#but it’s sure as hell an important use of it in popular news

[trust-me-i-just-get-weirder]

Yes for critical thinking and questioning dogma but

Y’all should know the whole “your brain doesn’t fully mature until your mid 20s” stuff comes from a push to raise the legal limit for the death penalty. Yes it’s fucked up that’s the argument that works and yes no one should get the death penalty and yes it isn’t an excuse to deny young people agency, but don’t throw out the baby with the bathwater. This argument has LITTERALLY been used to get people out of capital punishment and life sentences.

i am always the bitch who's like. that's actually not true :) your brain does not stop developing at 25 or ever :) love languages can be a useful vocabulary but is not real :) a lot of the personality disorders you villainize are responses to immense pain and fear :) stop trying to sort the complexity of human experience into HARRY POTTER HOUSES pleaseee think critically abt what u are being told and who's telling u this. why would someone want u to believe that u aren't fully capable of decision making until 25? psych has been a tool to oppress since it was created, don't buy into it!

[lover-of-mine]

I gotta speak my truth: Lou is an IDIOT. He could've left a beloved side character who helped major movements on a very anticipated storyline on the most popular scripted show on the us right now if he had just shut the fuck up. If he hadn't seen the way people were interacting with him on Twitter back in April as a way to get money and some instant gratification recognition and jumped on cameo to hijack the story and pretend he had creative power and was anything other than another one of Buck's love interest who happened to be a guy, Tommy might've ended up showing up after the breakup. He's a first responder, it would be so easy to make them cross paths. Instead the guy decided to act as if he is more important than he is, milk his fans for all they are worth, and spit on the show's face on the way out as if playing the victim is going to get him a new contract. He could've used this to boost his career and instead he keeps shooting it on the foot because his ego is more important. He's a pr nightmare and he's been a pr nightmare from the get go and now we're somehow in overtime because he just can't stop. This is insane behavior. You think Tim Minear, Ryan Murphy, abc as whole, every Disney company, will want to work with a guy who only has his father's name to fall back on, is a perpetual guest star, doesn't have the talent to back up his ego and somehow can't stop talking shit about the plotline he knew he was brought in to play? His 704 interviews talk about being an entry level relationship, talk about Tommy being a stepping stone for Buck to "work out the kinks before Eddie", talk about how it was supposed to be Eddie so clearly the relationship hadn't been planned, and now he wants to talk about how he didn't see this coming? My man you filmed the breakup before filming the happy scenes from 805. There's no way in fucking hell you didn't know. There are contracts involved, he had to have known how many episodes he was supposed to be in. And playing the victim and saying Tim didn't consult with him and he didn't want this to happen is not gonna make anyone on the show be like "okay we need to bring this man back". Tim once named a villain over a fan who annoyed him. What the fuck do you think he's gonna do about a guest star on a power trip because he got 10 people paying him 5 dollars over and over for him to say what the want to hear and decided he's somehow now indispensable for the plot? It sure as fuck won't be bringing them back.

[jinuaei]

Cleaning up

Yandere! Husband! Alastor x Fallen Angel! Accidental Spouse! Reader

Part 1 --- Additional art

Maybe it was a bad idea to be married to this man. You thought as you saw other demons run away and cower from him, you would have also ran with them if only the person that everyone is so terrified of wasn't holding your arm hostage. 

It would have been embarrassing getting dragged around by this tall deer if it wasn't the fact that you're also pissing yourself sacred. But the good thing is he actually believes that you are his ‘spouse’, so you don't think you'll be hurt…much. Besides, he’s such a gentleman that he gave you his coat to cover up your wings so that it wouldn't be exposed to any more harm.

After a while of trying not to trip, actually stumbling, and Alastor dragging you up again and again, you manage to notice the change of scenery, from tall depressing buildings to smaller, more quaint establishments. The demons that also frequent the streets changed from shark demons, to red imps, and finally to black eyed demons with sharp teeth. 

Well, at least they look friendly.

“This place here is the cannibal town! We’ll be visiting a good friend of mine, I’m sure she’ll be able to clean you up in no time!” your ‘husband’ exclaimed. 

I reclaim that statement.

The town is charming, and rather calming in contrast to that chaotic, overstimulating city you crashed landed in. Despite being in hell, there were flowers growing here, clearly being taken care of wonderfully by the citizens of this town. Vintage cars roam around the road and you see children playing in the parks you've passed through. It’s almost identical to what you see in heaven, but more demonic and nobody uses cars because well, everybody has wings. When you are reminded about the wings, yours twitches in response, rubbing against the deer’s coat. Because of that, feathers, still stained with blood, fall off. Alastor’s shadow tendril grabs it midair and pockets it into his trousers.

Finally, the radio demon abruptly stops, giving you enough time to stabilize yourself properly. With a wave of his hand he shows off to you a building named ‘Franklin and Rosie Emporium’, and you notice on the side there is a huge line of people waiting to enter. Whatever they sell here must be quite popular. Now that you think about it, it might be related to the ‘cannibalism’ part of the town.

Alastor must be important here because people moved away from him as he waltzed through the entrance and into the door. As soon as you both step in, an exclamation of his name catches both of you and your ‘husbands’ attention.

“Oh Alastor! It's always a delight when you come to visit the Emporium, how have you been? And oh! Who is this adorable birdie? Though they look absolutely filthy,” the demon steps into the view, a sweet looking lady with a polite smile who gingerly holds your hands.

“Rosie, meet mon cher, sent by the heavens to become my beloved spouse,” the radio demon lifts up your chin with his fingers, moving your head side to side as if to show you off to Rosie, “Also, would you be a dear and help them clean up? I expect my spouse to be absolutely pristine considering they're married to the greatest radio host of all time!”

“Well, I’ll be delighted to play dress-up with the sweet thing, maybe you can run to the tailors real quick and find them new clothes too.” 

Agreeing to that, Alastor waves you goodbye and leaves, Rosie then ushers you to follow her while shouting at Franklin to man the store while she's out. You both emerge to a room above the shop, Rosie leading you to a spare bedroom with an en suite bathroom. It's quite homey, with mostly red as its main colour, other than that, nothing stands out to you.

“You can stay here for the time being as you wait for your husband, bathrooms over there, and there should be bandages and such under the sink. I will be down below to help Franklin with the customers, just find me if you need help!” Rosie closes the door to the room and leaves you to your lonesome. It's time to clean up, you think.

Stepping into the normal looking bathroom, a bathtub greeted you, thankfully it's big enough to fit you and your broken wings. You absentmindedly fill up the tub as you think back to before you fell, trying to determine what happened to cause you to fall from heaven's graces. Nothing comes to mind and eventually the tub fills up. 

Shrugging off your ripped clothes and Alastor's coat, you sink into the water, seeping into the open wounds on your body. As much as you want to climb out the tub, it's important to rid yourself first from the golden blood and debris that cover you. You look over your whole body under the tainted water, you are covered in cuts and bruises but other than that, there's no concerning wounds to be found. Well, other than the numbing pain of your wings. Now that you think about it, your halo has been missing the whole trip. You can sense that it's there, but you cannot feel it above you, nor do you see it illuminate the room.

Maybe it's just hidden? 

As you think that, the halo starts to manifest just above you, the glow weaker and flickering just slightly as if it's a broken bulb. You frown at the sheer difference from when you were in heaven, when it was incredibly bright, the other angels would tease you for being a walking lighthouse sometimes. When you lift up your hand to touch the halo, you notice a mark on your ring finger. Looking closer, it seems like a tattoo, of two snakes twisting into something akin to chains. How odd.

A knock pulls you out from your thoughts and a voice from the other room calls out to you.

“I’ll be leaving out your clothes on the bed my dear, Rosie will come by in a moment to help you with your hair!” 

You quickly finish the bath and stumble in front of the mirror. Eyes darting to your mirrored self, you gaze upon the broken wings and dim halo, you are ashamed to see what you are now. Though you have done nothing to cause the fall, you still feel the undeserved guilt of being wrong. Ingrained to you during your time alive and dead, but you yourself know you've been good, so why berate yourself over other people's definition of good and evil?

Still, you try to will away the angelic limbs attached to you, and are successful in hiding it, leaving only red patches of burned skin on your back. Thankfully, you were able to soothe the irritated skin and patch up the area fairly well. 

You close the door behind you and check out the clothes Alastor got for you, it's similar to his in design but also suited to you. How he was able to get your size right you're not sure. Regardless, it fits you perfectly, and there's even an opening at the back for your wings, though you've already willed it away, still you appreciate the sentiment.

“Are you done honey?” a knock reverberates in the room and you answer with a ‘come in!’. Rosie does and is pleasantly surprised at the lack of wings on your back. You remember the coat left in the bathroom and grab it, shrugging it on to cover the exposed skin and bandages. 

The cannibal guides you to the vanity, starting to brush your hair.

 “So you're Al’s little angel hm? How’d he manage to catch such a cutie pie?” The woman's Boston accent grabs your attention from the various tools in front of you.

“Well… As he said earlier I’ve been assigned to him as his spouse haha…” you laugh awkwardly,”but enough about me! How about Alastor…What is he like?”

“Oh! He’s such a sweetheart! Well he is an Overlord, he eats other demons, and kills for fun, but don't you worry about that! You're his darling, he wouldn't do anything to harm you. You're in good claws sweetie.”

“Sorry, what???”

“Hm?” 

Rosie just smiles at you before finishing up your look. And might you say, looking at the mirror you look absolutely breathtaking. Coming out of the room, you find Alastor in the kitchen cooking. The smell wafting around the house is magnificent, you are reminded how hungry you are after falling from heaven.

“There you are my dear, I made some Jambalaya for you! My momma always said once I got my own cherie I should always provide for them for the rest of our days. So, expect more of this dear,” the man hums an upbeat tune as he gives you a plate of the food. 

Adorably, he wears a yellow apron that says ‘Deer-est cook’ at the front, you also notice that he had his hair up with a ribbon in a low ponytail.

You were excited to consume the meal right in front of you but then you remember where in hell you are now.

“...Did you put demon meat in the Jambalaya…?”,eyes glancing up at him, the question lingers in the air as he catches your eyes and stares back, still smiling. A few unnerving seconds pass before he answers with a ‘of course not!’

You breathe out in relief and trust your so-called ‘husband’.

Or maybe I shouldn't trust what he says, but he's still staring, what if he gets angry that I won't eat it?? Oh heavens, please forgive me.

With closed eyes, you finally bite down on the food. Praying to all things holy, hoping that you did not do anything blasphemous by accidentally eating demon meat, you find yourself pleasantly surprised at how delicious it was. You almost forget proper etiquette when you start ravenously gulping down the rest of the food. 

The demon before you chuckles in delight at the sight of you enjoying your food. As much as he would like to feed you his exotic diet, he would rather not force you to do anything you don't want to. And oh…the pleased shiver that ran down his spine at the trust you've shown him by not questioning him any further regarding the meal was truly delicious.

Dear angel… MY dear angel. How perfect you are… I'll never let you go. After all, you were made for me weren't you?

“I forgot to tell you how absolutely darling you are in that outfit! I must say I have quite the taste! Haha!” he laughs at his joke,“might I ask where your wings are? I could’ve sworn it was there when I left! Unless you cut it off? You should’ve asked me though, I’m sure your wings would be a delicacy…”

“I was able to hide it, I don’t want to be a walking target you know? An angel down in hell seems like a bad thing to be.”

“Oh don’t worry about being a target! I’ll kill whoever tries to even look at you wrongly,” crooning at you, he brushes away invisible dust on his coat, “also you may keep my coat dear, it’ll be a good way to show people that you belong to me now, that is until I can find a ring worthy enough to be worn by you!”

“I-uh thank you…” 

Crap. If I don't escape soon I'll be officially married to him. Then again…if he keeps cooking me good food I guess it won't be too bad…

With that in mind, you hope your future will be brighter than your descent to hell.

A/N GODDD THAT TOOK SO LONG. Honestly, the more people kept asking for part 2 the less inclined I was to actually make one but here I am.

That being said, I will be making more fics at my own pace. Finals is coming up so please do not expect new parts for this fic. Truth is ITS NOT SUPPOSED TO HAVE MULTIPLE PARTS! It was merely an idea I had while I was in an art block. Nonetheless I hope you enjoyed it :DD

(I unfortunately do not do taglists)

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Divider by @/cafekitsune

[luceafarul-de-dimineata]

Uwaa! I'm loving your Dantalian headcanon!

I can see him, Eligos, Paimon and Orias going shopping together? TT-TT) we need the cutiepies of Hell gathered! Nilfheim and Lost Paradise where you at!?

Meanwhile, Dong-gyun from Avisos can be considered a cutiepie but he isn't in their level yet so he holds all their shopping bags;;;

I could see it go something like this

*On their special group chat*

Dantalian: ELIGOOOOOOOS

Dantalian: Dad told me that we have to go to this really important event but all my clothes are fetish outfits :(

Dantalian: The festival has a decency policy!!!! The people at Paradise Lost are insane!

Eligos: I've actually got a brand new collection in partnership with Paimon and Orias

Dantalian: Ok, I know Paimon, but who tf id Orias?

Eligos: He's a beauty guru! He's quite popular on [NOT TRADEMARKED VIDEO SHARING WEBSITE]

Eligos: you should look him up

Dantalian: That's a new one

Dantalian: I don't think I have it yet, let me go whine to my dad about it.

Eligos: Tell His Majesty Asmodeus to pay his taxes!!!

Eligos: Sorry, Bimet stole my phone UnU

Eligos: I'll just add Paimon and Orias here

_Paimon and Orias got added to the group chat_

Dantalian: Orias's a little bitch

Orias: And who might I have the pleasure of being insulted by?

Dantalian: ELIGOS WHY ARE THERE RANDOM PEOPLE IN THE GROUP CHAT!

Paimon: Hiiiiii, your highness Dantaliaaaaaaan

Dantalian: Paimon as well!

Eligos: You should get to know them as well since they all contribute to my newer collections

Orias: Dantalian? Don't you remember me sweetie? We used to hang out when you were younger?

Dantalian: I have never heard of you in my whole life

Orias: :)

Paimon: So, your highnesssss! I heard you're going to your first balllll

Dantalian: It's a sort of very formal festival

Dantalian: And we can't wear my usual attire

Dantalian: To understand how bad it is, my dad took out the 17th century suit ToT

Dantalian: Imagine being alive during the 17th century

Orias: ...

Paimon: What colour would you like the costume to beeeee?

Dantalian: Red, duh

Orias: I have the red costume at my place. It needed a bit of sewing and adding some extra ditails

Dantalian: Eligos, why could you take care of it?

Eligos: I've used all of the angel feathers in Tartaros for a new dress for MC.

Orias: And I have plentiful

Paimon: And Orias stole iiiiit

Orias: You're so funny Paimon.

Orias: Little ol me, going around stealing? Never

Dantalian: Wait, arent you the guy that tried to kill Leviathan!?

Orias: I have no idea what you're talking about

Dantalian: And everyone in Hades haaaaaates you. They would sometimes complain to me whenever you arrived back in the country

Orias: Your memory must be quite faulty. Everyone in Hades loves me

Dantalian: Except 99% of the population

Orias: You're so lucky you're part of the monarchy

Dantalian: Why? Come kill me right now, dipshit. What, are you too scared? Give me all you got

Orias: Now you're just asking for it

Dantalian: Orias don't you fucking there show up or I'm snitching you - King Asmodeus

Dantalian: Please sent the suit at the adress of the castle of Abaddon and make sure it is in pristine condition. Eligos, I already sent the money for it. Please stop contacting my son, he's grounded. - King Asmodeus

*This chat was terminated*

[spider-gem]

Alright, you know what time it is: THEORY TIME!

In Hazbin Hotel, everyone’s name correlates to their character (such as Angeldust, Vox, Sir Pentious, etc). As a writer and reader, I firmly believe that names are important and can give us a deeper look into characters. Alastor, despite keeping his real name from life, is not an exception.

In a series where names reflect their characters, I would bet that Alastor’s gives us a hint into who he was before he died. This, along multiple other reasons, leads me to believe that Alastor only targeted guilty or corrupt people in power.

Hear me out:

We don’t know much about Alastor’s past, as nothing has been confirmed in the show. So for now, let’s analyze the lore we’ve gotten from Vivziepop over the years and the context clues in the show. Let’s look at the hazbin wiki:

Now, that “weird moral code” could be directed at anyone, but here’s my reasons for believing he went after corrupt people with power:

1. I’ve never seen the show, but I know that Dexter was about a vigilante serial killer that targeted criminals that haven’t been punished by the justice system due to corruption. So I would say, seeing Alastor is being compared to Dexter, Alastor likely went after the same type of people.

2. He grew up and lived in New Orleans, Louisiana in the early 1900’s as a mixed man. If you don’t know much about American history, just remember that this during a period of segregation and heavy discrimination against Black Americans, and Louisiana was one of the most racist states at the time. I’m not going to go through a whole history lesson right now, but note that lynchings reached their height by the late 1800’s to early 1900’s as a way to enforce white supremacy and intimidate minorities. Some cases, if not most, were not regarded as homicides by police and the overwhelming majority of lynching perpetrators never faced justice. Even if they were tried, all white juries ensured that they wouldn’t be convicted. Seems like a good target for a Creole serial killer, right?

