AU #My Writing #Where in the World is Janna Ordonia #Carmen Sandiego AU #Master Thief Jan AU #Janna Ordonia #Jantom #Starco

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