3. In the series, so far, we’ve seen that Alastor’s closest connections are with female characters, such as Rosie, Mimzy, and Nifty. He’s also been described as a “momma’s boy” before, so it’s safe to say he has high respect for women. During the period of his life span, women had little rights. Sure, they gained the right to vote in 1920, but that was about it. It wasn’t even until a few years after Alastor died before women had the right to divorce their husbands, and were often stuck in abusive households. For this reason, I could see Alastor going after domestic abusers as well.

4. He probably killed bigots that attempted to tear down his radio show as well. I don’t really have much evidence for this claim, but note that Alastor was a famous radio star. He’s also Creole. While some Creole people were considered as “white-passing”, interracial marriage was prohibited in Louisiana during this period. Alastor very likely had to struggle to succeed, and there’s no doubt that certain people in power attempted to tear him down because of his heritage.

5. Let’s look at his life in hell now. Who has he been rumored to have targeted ? That’s right, powerful overlords. Even in hell, Alastor still went after people in power. Sure, this was arguably to gain power, but the point that he only went after corrupt powerful figures still stands. Anyone else we see him kill, such as the loan sharks or the angels, threatened him and the hotel first.

To conclude, there’s no saying what sent Alastor on his path as a serial killer. I personally favor the popular fan theory that his first kill that sent him on this path was his father, likely after his father harmed/killed his mother, but anyone’s theory is as valid as that one at the moment. I suppose we’ll have to wait and see.

It could just be the social justice warrior in me saying, “Oh yeah, Alastor TOTALLY killed corrupt cops and domestic abusers”. However, I do believe that my theory on Alastor’s moral code is true based on my observations.

[berenwrites]

Quiet - Stranger Things - Steddie - G

Rating: G | cw: none | tags: D&D, future fic, Corroded Coffin made it, Eddie lives, fluff

Prompt: Love is sitting in comfortable silence together doing their own thing (@steddieasitgoes)

A/N: Written for @steddielovemonth day 6. I love the idea of Corroded Coffin being a big name, but still being nerds at heart, so this is what I went with.

Also on AO3 | All My Other Stranger Things Fic

Quiet: But Far From Idle

Eddie tapped his pen against his lips as he tried to come up with a dastardly trap for the D&D campaign he was writing. He could use the laptop, but he’s old school and he likes to write things out by hand. It gave him a chance to doodle at the same time.

The fact D&D had made Corroded Coffin relevant to the youth of today rather than finding them via their music was ironic, but he was not arguing with it. It had been Steve’s idea to record one of the band’s campaign sessions and put it on YouTube with clips on TikTok because D&D had become popular again. The band were still touring, still releasing albums, but the social media thing had brought in a whole new generation of fans.

Their new album was nearly ready for release, so Eddie was writing a campaign that incorporated some of the themes from it. Part fun, part advertising. Their record company had been thrilled by the extra attention and had even planned time into their upcoming tour for filmed D&D nights to keep the fans happy. Writing D&D campaigns was now almost as important as writing new music.

Eddie was having a ball.

He glanced over to where Steve had the other end of their dining room table with various large pieces of paper spread everywhere. Steve had a pink hairband pushing his silver-fox hair back to keep it out of his face and his glasses were perched on the edge of his nose. There was a red pen behind his ear and a green one in his hand, and his tongue was poking between his lips as he concentrated.

It was all utterly adorable.

While Eddie planned fantasy, Steve was going over venue security for the beginning of the tour. Steve took the band’s security very seriously. They had a professional team these days to handle everything, and Steve let them do their jobs, but he always insisted on checking. Gone were the days when their only security was Steve in the corner with his baseball bat. However, Steve couldn’t let it go. It was a hang-up from the Upside Down days when they had had no one to rely on but themselves.

They had both almost died, so Eddie could very much understand Steve’s need to make sure those around him were safe.

Steve liked to go old school with paper and a pen as well, and from the looks of it he had found quite a few things wrong with at least one of the venues. The printed plan was covered in red notes. Eddie smiled to himself, knowing that nothing would ever get past Steve.

“Need anything, Sweetheart?” he asked as Steve changed pens while glaring at the venue plan right in front of him.

His husband looked up, blinked, and then smiled.

“No, I’m good, thanks,” Steve said. “How’s the campaign going?”

“They will not know what hit them,” Eddie replied with his best evil grin.

“They never do,” Steve said, glancing back down at the sheet of paper he was currently studying. “You should have a t-shirt made with the old hell-fire logo to make sure everyone knows you’re a demon,” he added as he circled something in red.

Eddie laughed as he lost his husband back to his self-appointed task. He took out his phone and made a quick note to ask Liz, his assistant, about t-shirts before focussing down on his notes again. Steve always had great ideas. It was one of the many reasons Eddie loved him with all his heart. He counted himself one of the luckiest guys on the planet as he went back to quietly planning how to put his best friends into mortal peril.

All My Other Stranger Things Fic

[nightcourtreader]

I am seeing a lot of gwynriels getting hate lately because we’re excited about new character information about Az and a lot of people believing that Azriel’s book is next.

I feel like it’s fair, as readers to point out how the author is deliberately bringing a lot of attention to Azriel at the moment. It’s absolutely fair to believe that Azriel’s book is going to be next. We all know that Elain and Azriel’s stories are going to be told and it’s just a matter of when. A lot of people just think that it’s Azriel next and that’s fine if you disagree, but gwynriels shouldn’t be attacked or called delusional if they think that.

But being called delusional when we think that when SJM has build on Azriel’s character arc purposely since we’ve seen him on page since acomaf, gave him a bonus for acosf, then had him feature in cc3, then have him apart of a bonus again for cc3 is crazy. Especially since we learned more about Azriel in cc3.

Then people are dissing the hell out of Gwyn. Oh she’s just a side character, she isn’t important. Isn’t everyone a side character at the moment besides feysand & Nessian? Since they already had their stories told. And wasn’t Gwyn the one to introduce the valkryie storyline in acosf & became the first valkryie when the valkryie plotline is a huge plotline of acosf to the point where SJM named the different sections of acosf valkryie titles? And SJM could have easily had nesta become the first valkryie.

Gwyn can absolutely have a pov with Azriel in the next book. SJM herself stated she has two more acotar books (I’m not sure if she’s contracted for more). She said for each book, a couple is going to come together. That leaves 2 pov besides Azriel and Elain because we know she’s going to give them one. For Azriel’s counter part, it could easily be Gywn.

Gwyn is still in the library. The valkryies are still training. Gwyn has a autumn court ancestry, no matter how many people claim she doesn’t have a firm claim for it. Gwyn’s powers are a very popular controversial topic in the fandom on the daily. Gywn’s story is left opened and SJM didn’t add all that to Gwyn’s backstory for no reason. She retcon the sangravah story so Azriel was the one to save Gwyn. SJM dropped mate language in her BC with Azriel and Gwyn and yes, SJM references her bonus chapters in text. She did so in acosf when it came to cassian’s & nesta’s bonus chapter for acomaf, titled wings and ember.

Yrene in tog, was really fledged out in tower of Dawn and became a really important factor in the next book in the series, kingdom of ash. Why couldn’t the same thing be said for Gwyn? Just because she was introduced in acosf, doesn’t mean that Gwyn can’t have a pov in the next book.

There are different plotlines for Azriel to go through in his story. It’s not like he has 0 plotlines to filter through. SJM would be the one to decide what plotlines have the sense of urgency for the next acotar book.

CC3 can be used for evidence, because the author herself stated that cc3 will set up future acotar books. You know what acotar 5 is? A future acotar book since it isn’t out yet. From what I’ve seen, since I haven’t read cc3 yet, Azriel is a prominent figure besides nesta in cc3 when it comes to the acotar characters. If SJM herself is stating that cc3 sets up future acotar books, why wouldn’t we use cc3 of evidence for Azriel, especially since nesta’s story has already been told? So yes we can use that as evidence. We shouldn’t be talked down about and called delusional for it.

Yes CC is a separate series. But SJM recently stated that we should read acotar before reading CC now, at one point of time she said we didn’t have to. See how things have changed?

If she’s telling people to read acotar before cc, does it matter if she’s not telling people to read cc before acotar 5, when she’s already stated to read acotar before CC so no matter what readers are understanding what’s going on in both series no matter the order since acotar 5 isn’t out yet? She’s telling us to read both series regardless.

I get it, some people might not want to read the CC and they don’t have to, but I have seen people who said they aren’t going to read CC but are still asking for information about the acotar characters in it, and with people talking about it, they are going to find out about the information of acotar characters in CC anyway, whether they read the full book or not.

And I’m sick of e/riels claiming that since Azriel is being brought up a lot, it’s going to be Azriel and Elain’s next. To the point, when new fans are asking about who’s the next book, they’re “confirming” it’s Elain and Azriel’s. Which is ridiculous. Because when it comes to the two, Elain would be the one to strong hold the book, not Azriel. SJM hasn’t brought Elain to the forefront as she’s doing Azriel lately, if anything, it just shows to me how SJM isn’t going to have a book with BOTH Azriel and Elain together. Just not happening.

But I need people to stop being mad/upset at gwynriels because we’re pointing out things from textual evidence that the author has set up. We could be wrong, I agree, but stop making it like we have no standing, that were dumb & delusional.

[weirdowithaquill]

Traintober 2024: Day 31 - Dusk

Tidmouth Train to Hell:

Pip and Emma stared at the timetable, not quite sure what to make of it. “Why is there a massive gap?” Pip finally said, still trying to wrap her head around the odd space from dusk until the next day. “Oh, that’s a Halloween tradition,” replied Bear, looking over from his own train. “Every Halloween they put us all away early for some reason. Never quite understood why, but each to their own and all that!” Pip scoffed, while Emma looked more bemused than anything.

The High-Speed diesels were still new to Sodor, and had only been once before, on trial during the summer period. This was their first October on the Island of Sodor, and all month they’d been amazed to find that the engines were far more interested in the holiday and its various traditions than the mainland was. Particularly, it was extremely popular amongst the native Sudrian people, who had been performing several rituals and festivals since the start of the month.

Emma had been far more curious about the whole thing than her sister, and decided to ask one of the older engines, in hope of getting some information. “Well,” hummed Percy, “it’s a Gaelic thing. Sauin, I believe the Sudrians call it. It’s like Samhain up in Scotland, and is all about the end of the harvest season. I remember how much Sir Topham the First put emphasis on listening to the local Sudrians about how important the rituals and festivals were. For example, at the start of the month is the cleansing ritual; it’s a bit like a spring clean, but in autumn. It used to be when the men would go out and start chopping wood for winter according to Edward.” At that moment, the signal clunked up to show green, and Percy puffed away.

Pip snorted from her end of the train. “Asking about all these silly holidays again?” she asked. “They’re not silly!” protested Emma. “They’re—” “An excuse to get more days off work,” finished Pip crossly. “Now come on, we’ve got a train to pull.”

Pip and Emma ran the WildNorWester express to London, stopping only at Crovan’s Gate, Barrow and Preston. It meant the two were often the most out of the loop on all the important gossip of the railway, as they were over on the mainland and missed it. One such titbit of gossip the pair missed was the track repairs being done at Crovan’s Gate. On their return run a week later, Pip and Emma were stopped at the platform to wait while several old signals and a set of points were replaced.

Their repair shed had recently been completed and stood on one side of the line while the narrow gauge railway sat on the other, the mainline trapped between the two and the Works. Pip and Emma had been switched onto the wrong side of the line to avoid a massive section of missing track. This put Emma right next to the Skarloey Railway sheds, where Duke was resting. “Excuse me,” Emma called. “You’ve been on Sodor for a long time, Duke – do you know much about Sau---een?” “Sauin,” corrected Duke kindly. “And I certainly do. My old line used to run through the heart of old Sodor, so I learnt all about it.” “Not this again!” groaned Pip from the other end of the train. Duke and Emma ignored her.

“Sauin is a festival to celebrate the end of the harvest, the start of the winter season… and the point in time when the barrier between our world and the Otherworld is at its weakest. The month begins by preparing for winter and giving thanks to the sun, before pivoting to asking for protection from the winter gods and giving sacrifices to the ancestors as thanks for their guidance. Then, it ends with Sauin itself, which is better known as Halloween. People celebrate the wicked and supernatural, then stay indoors overnight with scriptures for protection painted on the doorway to ward off evil spirits. It’s said they begin to break out of the Otherworld at Dusk, and party in our world until midnight…” Duke broke off, looking contemplative. Emma wasn’t sure why, but she felt uneasy all of a sudden.

A group of people walked along the platform, offering blessings to the stranded passengers and burning incense. Pip refused to be blessed, and then the group made their way over to Emma and Duke.

“Ah, if you wouldn’t mind,” Duke said. A man stepped forward, painting a sigil on Duke’s forehead in red paint before waving the incense around him. Duke smiled warmly, his old eyes closing as he relaxed while the ritual was performed.

“Oooh, can you do me next please!” asked Emma. The group nodded. “Of course we can,” one said. “Explain it to Emma while you do,” Duke added. “She’s new, and this is her first Sauin.” The man stepped forwards, dipping his thumb in some more paint.

“Alright then Emma, I’m going to paint a sigil for protection on your forehead in Ancient Sudric, and then we’ll bless you with the incense.” A few of the more curious tourists wandered over to watch, intrigued by the ritual. The man painted the sigil in careful strokes on Emma’s forehead, and then several of the others walked around her as much as they could, waving the incense over her radiator grills and wheels.

“Thank you!” said Emma happily when they finished. “I… I actually feel better already.” “You should,” hummed Duke. “It’s a popular Ancient Sudrian tradition to get blessed prior to Sauin night – just in case you’re caught out after dusk.”

Pip just rolled her eyes down at her end of the train.

Emma asked a few more questions while they waited, before finally deciding to broach a topic she’d been unsure of since she’d begun asking around about Sauin. “Why is the timetable completely empty on Sauin night?” she asked. Duke frowned. “I said everyone stays inside, so why would anyone want to take the train?” “What about tourists, or goods?” quizzed Emma. “This is Sodor – there’s always another reason.” “You’re… not wrong,” sighed Duke. “Every Halloween, a train runs from the Rolling Bridge to Tidmouth. It’s on no timetable, and has no schedule. Some engines assert it leaves at dusk, while others suggest it crosses the island in the blink of an eye. What is known about this train is that it arrives at Tidmouth at exactly midnight… and continues on through the buffers.” “Through the buffers?!” squeaked Emma. “What, do they crash the train on purpose?” “Oh no,” sighed Duke. “It’s a train to the Otherworld – though some of the workers call it the ‘Tidmouth Train to Hell’. It’s pure black from one end to the other, and absolutely no one is allowed to set eyes on it.”

“What happens if someone does?” asked Emma, spooked. Duke sighed. “Well – a man was walking along the line in ’37 when he saw it. He was found a gibbering wreck on the trackside, white as a ghost and shivering like mad. He spent the rest of his life in a mental asylum, poor chap.”

Emma winced; at that moment, the signal turned green, and the two High-Speed twins were cleared to go. The passengers hurried back aboard, and the twins set off.

“It’s poppycock,” sniffed Pip as they rocketed along. “Ooooo, be afraid of ‘The Tidmouth Train to Hell’. Duke’s trying to have you on. I bet if you ask a sensible engine like Henry or Gordon they’ll tell you it never happened!”

Pip was proven very wrong. Emma decided to ask the pair that very night, and to Pip’s surprise they immediately confirmed Duke’s story.

“Oh, old Jefferies,” hummed Gordon. “Duke told you about him? I’m surprised he didn’t use one of the earlier cases – when I arrived, people still didn’t believe in it, and we’d find three or four every Halloween stumbling about the line screaming and gibbering and acting like lunatics. I remember very vividly Glynn going down the line and picking them all up in a compartment coach so they could be kept separate and brought to the hospital safely. By the end of the 20s, every had learnt better than to be out on Halloween. Sir Topham always ensured that we were in our sheds on that night too, and his son and grandson have both followed his example.”

Pip and Emma were both stunned!

“So… it’s real?” asked Emma slowly. “It’s very real,” Henry said grimly. “I’ve seen a peek of it through the shed windows. It’s a frightening thing, let me tell you! All black, with great red headlamps and it’s puffs sound like screams. We all stay in here and tell ghost stories and try not to think about it. And I’d suggest you do the same – I know you’ve got the last train of the day. Do not be late getting here.”

Emma agreed that she definitely was going to be on time, and even Pip seemed nervous.

The week went by, and the two new engines watched as more and more Sauin festivals were held. These were less and less about the harvest, and more and more about the oncoming winter and the spirits. A number of the native Sudrians and older engines began to have protection sigils painted on their foreheads when they went out; Duke was joined by Skarloey, Rheneas, Thomas, Edward, Henry and Gordon within a few days. Donald and Douglas, who’d learnt about Samhain back in Scotland, had their own sigils written in Scottish Gaelic. Duck and Oliver got their own Scottish sigils written in support of their friends.

All around them, Pip and Emma watched as Sodor prepared for Sauin night. Hotels filled to capacity, with large parades held celebrating the spirits in several of the bigger towns and cities.

And then finally, Halloween came. The day was incredibly slow, with barely any passengers at all riding with the railway. Pip and Emma wondered if it was worth pulling their train at all – at least, until they set out on their last express of the day. It was packed.

“Why are there so many?!” exclaimed Emma. “We’re going to be barely able to hold them all!” “It’s everyone heading to the mainland to avoid Sauin night,” James said, puffing in. “You’ll be hard pressed with this many – I think it’s cause there was a fog warning put out earlier; no one wants to be caught out past dusk with that in place. Spirits and fog? No thank you!”

James steamed away to shunt his coaches into their siding, while Pip and Emma prepared to head off. It was a struggle setting off. Every single seat was filled, and a number of others stood in the corridors, making the trip extremely difficult. Even more piled on at Crovan’s Gate, where almost all the Skarloey engines had already been hidden away in their shed. Emma watched the slowly descending sun with worry.

“If we get held up on the mainland even once, we’re not going to be back for dusk,” she fretted. “We’ll be fine,” replied Pip. “Worst comes to worst, we’re a little late. ‘The Tidmouth Train to Hell’ isn’t a threat to us.”

Oh how wrong Pip was.

The big sheds at Tidmouth were filling to capacity rapidly. The usual crowd had filed in, as had Edward, BoCo, Thomas, Percy, Toby and Daisy. The sheds were so full that the tank engines had to share a road between two of them; Duck and Oliver on one line and Percy and Toby on another. The scripts had been painted on the doors, and the storm shutters rolled down on the windows. Daisy huffed grumpily, glaring out at the yards as thick fog and mist wafted in. “I hate having to spend the night here, it’s so bad for my swerves!” “Oh belt up!” groaned Thomas. “It’s better than being out there – no one wants to be out there.” “Speaking of out there, where are Pip and Emma?” asked Gordon. “Dusk is in half an hour, and they aren’t back.”

Edward, sat on the turntable, winced. “I heard they had a full train leaving Tidmouth. I wouldn’t be surprised if they’ve been waylaid. Let’s just hope the stationmaster at Barrow parks them there for the night.”

Pip and Emma would have no such luck. The pair were late leaving London and Preston, filled up once again with people wanting to get home for the holiday – but the platform at Barrow was deserted. The fog had truly begun to set in, leaving long shadows where none should be.

“You can’t stay here,” the stationmaster said grumpily. The sun was beginning to sink over the horizon. “There’s no space, and you’re not a Northern engine anyway. Go back to Sodor.”

Pip and Emma both tried to argue – but it was no use. At least the lack of passengers meant they didn’t need to wait around. The pair roared out of Barrow, trying their best to claw back time from the setting sun. Dusk was coming fast: too fast. The fog was willing it on faster, thick cloud cover blocking out part of the sun and making it increasingly harder to see.

Vicarstown flew by, followed by Henry’s tunnel and then Crovan’s Gate. Clear signals guided them through each station, the two honking their horns loudly. It was almost as if they were heralding the dusk, trying their best to make it back home before night came. Dark figures watched their progress from deep in the shadows, hiding where neither twin could really see them. “Faster Pip, faster!” called Emma. “I’m giving it all I can!” called back Pip.

Finally, Tidmouth came into view, one door still rolled up for them. Pip and Emma were quick to back through it, the door slamming down behind them just as the last rays of the sun vanished over the horizon, leaving behind only the fog.

“Cutting it close there,” said Gordon darkly. Both Pip and Emma winced. “We were held up on the mainland… a lot. And then the stationmaster at Barrow wouldn’t let us stay there.”

Gordon huffed. “Stupid man – he’s got no sense. Why, the other day!—”

He was cut off by James shushing him. The two shot glares at each other, before allowing Edward to pick up his story again.

The old engine wove stories throughout the next few hours, telling tales of twisted grins and haunting ghouls heralded by owls, of spirits sent to help and those sent to destroy. The engines relaxed, enjoying the night even as the hours ticked on. Pip and Emma could have fooled themselves into thinking it was just another horrible storm trapping all the engines in the shed.

That is, until a most horrific sound pierced through the air, shattering Edward’s story and leaving all the engines deathly silent. The clock showed a minute to midnight. The sound came again, a ghastly howling and screeching and moaning that seemed to work its way into the engines’ frames and bury itself there, leaving them all shaking. The doors and windows began to rattle and shake, as if hundreds of people were banging on them, trying to pry them open.

“Out after dusk!” they howled. “They were out after dusk!” Pip and Emma began to shake, terrified.

Another ear-piercing whistle filled the air, made of even more tortured howling and screeching. Then came the screams. As the engine thundered towards Tidmouth, each beat of its cylinders sounded like the screams of the damned. The entire shed seemed to shake, as the horrific banging and rattling continued.

“Out after dusk! Out after dusk! They belong to us! They belong to us!” Pip and Emma quivered, petrified. The other engines looked equally terrified – all except Edward. As the cacophony reached a peak, he took a deep breath.

“You are not welcome inside. We are protected. This shed has been blessed; these engines have been blessed. You are not welcome inside!”  

“ONE HAS NOT!” boomed the creatures outside. Pip gasped – she had refused the blessing!

The engine grew nearer; time seemed to slow. Edward took a level breath, and spoke again.

“You are not welcome inside. We are protected. This shed has been blessed; these engines have been blessed. You are not welcome inside!”  

“ONE HAS NOT!” came the furious reply. Before Edward could speak again, there was a horrendous roar and scream of whistles, brakes and steam – the Tidmouth Train to Hell had arrived. It roared past, it’s red lamps illuminating against the doors. The shed walls groaned, as if nearly at braking point. The windows rattled harder, dents being made it the metal. Daisy shrieked and fainted.

Thomas began praying under his breath in one language; the twins did the same in a different one. The train sped into the station, thundering towards the buffers. One dent slammed against the glass of the window next to Pip, cracking the glass. A gnarled nail pierced through the shutter.

“You are not welcome inside. We are protected. This shed has been blessed; these engines have been blessed. You are not welcome inside!”  Edward thundered again, his eyes darting over to the shutter.

The train hit the buffers.

The creatures outside let out a chorus of tortured screams. They were in agony, ripping away from the sheds and howling in pain. The nail was torn from the shutter, giving Pip just enough space to see dark figures writhing on the ground.

The clock ticked over; a new day began. The creatures let out one last screech. The floor seemed to open up around them, hellflames licking up at the night fog and illuminating the entire night in a sea of blood red. The creatures screaming and screeched, dragged downwards and suffocated in the earth before they could be scorched alive by the flames.

And then there was silence.

“Oh…” managed Pip softly.

Everyone looked shaken. Edward sighed softly, and looked over at the twins. “The last time an engine was out after dusk and wasn’t blessed was in 1916, during the war,” he said quietly. “Thomas mightn’t remember it – but I do. It was a loaned engine who told us all that Sauin was stupid… that is, until the creatures of hell surrounded the sheds and began demanding we give him over. Glynn kept trying to keep them out, but he slipped up. The engine’s shed door was ripped open suddenly, and he was… dragged out. We never say what pulled him out – but whatever it was bent that door open like it was a tin can and shoved it back down afterwards. We all heard the loaned engine’s screams as it was given to the creatures and torn piece from piece…”

Edward paused, and gazed at the shed doors, looking wary.

“It’s said that engine became the Tidmouth Train to Hell, crossing the island and giving the spirits and creatures time to roam free before arriving in Tidmouth and condemning them all back to hell, to make sure none can inflict that fate on another.”

He finished his story and looked around the silent room. Daisy was still unconscious, and it was a miracle none of the others had followed. Everyone’s eyes were fixed on the dent shutter and cracked window, a stark warning of how close the creatures got.

No one slept that night.

And suffice to say, Pip and Emma were never late again on Sauin.

Back to the Master Post

[ryuichirou]

Replies

Some replies + info about the Nun AU ~

Anonymous asked:

would you be willing to put the hi-res for that idia/ortho you drew recently (with the megara quote) in your store, if it's not too much trouble! thank you!!

Yes, of course, Anon! Here you go <3 I am happy you liked it!! Sometimes I wonder whether I should keep updating the shop with hi-res stuff or not, so thank you for letting me know. I’ll upload more of our recent stuff there soon…

hipsterteller asked:

Its 12:49am and when I saw Azul in nun, I had to grab this

LOL THANK YOU!! Yeah, this is one hell of a nun lol

Rollo would’ve been disgusted… or not? Just kidding, he is not a part of this AU.

thestarlightfae asked:

A new AU!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Please give us more details!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

YES!!! Ahhh first of all, thank you so much for being so excited for it! This really is our newest AU, it’s pretty recent, and we got so excited over nun!Azul that we actually have a lore for it this time lol

Azul, Jade, and Floyd are a part of the Underwater mafia/criminal world, and as a part of Azul’s plan to spread their involvement/power on land, they infiltrate a small and secluded monastery in an isolated island: Azul got a tip that this particular place would be perfect to gain access to important people through religion. All he has to do is to rise in ranks and gain more influence, but for that to happen, he and the boys have to hide their true identity: the merpeople are very demonised in this world and this religion in particular.

No one knows for certain if merpeople exist, so there are a lot of rumors and legends, a lot of which have nothing to do with reality, but the main consensus on land and in the church is that merpeople are spawns of the devil, and the depths of the ocean are the very depths of Hell. So Azul and the tweels have to really keep it together while listening to other nuns talk about mermaids seducing poor men and drowning them, literally dragging them to the underworld for their souls to suffer for eternity.

But our merboys do a very good job, and no one suspects them, in fact, they became rather popular very quickly. Nuns adore sister Floyd and consider him to be a very bright innocent soul, a little childish, but only closer to God for that; and sister Jade is like a saint that takes care of the older nuns and sick ones, selflessly spending hours at the infirmary. And of course, sister Azul is an absolute angel that is always here to support and help anyone who needs it.

(by the way yeah, everyone here is a boy, but they are still called sisters – don’t worry too much about it, we just really wanted them to be nuns…)

But even though Azul, as per usual, just acts nice and in actuality dislikes pretty much everyone around him, there is one person he got genuinely close with – it’s sister Idia, a mysterious shut-in that really stands out from the rest of the nuns. You can rarely see him around, he prefers to stay alone and he is excused from some events. Azul is intrigued by Idia, but also genuinely enjoys their chats and playing little board games (which they’re not really allowed to play) with him whenever they get a chance to spend some free time together.

And this accidental gamble of spending time with a loner weirdo really pays off when Azul finds out that Idia is, in fact, a son of a very rich and influential family, and that he is probably even the biggest golden ticket for Azul than any other fat-cat Azul could’ve gained access to through his way up the ranks.

This changes Azul’s plans: now he wants to take Idia back with them, when it’s time for him and the Tweels to leave…

One day, he invites Idia to talk alone in a private room, and as sister Idia arrives, he witnesses something otherworldly and horrifying: long and slimy tentacles crawling from under Azul’s robes. Not only did poor Idia not know that merpeople even existed, he sure as hell didn’t expect to see one among the nuns AND with tentacles lol

But aside from utter shock, confusion and fear, Idia also feels like he is getting something that he deserves. If merpeople exist and he is witnessing one with his own eyes, maybe it has come to drag him to Hell where he belongs. Because you see, Idia also has a secret… and a reason why he got pretty much disowned from his family and sent to live here in isolation.

Gee I wonder what’s going to happen next :3c

(lots of sex)

[yanderelionwrites]

Just One Date (Yandere!Mirio Togata x Reader)

A/N: Yo this turned out way longer than I expected it to, but I've been working on this for awhile now and I'm mostly happy with how it turned out. Mirio's one of my favorite characters so I just had to write him lol

Synopsis: You're convinced the Pro Hero Lemillion is just a little too invested with you, and it's starting to make you nervous. You want him to leave you be, but Mirio's offer is something you just can't refuse.

Content Warning: yandere, stalking, manipulation, coercion, drugging, kidnapping, non-consensual touching

Word Count: 4.2k

It all started with you just wanting to be friendly with the young Pro Hero who had decided to try the cafe you worked at. He was a popular and powerful hero, so it was only natural that you’d want to make a good impression. You treated him with kindness and delivered the best customer service you could possibly muster, and he left seeming satisfied with his visit. You thought that was the end of it.

However…

Maybe you had been too friendly with him, and he interpreted it as you being interested in him. Because he sure as hell was interested in you. It used to just be weekly visits during your shift, but now they’ve almost become daily. And you don’t see him just at the cafe anymore. Now, it feels like he’s everywhere. The grocery store, the bank, the mall, even at the movie theater! Whenever you inquire about these so-called “coincidental” encounters, he always passes it off as “being in the area” or “on patrol”, but those excuses aren’t cutting it anymore. There was something off about him, and it was making you feel uneasy. Which has led you to your current situation this afternoon.

“Hey, is (Name) here today?”

You furiously shook your head at your miffed coworker, pleading with her to say no. You were currently hiding in the back kitchen of the cafe you worked at, having found sanctuary there the minute you noticed a certain blond-haired hero approaching the establishment. You had begged your coworker, Unmei, to cover for you and tell him that you weren’t on shift today. Given her huffy and disgruntled ‘yes’, you could only hope she would follow through.

“Sorry…(Name) isn’t here right now…”

Yes! Thank you, Unmei!

“They’re out on their lunch break, but they’ll be back in half an hour or so.”

No! Why would you tell him that, Unmei?

The pro, Lemillion, lit up at this news and he gave her one of his award-winning smiles, saying, “I’ll be back in a bit then. Thanks for letting me know!”

He sashayed away after that, out the doors and down the street. Once he was nowhere in sight, you stormed out of your hiding spot and pulled your colleague to the side.

“What the heck, Unmei? You said you would cover for me!”

The girl shook her head, sighing. “Really, (Name), I don’t get why you’re trying to avoid him. It’s obvious he likes you! Are you really going to pass up the opportunity to date a top Pro Hero?”

“You don’t understand. I swear to God, he follows me wherever I go! No matter where I am, I end up running into him. Not to mention he’s constantly visiting me at work. It’s getting annoying,” You complain, massaging your forehead to quell the headache you’re getting just from thinking about Lemillion.

“Oh, you’re exaggerating,” Unmei chuckled at the thought. “There’s no way he’s everywhere you go. He’s got more important duties than to follow some civilian around. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.”

“It’s not a coincidence! I don’t know what it is about him, but he kind of gives me the creeps…”

“I think you’re the only person who would ever say Lemillion, of all heroes, is creepy,” Unmei shook her head, completely dismissing your concerns. She began to walk to the back kitchen with dishes in her hands. “I’m jealous, (Name). Not many are lucky enough to have a Pro Hero who’s got the hots for them. And one as popular as him, no less.”

“Lucky is not what I would call it…” You mumbled, but Unmei was too far away to hear. 

Thirty minutes came and went faster than you were ready for. You had just finished working through a rush, so you had no time to hide or prepare when Lemillion came through the doors, the biggest smile on his face when he saw you at the counter. You grimaced as he stalked up to you.

“Hey, (Name)! How are you today? Having a good time at work?” His grin was blinding; you couldn’t help but advert your gaze and back up a bit.

“Hi…Lemillion…I’m doing alright,” You muttered. Glancing to the side, you could see Unmei watching you with a smirk on her face. You tried to give her a pleading look to help you out of this situation, but she only gave you an encouraging thumbs-up before disappearing into the kitchen.

“You don’t have to keep calling me by my hero name, remember? We’re pretty close, so just Mirio is fine!”

We are most definitely not close. You thought, but nodded along with his suggestion anyway.

“Ri- Right…so, uh, what can I do for you today?” You said, trying to make this interaction as short as possible.

“Oh, I won’t be getting anything this time,” Mirio scratched the back of his neck. “Actually, I was hoping I could talk to you for a sec. Somewhere a bit more private.”

Uh oh. You hope that didn’t mean what you thought it meant. He wasn’t going to try and ask you out, was he? All of your encounters with him have been generally friendly so far, if you disregard the strange looks of longing and fleeting touches he’d sometimes give you. Despite the fact you’re convinced he’s been following you, you never thought he’d want to take your “relationship” a step further. It was dangerous for Pros to date after all; if any word got out that a hero had a partner, villains could easily snatch them up and use them for their nefarious schemes. This risk only increases tenfold when the hero is in Japan’s Top 10. All the more reason to shut his advances down.

“Um, I’m kind of busy right now. Besides, I just went on break, so I can’t-”

“Lemillion! It’s so good to see you again!” A booming voice resounded from behind you, making you flinch. Turning around, you see your boss approaching, a gleeful look on his face that rivaled the hero in front of you.

“Hey there, Mr. Kyōfu! Just thought I’d drop by and say hello to your lovely employee here!” You internally cringed at Mirio’s compliment and the wink he sent your way.

“Of course! You’re welcome here anytime! Can I get you anything? It’s on the house!” It was obvious how much your boss was sucking up to him, but Mirio didn’t seem to notice.

“Thanks, but I’m good!” The blond chuckled. “Though I was wondering if I could steal (Name) away for a bit? I know they’re busy, but I promise I won’t keep them for too long.”

“Sure, sure!” Mr. Kyōfu nodded, patting your back that you think was meant to be encouraging, but it only made you more uncomfortable. “Go ahead, (Name). We should be fine without you for now.”

“But, sir-” You tried to protest, but Mr. Kyōfu was already pushing you towards the swinging counter door, the only thing separating you from the beaming Pro Hero.

“Keep him company for as long as possible, alright? More customers will want to come in if they see him here,” He uttered lowly, so that only you could hear. “Sit by a window if you can, too.”

Of course all he cared about was the money. Your boss has been nothing but delighted with the fact that Lemillion chooses to make regular visits to his little cafe. Business has never been better here, as many people would do anything to see a big hero in person. So it was no surprise that Mr. Kyōfu would push you to entertain Mirio. Even if it made you super uncomfortable to do so.

You stumbled out the door right to where Mirio was patiently waiting. You wanted to argue with Mr. Kyōfu, tell him you wanted nothing more than to stay as far away from Lemillion as possible. If he wanted to keep the Pro around to be his moneymaker, he could find a way to do it himself. The look he was giving you, however, made any complaint die in your throat. There really was no getting out of this.

I need to find a new job.

Sighing, you reluctantly led Mirio away from the front counter and towards the back of the cafe, where it was more secluded. The both of you sat down in a booth, a nice big window next to you that gave you a view of the bustling city streets. Surprisingly, Mirio had the courtesy to sit across from you rather than next.

“Sooo,” You began awkwardly, hating the way he was staring straight into your eyes, a fond smile stretching across his features. “what did you want to talk about?”

“Well, it’s something that's been on my mind for awhile now, and there was no point in just having it bumble around in my head for so long,” He started, his smile turning almost sheepish. “We’ve known each other for a couple months now, and I just can’t wait any longer to ask you this.”

Here it comes. A grimace forms on your face, dreading his burning question. You were already thinking of ways to turn him down, envisioning his sad and disappointed face when you ultimately rejected him. You would feel slightly bad about the whole thing, but at least how you feel would get through to him, and you would finally be rid of the guy.

“Can I take you out on a date?” Mirio grinned, an oh so optimistic and hopeful look shining in his eyes.

Taking in a deep breath, you made direct eye contact with him, wanting to get your point across loud and clear.

“L-Look, Mirio…” Oh geez, you’re already stuttering. “You’re a real nice guy and I’m, like, super flattered that you’re asking me of all people out, but…my answer is no. I’m sorry.”

Mirio’s smile faltered, a confused expression on his face as he quirked his head to the side. He looked like a giant puppy who couldn’t understand what you were saying.

“Aw, why not? Did I do something wrong?” He asked, a pout forming on his lips. “Oh wait, you must have a boyfriend already, huh? I guess I should have asked beforehand.”

“No, it’s not that. I just…I guess I’m not really…comfortable…going on a date with you.”

“Oh, so I did do something wrong…” Mirio frowned, eyes downcast as he avoided your gaze.

“No! Well, yes, I mean,” You bit your lip, feeling nervous now that you have to confront him and explain the reason why. “The thing is…I know that you’ve been following me, Mirio… There’s just no way you’re always on patrol in the same area wherever I’m at. Granted, I don’t have any proof, but I know it’s not just a coincidence. It’s happened too often now.”

You glanced up to see Mirio staring at you. The unreadable expression he was giving you was slightly unnerving. You were so used to seeing him with a big, dopey grin, it was odd to see anything but on his countenance.

You waited for him to deny your claims, call you crazy to even think someone like him would stoop so low to stalk a civilian just because he liked them. Unmei was right; it sounded ridiculous. But you just couldn’t shake the feeling away. The more time that passed, the more silly you felt for even voicing your concerns. Mirio was probably thinking about how much of a paranoid weirdo you were and was having second thoughts on even suggesting a date. That is, until he started laughing.

“Oh, is that all? I was worried I had offended you or something!” Mirio scratched his cheek, his usual smile having now returned to his face. “I was only looking out for you, sunshine. Making sure you were okay and stuff. That’s kind of my job, you know?”

What? You stare at him, dumbfounded. You couldn’t believe he actually admitted to stalking you, and finds nothing wrong with it no less! Your suspicions were right after all, much to your horror. You weren’t even sure what to say to him next.

“Uh, no? You can’t be seriously trying to justify that by saying it’s part of being a hero! You’re supposed to be looking out for everyone, not just me.”

“I know that, sunshine. And I do! I just take extra special care to make sure you’re safe and sound,” Mirio reached his arm across the table and took a hold of your hand. “You’re important to me, (Name), and I would hate for something bad to happen to you.”

You quickly yanked your hand away and narrowed your eyes at him. How could he think all of this was okay to do? It was a major breach of privacy, and you shuddered at the possibility that he’s followed you home before.

“Nothing bad is going to happen to me. Something might, however, if I’m seen with you. You know just as well as I do the dangers of a Pro dating a civilian, and I don’t want to get involved with all that.”

“I would never let you get hurt, sunshine. We can keep our relationship on the down-low, if that would ease your worries,” Mirio winked, acting like there was a chance you would say yes after what he just confessed.

“The answer is no, end of story. I want you to stop following me and just leave me alone.” You stated firmly. Hopefully, Mirio would get the hint and you could finally go about your life in peace again.

It was never that easy though.

The blond sighed, before an uncharacteristic smirk appeared on his lips. A mischievous twinkle sparkled in his eyes, ready to share an idea that you were sure to dislike.

“How about this: if you go on just one date with me, I promise to leave you alone and never bother you again. Deal?” Mirio stuck out his hand, expecting you to shake it, but you only gave him a skeptical look.

“And what if I don’t?” You inquired, folding your arms across your chest in a challenging manner despite your anxious heart.

Mirio leaned in closer to you. “Then I guess I’ll just have to up my game and try even harder to get you to fall for me! Whatever that may call for.”

Goosebumps rose on the back of your neck and spread down to your arms as you thought about what that could mean. You didn’t want to know how far Mirio was willing to go with all this, but you knew he wasn’t bluffing and really wouldn’t stop his advances. As much as you have come to dislike the hero, you saw that there was no other choice than to accept the ultimatum he has presented to you. 

That’s what you hated most about this whole situation. Even if you tried to report him, no one would believe your word over his. He’s one of the best heroes this country has ever seen; his reputation is too good to be tarnished by the claims of one civilian.

It would just be one night with him…

And then he’d leave you alone.

“...Alright, it’s a deal. One date and nothing more.”

* * *

You peered up at the inconspicuous building where Mirio had told you to meet him. It was a restaurant you were unfamiliar with, but the blond vouched that the food there was to die for. He said that he was good friends with the owner, so it wouldn’t be hard for him to place a reservation on such short notice.

Must be nice having so many connections…

Entering the establishment, you breathed a sigh of relief when you saw that this place wasn’t super fancy like you feared. It was nice, sure, but not at the level of having multiple kinds of cutlery placed at your table. You were worried Mirio would take you out somewhere that would be fitting for an anniversary dinner and not a first date.

You fiddled with the bracelet wrapped around your wrist as you approached the host, ready for this night to be over already. Before you could even open your mouth to speak, however, your date himself appeared from around the corner, leaning over in a booth and waving at you.

“Hey, (Name)! Over here!” Mirio called. You had never seen him so happy.

You dragged your feet as you made your way over to him, sporting more of a grimace rather than a smile. Taking a quick look around, you noticed that the restaurant was fairly empty save for a few customers seated far away from where you were headed. You’re not sure if the place is always like this or Mirio had reserved this entire area.

“Wow! You’re looking lovely as ever, sunshine,” Mirio exclaimed when you finally reached his table. “Well, go on and take a seat!”

You sit down across from him, your leg starting to bounce once seated. Picking up the glass that had already been placed at your table, you take a sip of water to try and ease your nerves.

“Did you have any trouble finding this place? I chose somewhere less popular so you wouldn’t have to worry about anyone seeing us together. I hope it’s private enough for ya!” Mirio said, taking a sip of his own glass.

“It was no trouble. And thanks…for accommodating me,” You said.

“I’m beyond stoked that you changed your mind and decided to give me a chance,” Mirio said, flagging down the waiter who just came out of the kitchen. “I promise I’ll make it a memorable night for you. For the both of us.”

You forced me to change my mind. You thought bitterly, choosing not to say anything in favor of having the night go smoothly and quickly. After the both of you order, Mirio tries to engage in some idle chatter. With your short and vague responses, however, it was hard for the conversation to turn into something meaningful.

There was one question on your mind, though. One that you should have asked earlier but never had the chance to. When the waiter brought out your food and left you two to enjoy the meal, you decided that now would be more of a good time than anything to ask him.

“Why exactly do you like me?” You questioned slowly, rubbing your forehead to quell the sudden drowsiness that you felt coming in full force. This night must be taking a bigger toll out of you than you thought it would. “Surely there are plenty of better options out there, so why choose me?”

“Don’t sell yourself short, (Name). You’re an amazing person, you just don’t see it yet.” Mirio encouraged, shooting you a soft smile that was meant to comfort. “Though I do admire that humility of yours! Just like I love your kindness and compassion. The world needs more people like you, sunshine. That’s why I have to try so hard to protect you.”

You had trouble focusing on Mirio’s words, too preoccupied with the fact that you felt dizzy now, like you’ve had one too many to drink even though the only thing you drank tonight was the…water…

No…

“Did…did you do something…to my drink?” You slurred, leaning against the cool wooden table to keep yourself upright. Fear was starting to take over your body as it began to tremble.

“It’s just a little something that will help you see that we’re meant to be together, sunshine,” Through your blurring vision, you could see that Mirio’s smile never wavered. He knew exactly what he was doing. “Go to sleep, okay? And when you wake up, everything will be better. I promise.”

Tears spilled out and slid down your cheeks as you tried to fight off whatever drug he had used on you, but you knew there was no point. It was inevitable. It always was. Your fate had been sealed when Lemillion first came to the cafe and laid his eyes on you.

As you drifted off to sleep, the last thing you could see was Mirio standing up from his seat, getting ready to escort you to God knows where.

* * *

You wake up with the worst headache you could imagine, in the comfiest bed you’ve ever laid in. Confused and groggy, you sit up and assess your surroundings. You’re now in an unfamiliar bedroom, one that was much bigger than your own and seemed to be decorated with you in mind. It was covered in your favorite color scheme and filled with your interests, all things that were eerily similar to the stuff found in your home. You wanted to get up and look around, but the minute you moved your leg, you felt a heavy weight on your ankle. It had been cuffed, with a long chain that was attached to the bedpost.

It was all coming back to you now.

Mirio had drugged you.

And you must be in his home.

Anxiety was starting to settle as the situation was dawning on you. This couldn’t be real. How could Mirio, a Pro Hero, commit such a criminal act? You supposed it was because he knew he could get away with it, but you never thought he would stoop to kidnapping.

You needed to get out of there, but no matter how hard you tugged on the chain, it wouldn’t budge. The cuff looked to be high tech, and needed some kind of special key for it to unlock. You’re sure Mirio’s got it on him, so there was no hope of getting the cuff off yourself.

The door handle started to jiggle as it was unlocked.

Speak of the devil.

In comes the blond-haired man you’ve come to despise, a bright beam on his face despite everything he’s done. His hands hold a tray carrying a glass of water and a plate of apple slices.

“Hey, you’re awake! You’ve been out for a while now, I was starting to get worried,” Mirio said, placing the tray down on the nightstand. “I’m sure your head must hurt, so I brought you some water to help.”

You couldn’t believe he was acting so nonchalant after abducting you. The last thing you wanted to do was drink water that was prepared by him. Fear and anger stirred inside you as you clenched the bedsheets in your fists.

“Mirio, this is insane. You know this isn’t right,” You started, scooting farther up on the bed when your captor sat down right next to you.

“Of course this is right, sunshine. I know you must be scared and confused right now, but you’ll understand eventually,” Mirio reached a hand forward to try and cup your cheek, but you jerked your head away.

“Don’t fucking touch me. You can’t just pretend this is okay and then expect me to play along,” You narrowed your eyes at him, but that hardly deterred Mirio’s smile. “I want you to let me go.”

The man sighed and let his hand drop back to his side. “I can’t do that, (Name). I brought you here so I can keep you safe. You have everything you need here and more! Doesn’t that sound great?”

 “You can’t be serious! You can’t keep me locked up here forever!” You shouted, losing your temper. You wanted to stay calm in this situation, but it was growing increasingly difficult to do so. “I have a life to return to! Please, Mirio, let me go!”

The blond moved closer to your form, resting his hand on your knee. Nothing you said seemed to waver him; he just kept that same stupid grin on his face as he continued to lean towards your face. You tried to back up, but your body was already against the headboard. 

Mirio stopped just inches from your face, saying, “Your life will be better now, sunshine. I promise to take good care of you, so don’t worry, okay?” You flinched when he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “I love you so much, (Name). And you’ll realize someday that you need me as much as I need you.”

He patted your head then, before standing up and walking towards the door. “Rest up for a bit now, and then when you wake up, I’ll make us dinner. It can be whatever you want!”

When he left, you began to tug on the chain again out of panic and frustration, hot tears threatening to spill. Why did this have to happen to you of all people? You were just being nice and now look where it got you. Trapped in the home of some delusional hero who thought it was his job to personally protect you.

You glared daggers at the ankle cuff, hoping that if you stared hard enough, it would melt off. You wished you had never served Mirio when he came into the cafe that day. You wished people had listened to you when you told them that he was stalking you. You wished you had said no to his proposal and found another job. 

You were foolish to think all he wanted was one date.

Thanks for reading 💕💕 Comments and reblogs are always welcome! Hope ya'll have a good day or night

[shunin-gumis]

Mistery on the Moonlit Passage - Track 02

Seasonal Event Story

I've translated chapter 2, Hope you enjoy!

~~~(flashback)

Ryui: Toi, you’re fine with 3 sugar cubes for your milk tea, right?

Toi: Yes! Thank you, Ani-sama!

Netaro: Ah! I am fairly certain I mixed in some of my special invention of “Wasabi Cubes that look Identical to Sugar Cubes” in that sugar pot there. 

Ryui: Pfghtt!!

Muneuji: Hm, a tea ceremony. Allow me to participate as a break from my studies.

Nanaki: …..

Nanaki: …*glance*

Chief: Yuki-nii, what did you want to talk about?

Kafka: It better be important enough for you to disturb my cozy tea time with the Chief.

Yukikaze: Indeed. This may lead to a new business opportunity for us. 

Nanaki: (...I wonder what it is…)

Yukikaze: The other day, my father was approached by the president of a cruise liner company for a discussion on reopening the Night Cruise, which had been out of operation for some time now.

Chief: A Night Cruise…! We do have a special tourist zone that’s facing the sea after all, it’d be great if we could make cruises more popular too!

Yukikaze: I thought that perhaps there was something we could do to help after hearing this from my father. Would it be difficult?

Kafka: Difficult? Who do you think you’re talking to? If we receive an official offer, HAMA Tours will promise to deliver. 

Yukikaze: Thank you. I’ll let him know.

Chief: It’s rare that we get a chance to help out on a cruise. Yuki-nii, did you get to hear any specifics about the discussion from Uncle?

Nanaki: (Chief’s eyes are sparkling…)

Yukikaze: The liner itself is ready to go, but since it hasn’t been in operation for a long time, they’re looking for advice on what they could offer as onboard services. 

Chief: I see… Then how about we have a soft opening with the members of HAMA Tours as guests?

Kafka: Good idea~♪ We can offer consulting after seeing how the soft opening goes.

Chief: Right, Yuki-nii, could you ask Liguang-san for his opinion as well? We could use the cruising sector from ward 4 as a reference. 

Yukikaze: Alright. Liguang himself probably won’t attend the soft opening, seeing as he’s been busy lately.

Nanaki: (Their conversation is progressing so smoothly… Kamina-san and Ooguro-san both know the Chief from childhood, huh…) 

Yukikaze: I’m excited to go on a cruise and see the night view of HAMA with you… 

Kafka: No one asked. 

Chief: We can discuss the specifics later in a meeting… Is there anyone here who’d be interested in participating? 

Muneuji: I would like to participate to broaden my horizons. It would also be beneficial if the swaying of the boat would help strengthen my core.

Chief: Um, I’m not sure about that… I’ve heard that they use AI to control large cruise ships such as these, so there shouldn’t be much swaying.

Netaro: Ooh~ I would love to see the internal structure myself! I’m coming too~

Yukikaze: There’s a sky deck as well, according to the pamphlet. It’s on this page here, Ryui.

Ryui: Who cares.

Toi: Wow, I’ve never been on a ship as big as this. I want to try it~

Ryui: Oi Kamina, hand over that pamphlet. 

Chief: How about you, Nanaki-kun?

Nanaki: Um… I want to join too. 

Nanaki: (Seeing the night view with the Chief… Maybe it could help set the mood…)

Nanaki: (–No, what am I thinking? There’ll be others on board too, there’s no way it’d turn out like I want it to…)

~~~(end flashback)

Location: Cruise Liner - Party Venue

Nanaki: (Way to set the mood…!)

Nanaki: Chief, please, wake up…!

Chief: ….. 

Nanaki: What should I do at a time like this… Hey, Andy!

Andy: …..

Nanaki: Wait, huh…? The reception was fine till just a moment ago… 

Ryui: Toi… Toi!! Dammit, where’s the captain!?

Yukikaze: I’ll go search for him. The rest of you, look after them. 

Muneuji: Everyone, please calm down. 

Ryui: How the hell am I supposed to calm down!?

Muneuji: It appears that they’re all simply asleep. 

Ryui: Huh…?

Toi: *soft snoring*

Ryui: …You’re right. That’s Toi’s usual angelic sleeping face.

Kafka and Kinari: *soft breathing* 

Akuta: Guoh… Pumpkin… Noodle soup… Pollock Roe… Espetada…

Yachiyo: Munya munya… I can’t eat anymoooore….

Yodaka: There’s no need to rush… Take it in slowly… All the way inside… 

Muneuji: Isotake and Fuefuki-san are both still clutching their plates… Looks like they’re enjoying a buffet in their dreams too.

Yukikaze: Yodaka-san seems to be conversing with Yachiyo in his sleep… What an amazing technique. 

Nanaki: I-If it’s even the same genre… 

Chief: *soft snoring*

Nanaki: (I didn’t think I’d get to see the Chief’s sleeping face… Their eyelashes…)

Nanaki: None of them look like they’re in a bad condition, so… I guess it’s okay?

Ryui: Like hell it is.

[missybee-writes]

Shadow in the Dark: Chapter One - Cursed

Genre: Sci-fi; Romance; Horror

Warnings: (eventual) sexual content; violence; gore; swearing; alcohol and drug use.

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Summary

In July ‘85, an ambitious realtor sells the crumbling Creel house to a family looking for a new start.

Rose McAllister may be living in a grand and gothic murder house in a small Midwest town, but senior year in high school is the stuff of her nightmares: a last chance at a normal school year without being the odd one out, the sick girl, the weirdo from across the pond. Blend in, make it through the year, and make some friends. Stay unnoticed at all costs.

Hawkins, and one seriously loud-mouthed metalhead, is about to flip that carefully laid plan Upside Down.

---

Chapter two: Munson Magic

Ao3 link

---

Chapter One

Rose was fucked. Some unearthly being had marked her for disaster, she was sure of it.

“This isn’t happening, this cannot be happening,” she chanted over and over to herself. “Hawkins is way too small for us to be lost. I’m cursed. And it’s not even nine a.m.”

Her mother sighed from the driver’s seat. “You are not cursed. I just took a wrong turn at the Memorial Hospital. Maybe if I loop around...”

“How do you explain the alarm clocks? You can’t blame faulty wiring this time, all of the electrics were replaced last week.” Rose gestured wildly.

This morning she had woken slow, bleary-eyed and heavy-limbed, with the gnawing feeling in her bones that something was just wrong. Something beyond the weird disorientation of being in a new bed, and a new house. Wooden beams flexed and creaked - no surprise with half the walls stripped down to boards in the remodel - and it hit her: no radio, no cheery blast of synth or guitar or whatever popular music central Indiana’s finest radio stations had to offer, drifting from the alarm on her bedside table.

One glance at the alarm clock confirmed it; grey pixels where the neon red numbers should be. Dead. Another power cut, she thought. But no, as she sat up, brain-fogged, the light from the floor lamp still glowed buttery yellow, casting a faintly pulsing light on the faces of Simon Le Bon, David Bowie, and the newest addition to the posters that covered the exposed brick wall: Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones, his rumpled shirt slightly unbuttoned, fedora askew, whip hooked on his belt.

No time to ogle Indy, she’d thrown herself from bed, a clumsy hurricane tripping, hopping and falling down the winding stairs to the second storey hall. The old clock was just about visible through the walnut bannister, its gold pendulum swinging back and forth and heralding her own personal doom: seven forty six, just fourteen minutes until Hawkins High closed its doors and classes began.

“Bollocks! Fucking hell!” She’d cried out.

One alarm clock dead? Fine, no problem, plausible. But when her mother and Jerry stumbled from the master bedroom, awakened by her foul mouth instead of their own alarm clock - which also happened to be dead, despite the rest of the electrics in the bedrooms working fine - an eerie feeling of the unnatural crept up her spine. After a manic rush to brush her teeth, grab her neatly stacked books and throw on some clothes, she found the washer dryer had stopped-mid cycle, and her carefully planned outfit options all lay in a damp, musty heap in the machine drum. It only confirmed that fate, karma, whatever one might call it, was stacked against her.

“Jerry said it might be a power surge,” her mother said, eyes on the road and foot on the gas pedal. “The plant is running on a skeleton crew until they fix the new conductor...convection...honestly, I don’t understand anything he says, but it sounds important. He’s called in additional engineers from Indianapolis to help.”

Rose chewed her lip, literally biting back the dozen denials and witty remarks that came to her mind all at once. If the power had surged, the old bulbs in the lamps should have been the first to go. But Jerry was no-man’s land in the battleground between her and her mother; though her stepfather’s goofy behaviour sometimes begged for it, he was too nice to mock. After meeting her mother two years ago, he launched an all-out campaign to win her over, bringing her tapes, magazines, and a new VHS player so they could watch her favourite films together. But most of all, he made her prim and proper mother laugh more than she had ever seen, even more than when Dad was alive. Against all odds, Rose kind of, just about, liked him.

“The teachers will understand, Rosebud. It’s your first day. And besides, you’ll only be ten minutes late.”

“Exactly,” Rose’s head thumped back on the headrest of the passenger seat. “It’s the end of the fucking world.”

The streets here were endless, a thick wall of trees speeding past in a blur of green, broken by the occasional driveways of modest one-storey homes. All unfamiliar, and strange.

They turned a corner, passing bright yellow school buses, already empty and relieved of their precious cargo, but were met with oncoming traffic and a chorus of loud car horns.

“Jesus, Mum, you’re on the wrong side of the road. Right, go right!” Rose said shrilly, panic swirling in her gut and sending her voice a few octaves too high.

A sudden jerk of the wheel had the tires screeching and her stomach flipping upside-down; the car tilted as it swerved into the right lane, Rose’s fingers digging into the beige leather interior of the station wagon like a drowning man clinging to a liferaft.

“Oops,” her mother muttered mildly. She had no longer than Rose to get dressed and run out the house, but somehow she looked just as mumsy as always. Hands perfectly positioned at ten and two, not a hair out of place in her blonde bob or a single crease in her frumpy crochet cardigan, despite the chaotic driving. “I don't know if I'll ever get used to driving on the wrong side of the road. Jerry would have taken you, but he has a meeting with the Department of Energy at the plant this morning. About the promotion.”

“It’s OK. I’d rather be here with you. As much as I like Jerry, you’re my mum.” Rose said.

Hawkins High School appeared at the end of the street, its squat, single-storey front building surrounded by bikes and cars. They pulled into the parking lot, taking up a space by the front doors. Only a few stragglers remained in the lot: someone chaining up a bicycle, another girl running through the front doors with cheeks pink from exertion, a teacher with a worn briefcase.

Rose instinctively grabbed her mother’s hand, and they sat for a moment in pleasant silence. It was always like this, when mum drove her to the hospital. A minute of respite before the shitshow began.

“Ready?” Mum squeezed her hand.

Nope. Not at all. American high school, a more terrifying prospect than any hospital ward, or any of the sixth form schools at home where she would be unnoticed and normal...well, perhaps not normal, but only the sick girl, not the new kid with a different accent, with no idea how any of this worked. Too late to turn back now.

She launched herself out of the passenger door, clutching her leather satchel to her chest. “Ready.”

The shiny window of the station wagon reflected her own image back to her, a mess of long, red-brown curls that looked like a bird's nest, no time today to tame it with a brush and half a can of Aquanet. She dragged her hands through her hair in a vague attempt to tidy it up, until something else caught her eye in the reflection.

“We have to go back. The dress...I can’t wear it,” Rose said. It was faded green and floral, with a square neckline, and ending just above the knee. A bit old fashioned, maybe, and not exactly her first choice, but her favourite clothes all sat mouldy and damp in the washer dryer at home. It was bought at least four years ago, before Rose’s last growth spurt, when she really filled out. But it wasn’t the close fit of the fabric or the definite visible cleavage that had her worried.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Her mother was leaning over to the passenger side of the car, brows knitted in confusion. But when she realised the source of the panic, her whole demeanour changed. Mum’s hands flew to her own chest, and she unbuttoned her cardigan hurriedly. She flung it off her shoulders and threw it to Rose out the passenger door, who swore like a sailor as tugged it over the green dress, buttoning it all the way to the top. The cardigan was shell-pink with a cream Peter Pan collar. It clashed horribly with the dress, but it covered her all the way to her collarbones.

“I'm sorry, are you Rose?” A sweet voice called out behind her. “Rose McAllister?”

Rose turned slowly. The girl behind her was a foil to Rose, hair styled, blue pastel skirt perfectly matching her eyes. She looked like she’d just stepped from a John Hughes movie in those white leather boots, scarf artfully tied at her neck. Preppy with a capital p.

“Hi?” The girl smiled weakly.

“Hi? Am I?” Rose spluttered. “Hi. Sorry, I am Rose. That’s what I mean to say. That’s me, I am she.”

Oh god. Nought to crazy in under ten seconds. It really was her superpower.

Put-together-girl smiled, seemingly not put off by the bundle of awkwardness before her, and shook her hand. “Great, I thought you’d accidentally ended up at the Middle School for a while there. I’m Nancy. Nancy Wheeler, part of the school welcome committee. If you want to say goodbye to your mom, i’ll take you to register for your classes. Janice in the principal’s office has all the forms ready for you, it shouldn’t take too long.”

Rose gave her mother a final smile. “Thanks Mum. See you at three,” she closed the car door soundly.

But nope, instead of leaving, the drivers’ window rolled down and her mother’s blonde bob leaned out the window. “Just one thing before I go...Nancy, you couldn’t point out the nurse’s office, could you?”

Nancy Wheeler paused for just a second, and nodded toward a small brick building over to the right. “It’s just there, Mrs. McAllister. It’s shared with the Middle School.”

Mum smiled as she got out of the car, and turned to Rose’s guide. “It’s Mrs. Gruber, but thank you, dear.”

“Do you have to?” Rose asked her mother through gritted teeth. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“I won’t be long. I promise, Rosebud.”

Oh god, the shame. She was eighteen, not eight. Nicknames were acceptable at home, but not in public.

“Sorry Mrs Gruber.” Nancy waved to her retreating figure.

Distance. Rose sought it straight away, shiny new sneakers pounding on the cracked pavement beneath the great big tiger poster on the wall, bounding toward the door. Nothing like your mother tagging along on your first day of school to make classes seem more appealing than hanging about outside.

“So,” Nancy caught up quickly, guiding her into hallways striped orange and green. “I should tell you a little about the school. There are almost a hundred students, about seventy per year. We have band, math club, AV club, drama club, and that’s just for starters. Girls have a soccer team. Usual sports, but you should know basketball is bigger than football here. Go Tigers!” Nancy’s little cheer was lukewarm at best, but she seemed genuinely nice. “ I guess it looks a little lame to someone who just moved from England. I mean, the teachers here are good, but you’re probably used to more academic rigour, right?”

“Not really.” Rose eyed her surroundings nervously, big colourful notice boards peppered with hand-drawn signs about pep rallies, someone offering French tuition, and a whole list of dates and match times. “School is school, but I don‘t think we had as many extra curricular activities at home. Except hockey, and the pub.” And definitely not so many weird ones. In one corner, a wad of chewing gum was stuck on the board, pinning up a strange devil-like drawing, letters H E L L interrupted by a pastel yellow flyer advertising auditions for A Streetcar Named Desire. She desperately wanted to lift it up and find out what kind of hell Hawkins High School was hiding.

“Still, must be hard joining in senior year. You must miss your friends.”

“So much.” Rose lied, plastering on a smile. “I’m just calling and writing to them all the time.” Surely her gran counted. And she did call her friend Elaine from the hospital ward, when Elaine could breathe well enough to actually talk back. One benefit to being new? No reputation to overcome. A new slate, a chance to shine. If only shining didn’t involve being so visible. “Thank you for doing this, I know you probably have to, but it’s nice to not be faced with a thousand faces at once, you know?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Nancy shrugged it off with a wave.

Janice in the principal’s office gave her a stack of forms, and she went through them one by one with a freshly sharpened pencil whilst Nancy filled her in on the school.

“People here are friendly, most of the time. If you want, I could hook you up with some clubs. I run the school paper and the yearbook committee. It’s a lot, but I plan on early application to colleges - i’m in this fight with my mom and dad about applying to any Ivies - and then i’ll have a lot of time in the second half of senior year. That should tie in nicely with the production of the yearbook.” Nancy was in full flow, working through all the things on her clearly enormous brain. Rose handed back some of the papers to Janice and got a schedule in return, and Nancy led her into a maze of hallways,

“Here’s your locker.” Nancy smiled, patting a metal grill whose beige paint was flaking away. “Your combination is 2-2-6-2, but you can change that anytime. Your first period is English with Mrs O’Donnell. This semester they’re working on classic short stories. Oh, you should know that homecoming is next week. I’m on the committee for that too, since Heather and...uh...a couple of the members left over the summer. And that means I’m probably on the hook for prom committee too, unless Jennifer P shapes up and actually orders the decorations. I know it’s really soon bearing in mind this is your first day, but I could probably get you a homecoming ticket, if you wanted? My boyfriend moved to California a few weeks ago, so i’ll be there stag, manning the punchbowl probably. What I mean is, I don’t know if you have a boyfriend or anything, but girls go stag all the time. Guys too.”

Rose’s face was flushing warm just listening to it. She followed Nancy with her head buzzing, her smile cracking as they stopped halfway down the hall.

“Nancy, I'm going to level with you. I only understood about half of what you said. I have this very vague understanding of the word homecoming from watching a couple of John Hughes films, but what is the difference between homecoming and prom? Isn’t it all just dancing to shit music without alcohol - something which I'm pretty annoyed about, by the way. At home the pubs will serve you from about fourteen, even in your school uniform if the police aren’t about.”

Nancy was shocked, frozen as Rose started rambling. And once she started, it was like a broken pipe, overflowing without any sign of stopping.

“What’s a yearbook?” Rose continued. “Why do you need a committee of people to make a book? College is University to me, but I couldn’t tell you if it’s early to apply, because I have no idea when people actually apply. And you said basketball instead of football, but then you also said girls play soccer...soccer to me is football, so now I'm thinking to myself, McAllister, have you been living under a rock? Do Americans call it football for boys and soccer for girls? Or do the girls get to play football, but the boys don’t - and by that I suppose I mean soccer, not your football where you have to strap on a helmet and thirty pounds of foam padding just to play a bit of bloody rugby. Because at home, girls play basketball, only we call it netball. But not the tough girls, they play hockey. God, when I think about it, everything about sports is so unbelievably stupid, isn’t it? I have no idea why it's life or death to some people. Sorry, I don’t know if you are big on sports.”

Rose laughed hysterically, “You seem really nice, and I can’t believe I'm already proving that I'm a lunatic with no social skils. I feel like I'm trapped in a film or a play and I don’t know the lines, but everyone else does. And at some point, I'm going to end up naked in front of a chalkboard whilst everyone laughs at me, and then hopefully wake up sweating in bed at home in Oxfordshire. Except this isn’t a bad dream, this is fucking real.”

Nancy covered her hands with her face, blue eyes wide with horror. Her gaze drifted from Rose to a point behind her shoulder that suddenly seemed to be interesting.

Rose’s stomach did another flip upside-down. “Someone’s right behind me, aren’t they.”

Nancy nodded. At some point during her unhinged rant they had arrived at an open door. A door to a class full of open-mouthed teenagers gawking at her, like she had three eyes or an extra head.

“Miss McAllister.” A bespectacled woman in a tweed pencil skirt and addressed her, “How nice of you to join us. I’m Mrs O’Donnell, and it seems I'll have the dubious honour of teaching you English for your senior year. Now I don’t know how you do things in Britain, but in America, we arrive at our classes on time.”

Yep, that checks out. All those years wishing for a clean slate, and within moments she’s covered it in dirt. So much for a new start.

“This is my fault.” Nancy bravely interjected. “I’m the reason she was late, Mrs O’Donnell. I just babbled on and on about school, and I didn’t even think about what I was saying. Truth is, the welcoming committee doesn’t really do that much welcoming. We’ve had one new student in the last year, and he was from Illinois. Not counting Billy...” her face clouded over for a second. “Please don’t punish her for my mistake.”

“Hmm.” O’Donnell hummed, fiddling with her tortoiseshell spectacles, clearly swayed by the appeal on Rose’s behalf. “I don’t like tardiness, and I don’t like disrespect. But perhaps I can let you off this time, Miss McAllister. Why don’t you come in and introduce yourself to your classmates?”

With a nervous apology to Nancy, Rose clutched her books and papers, and stepped into English class as gingerly as if it were Dante’s seventh circle of hell. Thirty teens sat expectantly at their tables, books spilling over desks, bags on the floor. They watched her every move , and at least half of them in some kind of sports gear. Which she just insulted, of course. If only the ground could swallow her up, or make her invisible. Anything to take her away from the thirty pairs of eyes that prickled across her skin. Yup, cursed.

A guy with a mullet and one of those fancy green jackets sniggered behind his fist. “Chalkboard’s right there. You gonna take your clothes off, or what? We can do it elsewhere honey, I wouldn’t mind a more private show, if you know what i’m talkin’ about.”

“Nice cardigan,” someone mocked. Rose’s closed her hands in fists, to stop herself from fidgeting with it. Laughter spread across the class like wildfire. Great. Just fucking great.

“Andy, I will not tell you again,” O’Donnell pointed at the lewd-mouthed jock, chalk in hand. “Talk back once more and you’ll join Mr Munson in the principal’s office. Go on then, introduce yourself Miss McAllister. I’m sure the class is just dying to hear more about you.”

Dead. She was dead alright. Deceased. Six feet under. Nancy Wheeler can write her obituary and put it in the school paper. Rose McAllister, gone, and totally forgotten. Cause of death: foot in mouth.

“Hello.” Her voice cracked. “I’m Rose. I moved to Hawkins a month ago, after my stepdad got a new job. Or, he got his old job back at the power plant. He grew up here. As for me, I Iove to read, classics mostly-”

“Nerd alert.” Quipped a girl in a polka dot blouse, just under her breath enough for the teacher not to notice. Cue more laughing from the sporty side of the class.

“I speak French, I, um, I saw Live Aid this summer in London, just before we moved out here.”

A silent pause. A peppy blonde cheerleader clapped her hands together. “Oh my god, that is so bitchin. Who was the cutest? Was it Spandau Ballet? They’re British too, right?”

Relief washed through her, almost as intoxicating as the cranberry and vodka mixers all the cool girls at home drank in the Nag’s Head. Not that Rose was often in the popular crowd, not since she got sick. “I’m more of a Queen or Bowie girl myself. Freddie was unbelievable, couldn’t take your eyes off him. Status Quo and The Who were amazing too. But...uh...Spandau Ballet, yeah. Martin Kemp is cracking to look at, isn’t he?”

“That’s enough, that’s enough,” O’Donnell quietened them down. “I see we’ve devolved into cute musicians or whatever you young people class as music these days. Settle down. We have a lot to work through before this assignment. And before you ask, Andy, it’s due next Friday, despite the interruption.”

Andy, that wonderful mouth-breathing specimen of idiot found in schools everywhere, flipped off the teacher as soon as her back was turned.

“Was Edgar Allen Poe on your curriculum at home, Miss McAllister?” She said, whilst writing on the chalkboard.

“No. I haven’t read any.”

“That’s alright, just take a seat and listen. You can get caught up over the weekend.”

The class returned to their books, and Rose fled the front of the classroom for an empty desk at the back of the room. At least this way she could wallow in eternal shame without eyes on her back. Her bag deposited on the floor, she collapsed quietly into the wooden desk, shrinking down as far as she could in the arse-numbing seat. Pencil tapping nervously on her book, until her neighbour took mercy on her and passed over a dog-eared copy of Edgar Allen Poe’s short stories, pages folded over at The Tell-Tale Heart.

Shit. Not one she was familiar with. Give her Shakespeare, give her Hardy or Dickens or any of the Bronte’s - hell, even Tolkein or McAffrey or Pratchett - and she’d be talking a mile a minute about them. Poe, not really in her wheelhouse.

Minutes passed as the class read passages aloud, and talked about the imagery. She scanned the story, reading it through as quick as possible, scribbling down some notes as the class discussed it. Rose flipped over a page and found the story was over already, five punchy pages of compact gothic imagery. Concise. That was a blessing, for her first day.

Behind the battered book, something on the desk caught her eye. A grim reaper in a hooded cowl, hand clutching a gruesome looking scythe. The lines were clean, and it wasn’t just inked on the desk, it was etched, scratched into the wood with a pen or a pin or something sharp. It was good. Clearly someone found O’Donnell’s class so riveting, they turned to the visual arts instead.

“OK.” O’Donnell sighed heavily. “So what do we think about the themes? Someone? Anyone? Becky, how about you?”

Polka dot shirt girl ummed and ahed. “I guess, madness?”

“Yes, Becky. Well done. The concept of madness. Anyone else?”

A hand shot up. Jock number two, sat next to his mullet-haired buddy Andy. “I don’t know about the class, but I have some concerns.”

“What a surprise. I would ask you to share them in private, Mr Carter, but that would be a foolish hope, wouldn’t it.”

“That’s right. Mrs O’Donnell. I think my fellow classmates are counting on me to speak the honest truth, and say what we’re all thinking. I’m shocked that impressionable young minds are being asked to read this explicit material. The narrator killed someone in cold blood, and we’re being told he’s not insane, because he was careful and calm whilst doing it?” Blonde jock paused and looked around, working the crowd like a pro. “I mean, to commit murder, to hack a guy to pieces and bury him under the floorboards...that’s the worst kind of evil.

“And don’t we all deserve to spend our formative years studying something that shows the best of humanity? I don’t know about you, but I turn my mind to Psalms 141: Do not let my heart be drawn to what is evil so that I take part in wicked deeds along with those who are evildoers. Mrs O’Donnell, I say we remove this book from the curriculum. My father supports the idea, and he’s willing to take it to the school board next month.”

“Yeah, what Jason said,” Andy piped up, bumping his friend’s fist. “Let’s throw it in the trash, and the assignment due next Friday. I did like the haunted house part though, with the ghost stuck under the floorboards. Don’t know how a ghost has a heartbeat, though. Weird.”

Rose stifled a smile, and turned back down to the grim reaper on the desk. At some point in all the talk of beating hearts her hand had settled over her chest, over the cardigan covering her dress. still buttoned up. A sudden impulse had her grabbing for a red marker pen, and drawing a heart onto the desk, in the path of the grim reaper’s scythe. She was careful not to overlap the original, so the artist could scrub it out if they didn’t like the random addition to their work.

“I’m sure the school board will give it serious thought, Jason,” O’Donnell grumbled, already ground down before second period. “Any more themes in the work? Come on, come on. This will help in the assignment. Miss Buckley, are you with us?”

A girl blatantly napping on her desk in one corner jolted awake at the prodding of a neighbour, her eyes wired, and hair tousled from lying on the desk. “Themes? Right, yeah. Themes. It’s got haunted houses, and death.” The girl turned introspective, eyes glazing over. “There’s guilt, for having lived through something so scary, right? Like he did all these terrible things, and survived. He kinda wants to get it off his chest and admits to murrder straight away, which is a stupid move for someone who calls himself smart, a lot. Reminds me of a dingus I know. He’s so desperate to talk about all the creepy stuff that happened in that house, even though it will get him in trouble. Guilt just eats away at you. Yeah, definitely guilt.”

The teacher looks almost surprised. “Very astute, Robin. If you can keep awake for the rest of your senior year, you might just get an A in this class.”

“Nice,” Robin smiled. “The previously mentioned dingus will be hearing about this later. So much for the senior slump.”

Rose had little time to ponder what on earth a dingus was, as O’Donnell was talking again. “What about comparisons to other work? Does it remind you of anything we studied last year?”

Silence. It was nice and quiet in the back of the room, and being thrust into the spotlight was the last thing Rose wanted. But this was books, this was her element. Something compelled her to raise her hand.

“Miss McAllister, I realise you won’t have covered last year’s work either, i’ll set you up with a reading list.”

“I had some thoughts about this part,” Rose held up the book. “‘There came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man's heart.’ There’s something so gothic and logical about the prose. It reminds me of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”

“Sir what-now?” Polka dot girl muttered.

“Uh, Sherlock Holmes,” Robin added, feigning holding a microscope to her eye and pulling a funny face. “You know, its elementary, my dear Watson.”

“Yes, exactly.” Rose grinned, delighted. “Sherlock Holmes. And Lovecraft too. I think they both came after Poe, so he might have been an influence.”

O’Donnell looked like she’d sucked on a lemon, her thin lips pursed until they almost disappeared. “I thought you hadn’t read the material?”

“I just did.”

“Just now?”

“Yes.”

“And you came to that conclusion within the space of a few minutes?”

Rose eyed her suspiciously. “Yes?”

The teacher looked down over the rims of her glasses. “It would not look good for you to lie on your first day, would it.”

“I assure you, Mrs O’Donnell, I am not a liar. Just a quick reader.”

Snickering floated through the air, disturbing the silent battle of wills stretching across the little classroom. “See? Nerd,” Becky in the polka dots said. “But I thought you weren’t supposed to be smart. My mom said you’re eighteen already, and she works in the office at the power plant. You’re a super senior.”

Desks shuffled, heads swivelled, and now everyone was staring at Rose again. Great, just bloody great.

“In case you were wondering,” Andy said mockingly. “A super senior is someone who repeats the year, cause they failed.”

“Strangely enough, I could deduce that,” Rose said bitterly.

“Enough, class,” O’Donnell tried to regain control, throwing her hands up in the air. “We are not going to discuss the intricate personal lives of our students. Save that for the cafeteria. Back to the book.”

Where was that hole in the ground when she needed it? Rose blocked it all out as best she could, focusing on the cool grim reaper on the desk. Whispers and titters floated across the room again, until Jason the preacher-in-training spoke. “Wait. I know who you are. Your dad - or stepdad, whatever - is Jerry the Goober, right?”

“It’s Gruber, not Goober,” Rose mumbled.

He slapped his jean-clad leg. “Yeah, I knew it. He was class of ‘60, same as my dad. You guys bought the old murder house on Morehead.”

Even O’Donnell stopped, making no further attempt to hold back their stampede of questions

“The creepy old place opposite the playground? Jesus, that place is definitely haunted.” “How many people died there?” “Is there still blood in the floorboards? I bet there is...gnarly.”

Her new home was five times the size of her house in England. Hell, ten times. A wrap around porch, original fireplaces in half the rooms, enough space to swing a family of cats. Three floors and a basement, each room panelled in walnut and grander than the last. True, it was a little...different. Grant, gothic, pretty much in ruins. And yes, Rose had heard there were some horrific acts in the house’s past, something she’d rather not dwell on. But it wasn’t haunted.

“Haunting isn’t real, dumbass.” A guy in a plaid cut-off shirt actually said in her defence, aimed at the one of the jocks. “People watch a lot of Ghostbusters and horror movies, it doesn’t make that shit real.”

“God damn freak,” Andy retorted under his breath. “How’d that place even get sold? Isn’t the old dude that owns it still alive?”

“Someone broke into it last year and cut themselves on a pane of glass,” Rose explained. “The Roane County Housing Board declared it unsafe, so they forced the sale. They said it was a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

The bell rang out and made Rose jump, each and every teen grabbing up their books and fleeing for the door. Except Jason Carver, who stayed back for a few seconds to glare menacingly.

“Assignments. Friday.” O’Donnell cried out the door. “And will someone find Mr Munson, he needs to pick up his...never mind, why do I bother.”

---

The crush of students in the hallway moving to their next classes provided Rose with a little anonymity, and the map pushed into her hands by Nancy Wheeler, plus the small size of the school, meant she could navigate to her Chemistry class without asking for help or accidentally pissing off an entire class of peers.

Mr Kaminski’s class was far less traumatic. She said a simple hi to the room and sat down at the back once again, working diligently on a hydrocarbon pop quiz that kept the class mercifully quiet, and focused on something other than the new girl. Chemistry was hardly her favourite, but it was material she had learned long before, schoolwork splayed across the sterile white sheets of a hospital bed, one eye out the window on the world below.

Then the bell of doom rang out again, and the most nerve-wracking forty-five minutes of the day dawned. Lunch. She marched to the cafeteria like a soldier to battle, scouting out the exits, the seating hierarchy and potential to hide from enemy combatants in a corner or behind a pillar of a room.

Yes, the student body of Hawkins High School stared at her. No, they did not approach. Either the students didn’t care about the new girl, they hadn’t worked out who she was yet, or her episode this morning had spread so widely throughout the school that no one wanted to talk to her. So she swiped a tray of congealed looking meat in grey sauce and green beans, and found a spot on an empty lunch table in the corner of the room, poking at the food until her stomach calmed down enough to eat it.

The basketball team entered the cafeteria to a round of applause, their green and white uniforms lurid under the harsh fluorescent lights, smiles brittle as they cheered for some kind of game tonight in the gym. She supposed this was what happened when your first day of school was three weeks into September, on a Friday. Novelty worn off by early afternoon.

Justin from her English class held court in the centre of the room, holding a bright orange ball as he worked the room. She heard a thump, thump, thump as he dribbled it up and down by the cheerleaders’ table. They all preened as he spun it around on his finger, and it looked so ridiculous she almost choked on a slimy green bean.

Another thud, another voice, this one louder. White sneakers hit a different tabletop and plastic lunch trays bounced, an earthquake of dark hair, denim and leather, upending some poor kid’s apple and carton of milk. The guy on the table pranced about, spitting out words so quickly she couldn’t make them out. Whatever it was, his friends laughed. His voice dropped mockingly, arms flailing at the jocks dribbling balls across the room.

Denim rocker guy squatted down with the awkward grace of an alleycat, a jean chain smacking against the table, and dragged his knuckles around, grunting like an ape. His friends laughed harder, each one looking up at him as if he hung the moon.

“Eat it, freak,” Jason shouted across the cafeteria.

Denim guy grunted and beat his chest with his fists. It only enraged the jocks; the more they cursed and shouted at him, the more he responded like a monkey. Rose snorted with laughter. His confidence was off the charts, no fucks to give, shame completely absent. It was kind of hard to look away from. Magnetic, really.

“Brutal, but effective,” a voice agreed at her side. “I think that’s the longest I've seen Munson go without talking.”

Robin from English class casually leaned on her table, with a ‘I care so little about this that it's cool’ vibe about her tousled hair, check shirt and an honest-to-god tie tucked into high waisted trousers. Very Annie Hall. “Sup, new girl. What are you doing on the ghost table?”

“Ghost table?”

“The one place in the cafeteria that’s hidden from the view of the jocks table, great exit path to the doors. Yeah. I see your attempts to hide, new girl. Is it OK if I call you that, or is that totally presumptuous? God, it is, isn’t it. Stupid Robin. What about McAllister. Has a nice ring to it, kinda like a detective’s name. McAllister. Buckley and McAllister, one’s a straight-laced pencil pusher, the other’s a beat cop with a dark past who doesn’t play by the rules, together they must solve a murder...or no, old fashioned detectives like Holmes and Watson,” her accent changed to a strangled attempt at a posh accent. “The curious case of the Hawkins High murder.”

Rose beamed, watching Robin’s elbow slip off the table, the girl reeling backward and clumsily righting herself.

“Mystery solved, partner,” Rose joined in. “Victim, one Jason Carver, brutally killed in the cafeteria, bled of his dignity in front of a hundred witnesses. Suspect, one suspiciously intelligent gorilla wearing a curious sleeveless denim jacket. Murder weapon, a crude, yet cleverly executed, parody of his bestial behaviour. And in front of the cheerleaders too.”

“I knew it,” Robin slapped the table. “I knew you’d be cool. I could just tell. And I may have slept through the incident in the hallway, but several reliable sources have since told me it was crushing to the fragile male ego. I love you already. Come and sit with us, you’re not languishing here all alone.”

A flood of warmth spread through her chest. “Really?”

“Really. Come on, partner. And by us I mean Beth and Linda, we’re over here.”

Rose snatched up her tray, led by the frenetic Robin to a table by the stage, walking right around the table of jocks. Jason Carver shot her a look of...disdain? Intrigue? It was something weird, anyway.

Beth and Linda were leaning over the table, whispering in hushed voices when they arrived.

“Buckley and McAllister, reporting for duty,” Robin dropped onto the bench with a thud, saluting at her friends. “This is the legendary new girl I mentioned earlier. Rose, this is Beth Wildfire, retired goalie, with a leg so full of metal she can’t ever go near a magnet,” she waved at a brunette who sat stiffly, with her leg propped on the bench. “And this is Linda Chen, our fearless leader and captain,” she poked the lunch tray of a girl in a numbered sweater, dark hair pinned back with bubblegum-purple barrettes.

“Football girl,” Linda said appraisingly. “We heard about you. So soccer is for wimps, huh?”

Rose winced and choked on a sip of juice from a carton. “Technically, I didn’t say that. I said the tough girls at home played hockey. But everyone plays soccer at home. It’s clearly the superior sport.”

It got a little awkward after that, each of the girls finishing their lunch wordlessly.

Robin cleared her throat. “Oooh, I forgot to mention we’re the girls’ soccer team, didn’t I...” she trailed off. “All the drawbacks of using the sweaty locker rooms, none of the perks of having a letterman jacket or a sweet spot on the social hierarchy. Hey, did I mention Rose went to Live Aid this summer? In London?”

Robin’s contagious smiles and easy banter made it almost easy; the four of them spoke for half an hour and more, Rose cross-examined on her thoughts about every band from the last ten years (Wham was so overrated, obviously) to movies (anything with Harrison Ford) to fashion (in her head, a slightly more punk version of Princess Di. In reality, whatever looked passable at the time). Having the spotlight on herself was not entirely comfortable, but by the end of the lunch hour she may have just avoided being a complete social pariah.

“So,” Robin drummed her hands on the plastic lunch tray. “I admit, I had an ulterior motive in bringing you here.”

Rose braced herself. “Which is...”

“Soccer tryouts,” Linda interjected, rolling up her sleeves. “We’re seriously down on numbers this year. Two of our team were killed in the fire a couple months back...I don’t know if you heard about that.”

“Shit,” Rose said. “I’m so sorry.” The mall had devastated Hawkins just before she arrived. No small place could lose that many of its people without touching the lives of everyone in the town.

“And Veronica’s parents pulled her out of school over the summer; they moved to Maine. Said this town was cursed, which it probably is,” Linda admitted.

“Ha.” Robin croaked. “Yeah, cursed. Like...like that magic shit’s real. Nope, just a regular old mall fire. Nothin’ to see here, except a whole lotta pain and sadness. And ash. From the totally natural fire.”

Linda eyed her suspiciously. “After Beth broke her leg, we’re down to four players. I don’t think we’ll be able to field a team this season, not unless we find another player for a five-a-side. We have tryouts tonight, would you wanna maybe come?”

“Oh,” Rose’s brows raised. “I’m not sure I can. I can’t do gym this year.”

Beth looked confused. “What do you mean, you can’t do gym?”

“I have a note that gets me out of gym for the whole year. I have free periods instead.”

Robin squealed and stood up. “There’s a note to get you out of gym? For the whole year? It’s senior year...that’s all of gym, gym forever, gym never again. That’s an option? What does one have to do to get one of these notes?”

“Major health issues,” Rose said. She didn’t elaborate. It would be nice to go one full day without being sick girl. “Mum had the note signed by three specialists at the hospital, and I think the school nurse.”

Robin sat down again, flushing and averting her gaze. “Okay then, permanent gym-pass is a no-go. Damn, I was excited for a minute there.”

A thousand questions ran around in Rose’s head. “So you like soccer, but hate gym?”

“Yes, and yes,” Robin blurted out. “I can’t face that rope climbing thing one more time. I might be fast, but I have the arm strength of a cabbage and I fall over like a lot. Wait, does that mean you can’t run or move around quickly or do anything strenuous? Should we be watching you carefully?”

“Not really. I’m better, or at least I should be. It’s just my mum, she’s over protective.”

Cogs were turning in Linda’s head, and she chewed and swallowed a forkful of carrot before speaking. “So technically, you can’t do gym. But what about sports teams outside of school hours?”

“Yeah,” Robin clicked her fingers and pointed them like guns. “I love a good loophole. If it’s out of hours, it doesn’t count.”

Rose hummed noncommittally.

“Oh come on,” Robin whined. “None of the other girls want to come, and I won’t even have to explain the offside rule to you. That takes half the tryout! Otherwise it will only be me and Linda.”

Did she want to throw herself into sports on her first day of school? Probably not. In fact, she didn’t really like soccer, and she only pretended to understand the offside rule when the lads in the pub screamed at the telly, cig in one hand, pint in the other. But the vague promise of a friendship group was too strong a lure. “OK. I’m in, i’ll come to tryouts. But I don’t have a change of clothes, i’m completely unprepared.”

“Yes, McAllister!” Robin punched the air, tie coming loose from her pants. “Come to the girls locker room after last period, i’ll find you something. You know where the gym is?”

Rose hung her arms like a gorilla, imitating the rebel rocker raising hell on the table earlier. “If I get lost, i’ll follow the monkeys in letterman jackets.”

“See?” Robin walked backwards out of the cafeteria, tripping over a bench and recovering swiftly. “Knew you’d be cool.”

---

A quick call to her mother on the school payphone by the front door set it in stone. “Pick me up at seven instead of three please, I have an after school club, think I made some friends, love you, bye.” She said it quickly and slammed the receiver down, so her mum couldn't draw breath to argue or question the change in plans.

Rose nearly skipped to her first free period, immersing herself in the library like a drunk stumbling into a bar after a dry spell. She was in school full-time finally for the first time in a couple of years, and she had a year of uninterrupted studying to look forward to. Her fingers skipped over the spines of Chaucer, Austen, Shelley, until she found the works of Hawthorne, Twain, Fitzgerald and Salinger. Most of them were new to her, one of the benefits of moving across an ocean and beginning a new curriculum. The librarian Ms Miller just about died on the spot, having an avid lover of literature to speak to for an hour. Things for Rose McAllister were looking on the up.

History went by in a blur; most of her classmates were not in Mrs O’Donnell’s English class of misery this morning, so she got to introduce herself all over again, without fucking it up with an epicly bad monologue. Her other classes were fine, turns out mathematics pretty universal and if you’re good at it there, you’re good at it here too.

Two forty-five. The home stretch. Her pencil tapped the desk in agitation, thinking about soccer tryouts. Yes, she might be rusty, but she wasn’t half as weak as her mother made her out to be. And she did know her way around a football pitch, even if it was from watching the boys from the sidelines on the rare occasion she was in school and had a few friends to tag along with. This madcap plan of Robin’s might just work.

When Mr Fitz let the class out ten minutes early so he could make an appointment, she was out of her chair like a shot, peering at her school map. Right past the tiger mascot painted on the wall, through the double doors, and into a room...that was dark, and full of shelving. Ah. Definitely not the locker room.

“I just don’t know, Rob.” Linda Chen’s muffled voice sounded on the other side of a cupboard door; clearly the locker room was just next door. “She pissed off every sports team in the school within five minutes of arriving. Basketball, football, soccer...the cheerleaders just by association. If it wasn’t so damaging to me socially to be seen with her, i’d be kind of impressed.”

“Come on,” Robin whined. “I’m a grade-A klutz and I have verbal diarrhoea, and you guys like having me around, right?”

“That’s different,” the other one, Beth, reasoned. “You’re our friend. I know you’ve been a little off since Starcourt, but-”

“Off? Of course i’ve been off. I saw shit you wouldn’t believe, Beth. Forgive me if i’m not as peppy as I used to be.”

“I know you were there, Rob, but we all lost people that day. And I don’t think I have the energy to be all fake nice to this new girl, when i’m just sad and tired, you know? It’s senior year, its too late for that kind of bullshit.”

“Yeah, well clearly this was a bad idea, Forget it.” Robin spat out. “I just wanted you to be happy, but I won’t be making the same mistake twice.”

Doors slammed and voices faded. The darkness was kind of foggy and Rose couldn’t see far ahead of her, but she stood in the dark for a few minutes, still processing what she had just heard. Hopes crushed, balloon deflated. Can't say she was surprised. Don’t want too much of a good thing, that would break a lifelong pattern. Yes, she could tell that Linda and Beth were hesitant, but Robin too? The one person she formed a connection with on her first day?

She crept out of the janitor’s closet, marching toward the front doors of the school...where her mother wouldn’t be for hours, because she had just called to change her pick up time. Shit.

Rose was not above admitting she considered getting back in that closet for a moment, but that would be completely absurd. Instead she trudged back to the library, where tall bookshelves might keep her hidden and their contents keep her occupied for a few hours on a Friday evening.

A steady trickle of people were heading her way, going from classes to the gym for whatever ball-in-hoop sports stuff she had mocked and derided by accident earlier, clearly alienating the more popular half of the student body in one fell swoop.

Head down, with a notebook covering the bottom half of her face, she inched through the thickening crowd and found the welcome fortress of the library doors...closed. Open hours, eight til three.

“Motherfucker,” She mumbled.

More people streamed toward her, but Rose couldn’t face another witness to her shitty day, and ducked behind the lockers.

An unknown guy’s voice floated through the halls. “...I bet Tommy will break up with her, now he’s at community college in Cartersville. Pretty faces are a dime a dozen in college, and Carol P is yesterday’s news.”

“Carol’s hot.” Meathead Andy from English class offered. “I’ll pick up the pieces if her ass gets dumped.”

“You are such a dick.”

“Just saying what we all think, man. But i’m not counting on it. Maybe I should make a move on the new girl. She might be a nerd, but she’s got a couple of redeeming features, if you know what I mean. Probably hotter than Carol.”

“Did you ever think you just have a thing for redheads? Besides, the new girl is irritating as fuck. And she’s not exactly cheerleader material. I thought she was kinda fat.”

Andy sniggered, his voice fading as he walked away. “Nah, she was just standing next to Nancy Wheeler. Wheeler’s built like a broom handle. And I don’t need a girl to be a cheerleader, just give good head.”

The jocks slithered away to the gym, and the garish orange and green walls began to feel suffocating. She pushed hard on the library door hoping it might somehow be unlocked, but it didn’t budge. Her chest was aching, skin flushing and breathing hard. She tried another. Classroom after classroom, door after door, all fucking locked. What is this, a prison?

Her feet pounded the hallways, pushing blindly until one of the doors yielded and she burst into a darkened space. Content there was no one else around, she flung her back across the room like a discus, crashing into some kind of clothing rack, almost exploding in a puff of red velvet and pink taffeta as it dragged some costumes to the floor.

“Aaah,” the roar came out before she could stop it. Some kind of drama room, filled with dark curtains and crowded rows of props, dominated by a big table. She slammed her fist on it impulsive,, scattering some of its contents to the ground in a metallic crash.

This was as good a place as any to wither away and die, so she walked to the far corner, leaned back and slid down the wall, knees folded beneath her.

There was something comforting about defeat. At least, sitting on the floor in a dishevelled heap, she’d hit a literal rock bottom. Nowhere to go but up.

Yes, she could call home and get a ride back home within the next fifteen minutes. But that meant admitting defeat, reliving the entire experience over and over, prodded and poked by an interfering mother. She couldn’t even hope that Jerry would answer. He was far too honest to keep a secret. Nope, she was stuck here amongst the stage lights, costumes, and decaying dreams of Midwestern theatre kids until seven, which was three and a half hours away.

Plastered on the stage curtain was a sign coloured in orange and red, a cool drawing of a horned demon that looked eerily familiar. Just like the flyer from this morning. Sprawled in bold letters: HELLFIRE. Interesting.

Her velvet-lined, backlit refuge from the high school world didn’t last long. Deep voices bickered passionately in the hall, footsteps squeaked on linoleum, and the door was flung open with so much energy that it nearly popped off its hinges.

“...i’m telling you, man, the frozen lair of Iymrith is just a warm up campaign. I needed to test the mettle of you sheepies before the good stuff next semester. I had to see if you knew your ass from your elbow.” Someone breezed into Rose’s view, a mop of dark frizzy hair, just visible over the huge wooden table that dominated the room.

A squeal of laughter followed, a younger guy’s voice. “Or our class from our elbow. Get it, our class? Our characters’ class?”

“Oh my god, stop Dustin,” a third person protested. “He gets character classes. He’s probably been a DM since we were, like, toddlers.”

“Jesus, Wheeler. Crit hit. I’m not that goddamn old.” The older guy spoke, coming into Rose’s view. He stumbled backward with his hand over his denim and leather jacket combo, as if punctured in the heart. The menace from the cafeteria, gorilla boy, now sentient and walking on two legs. “But the DM in me does thrive on this servant-master dynamic, so keep the subservience coming. My ego could do with a little stroking.”

“Ew...” The ‘Wheeler kid’ moaned; he was lanky, with a grown-out bowl haircut and a grimace peeling apart his lips.

Their leader was unperturbed. He leapt onto a heavy carved chair, wobbling, arms outstretched as he balanced on the makeshift throne. “Bow down, minions. Kneel and pledge obeisance. Damn, I could get drunk off this power. I should get a crown, or something.”

“You already have a throne, isn’t that enough? Or have we birthed a tyrant?” A dark skinned guy with braces shook his head, a trace of envy in his narrowed eyes.

Rose froze like a rabbit in headlights. Her position on the floor was hidden by the clothes rack, but not hidden enough. There were more of them, a hurricane of teenage hormones, awkward haircuts and matching Hellfire shirts swirling about the table and taking off their leather jackets, setting up the table with boards and boxes and...game pieces? She had no clue what they were doing, but they had wider grins and more buzz than the all manufactured cheer in the cafeteria put together.

“Uh...Eddie?” One of the older guys says, holding up something beige and cylindrical. “Drama kids have been messing with our stuff again. I can’t find your goblet, and a couple of the candles are broken.”

“Goddamn thespians,” the rocker Eddie’s voice dropped, all gravelly and menacing. “Completely out of touch with the real world, acting out bullshit stories for the man, nothing but corporate message after corporate message. Harris is gonna know about this the next time he wants to buy off me. Touch Hellfire’s stuff, and i’ll add ten dollars to the going rate. S.A.S. Special asshole supplement.”

“I thought you had to be a girl to be a thespian. If Harris is a guy, does that mean he likes girls, or other guys?”

A kid in an eye-wateringly bright shirt over his Hellfire top, and a cap covering his curls, held up his palms in desperation. “He said thespians, not lesbians, Jeff,” he lisped, pent up with manic energy. “Thespians are lovers of the theatre, not girls who like other girls.”

“Ha. Lesbians.” Someone giggled. Laughter erupted. It might appear to be a weird cult, but they were teenage boys after all.

“Silence,” Eddie the rocker snapper. Commanded, even. One word and the group shut up, watching him warily. He dropped to his ripped-denim kees and crawled under the table. “First Sinclair shakes us off for tryouts - I don’t know how big shiny balls have a greater lure than the harsh, yet beautiful, plains of the Icewind Dale, but hey, critical thinking doesn’t really kick in until you at least finish puberty, freshies - and now my goblet has vanished? It’s all stacking up against me, man. I don’t know, i’m not feeling good about this.”

“Careful Dustin,” one of the group warned. A voice she knew, the one from her English class with the torn up plaid shirt. “You do not want to mess with Eddie’s ambience. I did that once in sophomore year. Set up a session in my garage during the holidays. Let’s just say, the more immersed the DM, the nicer he is during the campaign. You guys don’t want to see him grouchy.”

Wheeler scoffed. “Come on, Gareth. This isn’t grouchy?”

“Not. Even. Close,” Gareth crossed his arms over his plaid-covered chest. “Your buddy Lucas really messed up, skipping out on the third Hellfire night of the year. It’s not even October, and we’re gonna have to bring out a secondary character or something. At least the place could look good.”

“Gareth the Great is right, children. Ambience is a key part of storytelling. It’s all about the mood,” Eddie replied, dragging out the last word. He manhandled the bags on the floor, peering into nooks and crannies, nosing around like a stray dog looking for scraps, completely beneath the table, facing away from Rose. Until, abruptly, he wheeled around on his knees.

Doe eyes met hers, liquid dark and wide, framed by frizzy rocker hair. His manic, dynamic presence froze perfectly, like a VHS tape on pause, cogs in that brain working overtime. He stared blankly at the interloper in his domain, who was scrunched up on the floor, hiding all along in the corner. And right in front of her feet, his shiny pewter goblet.

Rose held her breath. She waited for it. Cursing, shouting, orders to leave. Instead, his lips curled up in a grin, one so contagious and earnest that she couldn’t help but smile back. He raised a finger to his mouth, silver rings pressing against his lips, asking for her silence. She nodded back once. Permission sought: request granted.

Ten seconds passed by without either of them breaking eye contact; Rose hadn’t appreciated just how long ten seconds really was, when you were caught in someone’s gaze. Snared like a rabbit, unable to move, unable to look away. Bordering on weird, but not necessarily bad weird. A standoff, destination unknown.

“Eddie,” The Wheeler kid moaned and kicked his chair leg. “Can we find your goblet later? My sister’s leaving school at seven, and she’s not above ditching us if we’re late.”

“Mike’s not lying,” Dustin backed him up. “She has totally done that before. Ruthless. And every minute we lose searching for goblets is one minute less in the frozen wastes of the Icewind Dale. Just think of how much storytelling you can fit into a minute, Dungeon Master.”

That phrase hit her in the chest. She maintained eye contact, and mouthed Dungeon master?

Eddie, still beneath the table, gave her a wolfish grin, split from ear to ear, teeth shining pearlescent white in the light of the candles. He tried to motion something to her, but knocked his head on the underside of the table in the process.

“Earth to Eddie,” the bigger of the guys called out.

The man in question rubbed the back of his head, snapped out of some deep thinking. “Right, goblet. We have a problem. A naughty nymph must have snatched it and run back to her lair.”

He winked at her, dimple etched into his cheek, and she had to stop her shoulders from shaking with laughter.

Jeff sighed a second time. “What the hell’s keeping you down there? I cannot sub again, I was a terrible DM last year when you had mono. I let you guys defeat Asmodeus in fifteen minutes. Asmodeus, ruler of the Nine Hells. It took me five times as long to plan the damn campaign!”

Rose and Eddie conversed in gestures as the guys above them spoke. A full blown wordless conversation captured with a tiny shrug, a smile, a raised eyebrow. He was clearly trying to tell her something, and wouldn't give her up to the group.

A theoretical light bulb flipped on over Eddie’s head, and he flapped his hands wildly, pointing at the rack of costumes just to her side. Implication clear - get behind it. Wait, what? This wasn’t an escape plan; duck back there would lead her further from the door. Did he expect her to stay there until seven?

“Eddie!” Jeff called out.

Eddie’s shoulders sagged in defeat, and he addressed the group above. “Yup, that’s me. But as Wheeler so kindly pointed out, i’m an old man now. Knees aren’t what they used to be.”

Rose peered behind over her shoulder, checking out the fully hidden spot behind the clothes rack. Target acquired. Unfortunately she couldn’t make it without being seen by the minions at the table.

She nudged her chin toward it and Eddie caught on. Another grin, another gleam in his dark eyes. He rolled out from under the table, groaning theatrically, arm held out.

“Give us a hand, Henderson.”

The freshman smiled so wide his braces almost popped out and complied immediately. It was endearing, actually. He stepped forward, forearm grasping Eddie’s, planting his feet on the floor firmly. But not firm enough.

Eddie grabbed him and tugged him hard, toppling the kid on top of his stomach, wind knocked out with a dramatic groan. They landed in a heap of tangled limbs, with the kid’s neon cap flung across the room.

“Oh my god!” He cried out.

“Sorry, Henderson. Shouldn’t have had that second tray of mystery meat at lunch.”

“You only ate half a bag of pretzels, dude.”

They were distracted, backs turned. She sprung into action, launching behind the clothing rack, cursing under her breath as she nudged the goblet accidentally.

A pink costume became her refuge, layer upon layer of taffeta, the size of a small sedan. She felt hot and itchy just looking at the scratchy fabric. A dress for a princess, or maybe the good witch in Oz?

“This is hazing, isn’t it? Mom told me all about it.” Dustin lisped, hands on hips. “Keep it up, Dungeon Master. If you think a little rough housing will deter this halfling bard, you are seriously mistaken.”

But just as the guys finished helping Dustin to his feet, Mike shooting forward to grab his hat, the goblet where Rose just sat began to roll.

“Gentlemen!” Eddie roared, even more maniacally than before, diverting them again. “Before we begin I propose a detour. A side quest, if you will.”

Rose inched out her hand, slowly enough not to attract wandering eyes, and retrieved the goblet, just as they took their seats, wooden chairs scraping heavily on the linoleum.

“What kind of side quest?” Gareth from English class asked.

“Your party is weak. Your ranger Lucas the Fickle-hearted has abandoned you upon the road-”

“That’s not his name!” Dustin protested.

“Yeah, well, i’m rebranding him,” Eddie declared. “Like I said, Lucas the Fickle-hearted has fallen prey to the cheap thrill of a local tourney, drawn to test his mettle upon the melee ground and take his place as a totally righteous, totally boooring knight of the Kingswatch. But you, good sirs, you make it to a humble tavern on the edge of the forest. There you are greeted by an old companion, Eddie the Bard. Tears streaming down his face, he tells you his cherished goblet is gone, a ring of dried crimson wine staining the table where it once sat.”

He sprung forth, grabbing the back of Mike Wheeler’s chair and narrating directly into his ear. “What’s that, you say? Tis merely a pewter cup, worth nothing more than a couple of coppers on the open market? No, gentlemen. This cup is the secret to the bard’s otherworldly music, spelled to give the bearer great luck and fortune. Charisma off the charts, baby. A Goblet of Rock.”

She had no idea what this Hellfire club was actually doing, but it seemed like a cross between a board game and a storytelling exercise. And this Eddie was...good. Really good. But a knot wound tight in Rose’s stomach as he belaboured the importance of the cup in her very hands. A cup he was no doubt trying to work back into the story.

“I say we retrieve the goblet,” Gareth folded his hands under his chin. “Our party is one man down, and we need all the help we can get if we’re going to defeat the storm dragon Iymrith. Maybe this bard will owe us a favour, and give us a companion or an artefact to slay the dragon.”

“Hear hear,” Dustin thumped the table, shaking about some small pieces Rose couldn’t see. “I walk into the tavern at the head of the party-”

“Hey,” Jeff protested, shooting Dustin a jealous look. “I’m the senior member here. I should lead the party.”

Eddie raised a hand. “No one disputes your position, Jeff. But let the little halfling make his move.”

Dustin took a deep breath. “I open the tavern door, toss my hat onto the table, and flag down a serving wench. Our throats are dusty from the road, so I take a few of our silver coins from the last dungeon crawl and purchase six flagons of mead. Eddie brings them to us.”

Eddie leapt onto his chair, squatting on his heels. “Welcome, patron. I would stay and sup a flagon of mead with you fine warriors, but my troubles overwhelm me. Without the Goblet of Rock, my charisma remains too low to wield my mighty Warlock, and shred to my heart’s content. No guitar, no revellers, no coin for Eddie the Bard. I'm in need of help to keep bread on my table and patrons in my tavern.”

Chris chuckled low and ominous. “If it’s steel you’re after, I, the dwarf Thordus Boulderbash, will take my battleaxe and face any man who dares take the Goblet of Rock.”

“Thordus has a fearsome reputation in these parts, my chaotic-good friend,” Eddie pats him on the back. “But this cup thief is no warrior. A nymph of seriously high stealth crept into the tavern as the guests slept, and made away with the cup before dawn’s light woke me from my slumber.”

For a moment, Rose was too captivated by the story to absorb her supposed leading role in it.

Gareth cleared his throat. “This nymph, she pretty by any chance?”

Eddie leaned in, weight on his elbows. “Fairer than the sunrise over the Greypeak mountains.”

Rose’s brain tripped, lights out, power surged. Even someone with her abysmal track record could recognise the flirtatious tone in his voice. Wait...was this just part of the game? Was he like that with everyone? She wished another girl was in the room, so she could get a sense of normality, something to compare this to.

“Niiice,” Gareth drawled.

“Wait, how would you even know it was a nymph in the first place?” Dustin asked, twirling a pencil between his fingers. “She was gone before daybreak, we have no evidence.”

“Well, gentlefolk, I happen to have an enchanted mirror in the tavern. Caught a glimpse of the wild little thing just as she booked it out the window, leaving behind a lock of auburn hair. And we all know that a nymph cannot be slain by steel alone, so break out your charisma, boys, we’re gonna have to find her, and convince her to return the Goblet of Rock.”

They whooped and applauded, more revved up than a crowd of football hooligans, and Rose had to fist her hands in her crochet cardigan to stop herself from joining in. Something was about to happen, and she was hopping around on the scales between terror and excitement, brimming with a nervous energy.

She couldn’t see the table close up, but she heard dice roll and gasps from the guys at the table, Eddie narrating something about scores, determining the outcome of a battle, or perhaps a decision. It was hard to tell, without any context. It took a few minutes, and her brain didn’t take much of it in.

“Adventurers,” Eddie addressed them after a brief burst of action. “The forest glade beckons, a sea of autumn-gold leaves rustles in the wind. You’ve fought hard to get past the elemental spirits, and emerged bloody, but victorious. Now place down your swords, for the final hurdle is one of wit, not one of might.”

“As our party’s bard, I step toward the tranquil pool,” Dustin says gravely, as if the weight of the world lay on his shoulders. “I take out my lute, and play a tune of such beauty that the nymph hiding in the forest must-”

“Hold on there, halfling,” Eddie silenced him. He looked on edge, his silver rings tap, tap, tapping against the wooden table incessantly. “There are some things a guy’s gotta do himself.”

Mike gawped. “DM’s don’t join in like that, man.”

“You’ll live, sheepies,” Eddie said, dripping in sarcasm. “I, Eddie the Bard, thank the halfling for his admittedly awesome lute playing, and step toward the glassy surface of the forest pool.”

He took a deep breath, stood up suddenly, and turned toward her hidden lair behind the costume rack. Oh god. She was going to die on the spot, she was going to combust from embarrassment if he brought her out. But somehow, even stronger, was the fear that he wouldn’t. He stepped slowly toward her hiding spot, eyes scanning the piles of clothes for a rough idea of where she might be.

“Lady nymph,” he began, voice cracking a little. “You fled my tavern before we could meet, my goblet in your clutches. If you would honour this humble bard with your name, we might determine what you desire in return for the Goblet of Rock.”

“Dude, please don’t make me do a girl's voice again,” Gareth begged. “My vocal cords can’t take it.”

Fuck it. This was the most entertained she’d been all day. All year, probably. Rose swept aside the hangers of clothes with a flourish. She stepped out, to a chorus of shouts and an ear-splitting scream.

Dustin shrieked like a banshee, his hat lost yet again as jolted out of his chair and into Mike’s lap.“Jesus! What the hell?”

“Get off me, man.” Mike said, pushing him away.

“Oh my god, a plant?” Jeff roared. “This is fucking unprecedented Eddie. It’s without precedent!”

“I must be high right now,” Gareth mumbled. “You guys see what I see, right?”

Eddie was right there, tall and frizzy-haired and only two steps away, eyes as wide as saucers. Rose barely had time to notice how tall he was before he dropped to one knee like a chivalrous knight, hand outstretched toward her.

Rose gripped the goblet hard, fight or flight kicking in hard. Ten paces and she’d be out of the door, into the night. Or, at least, into the bleak corridors of Hawkins High.

“Hey,” Eddie said low under his breath, ignoring his friends’ drama behind him. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

He held out his hand again, palms wide, sleeves rolled back, ink snaking up his forearm. Close up, he was even more intense, with a jack o’lantern grin. He spoke again, this time loud enough for the group to hear.

“The nymph dares to emerge from the forest pool, bearing the goblet. But will she tell a humble bard her name?”

Brain whirring quickly, Rose realised she’d need a story. Her social skills? Dubious. Eclectic book knowledge, and rambling profusely at the worst of times? Proficient. She couldn’t just use her real name, could she? Nymphs...nature, mythology, natural places. Might just be enough to go on.

“Lady Thorn,” she said, doing her best to imitate his dramatic narrative voice. She placed her hand in his; skin warm, rings cool, surprisingly gentle. “But you, good sir, can call me Rose.”

The group were whooping, chaotic energy rolling off them in waves. Dustin was still hyperventilating, and the guys were giving him shit for reacting like a ten year old girl.

“Lady Thorn,” Eddie clutched her hand in supplication. “We seek the return of the Goblet of Rock. Name your price, fair maiden.”

An hour ago, she’d name a one way ticket back to the Shire. Now, the road to Rivendell was starting to look a little interesting. Question is, was this the Council of Elrond, or a table of leather-jacket clad, hormonal, teenage Nazgul?

“Is that his girlfriend?” Mike asked, face scrunched up in confusion.

“Nope,” Jeff answered. “We have sighted a UFO: unidentified female object. Contact made, presence yet to be explained.”

Rose frowned at being called an object, but there was too much going on in the room to be distracted by it. She held the goblet in her free hand up to the stage light, pausing for dramatic effect, and to figure out what on earth she might say. “I am new to the land of...”

“Icewind Dale.” Dustin supplied quickly, braces sparking in the spotlights as he grinned.

“...to the land of Icewind Dale,” Rose continued nervously. “I was torn from my simple hedgerow in the Shire and cast to these frozen forests without hope or expectation of returning home again. I seek...uh...I seek a guide to help me navigate these new lands.”

“A guide, huh?” Eddie pondered, turning to the table behind him. “Can we do that, gentlemen?”

Mike was the first to respond. “No traveller walks the road alone on our watch. But first, we roll. She has to have a skill check.”

Eddie threw back his head. “Uh, kid Wheeler, remember what I said about my omnipotence earlier? Don’t forget who the DM is here. Me, buddy. I call the shots.”

Gareth sighed dramatically. “Besides, what are you even rolling against? She has no stats, no abilities, just a name and a goblet!”

Chris shuts his gaping mouth just long enough to ask her: “You don’t happen to have a character sheet, do you? Do you have any thoughts on your alignment? I’m sensing lawful good, but nymphs are pretty wild. Maybe chaotic good?”

Rose was at a loss. “Wait,” she said, brandishing the goblet. “I can’t believe i’m about ramble at completely unknown people again, because it worked out so well for me in English class this morning, but I have no idea what you are talking about. What’s an alignment? A character sheet? Stats?”

“I truly hate to use a sports term, but time out, people,” Eddie declared. He stopped, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, weighing up something behind his dark doe-eyes. “Sweetheart, either that is a world class fake accent, or you’re not from these parts. Have you ever played Dungeons and Dragons?”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are Dungeons and Dragons?”

“What?” Eddie let go of her hand and paced up and down, hands on his hips. “Really? Like, never? Not heard of a dungeon master...the D20...the ‘we’ll sacrifice your firstborn’ brand of satanic panic troubling the hearts and minds of parents all across America? ”

She thought about it. “Is D20 a band? I don’t really watch much MTV, though my stepdad did just get cable. Are they any good?”

He reeled backward until he hit the table, arms flailing in the air. Anyone else would have left it there but Eddie threw himself backward, rolling on top of the table like an invisible hand was dragging him. “No way. No way. That can’t be happening. But you just played along like a pro!”

She burst out laughing. He was really hamming it up, knocking over everything on the table - the candles narrowly snatched by the guys, whose quick thinking prevented the drama room going up in a puff of smoke.

“It’s not a band, it’s a twenty sided dice,” Mike said slowly, like he was talking to a toddler. “There are other numbered dice too. Not just six.”

“Yeah, we use them to make decisions on our actions, the success of our attacks...you know, it’s just how we roll.” Dustin squealed a laugh. “I said, how we roll...’cause it's a dice.”

Groans echoed across the room, second hand embarrassment so strong you could cut it with a knife, but the corner of Eddie’s lips still turned up into a smile. Their teasing clearly stayed on the right side of friendly.

He vaulted off the table clumsily, and staggered back over, approaching Rose gingerly, like she were a flight risk liable to run at any second. “Wait, wait. Before we return to the Icewind Dale I have to ask. Who are you, and how in the nine hells of Asmodeus did you appear in the centre of Hellfire on a Friday night?”

“Hold on, hold on,” Dustin interrupted. “You two really don’t know each other?”

“We go a long way back,” Eddie boasted, chest puffed out. “All the way back to that table incident thirty minutes ago. And trust me, if I'd seen the lady before, I would have remembered.”

That feeling bubbled up again, like warm whiskey coursing through her veins. “I’m Rose. It’s my first day of senior year. My first ever day of high school since we moved. So naturally I've pissed off half the school, some of the teachers, and got trapped in a supply closet whilst the nice girls talk behind my back. My social life has withered and died in a single day, like a fragile desert flower.”

Eddie nodded along. “So a quiet Friday, then.”

“Just fucking fantastic. I found a dark corner to hide my shame, only to find myself in the middle of a satanic cult. Those two John Hughes films that I watched over the summer did not prepare me for this American high school experience.”

“Yeah. It’s less Sixteen Candles, more Nightmare on Elm Street.” He smiled a dopey, lopsided smile, and fidgeted with his hands. “I’m Eddie, by the way. Munson. First days suck, I would know, I've had more than my fair share. The gentlemen behind me here are fellow D&D enthusiasts and members of Hellfire: Jeff, Chris and Gareth are long-time members, and we have some new little sheepies, Dustin and Mike. Lucas too, if he can drop his shiny rubber balls long enough to commit to the campaign.”

A chorus of Hi’s and waves introduced the players to her, but watching them from the corner of the room had given her a decent sense of their personalities and dynamics.

“Come on, guys, shuffle round the table and make space for the lady,” Eddie commanded. He dashed over to the wall and manhandled a heavy wooden chair into place, directly on the right side of his ornate throne. He bowed and gestured at the empty seat, then the colour drained from his face. “I didn’t even ask if you wanted to join, did I. It's not an obligation. You can walk right out of here having nailed the best side quest in Hellfire history.”

“We should warn you,” Gareth imparted wisely, “if you’re looking to be popular around here, this is the wrong place to be. We’re not exactly tight with the jocks or the party kids.”

Eddie pointed to himself with both thumbs. “They don’t call me Eddie the Freak for nothing.”

Her decision was already made, the moment Eddie spotted her from under that table and smiled. Here was a group of strangers going out of their way to make her feel welcome, without knowing a single thing about her.

Rose felt a lump in her throat. “You would put up with a complete idiot who doesn’t know her class from her elbow?”

Dustin’s fist pumped the air. “Yes! Puns are totally cool, I knew it.”

“I don’t mind,” Mike said. “I taught my girlfriend D&D, she had to start somewhere.”

Eddie did a double take. “You have a girlfriend, freshie?”

“She moved to California just before the school year.”

“Ah,” Jeff drew out the syllable knowingly. “Out of state. Convenient excuse.”

“I wouldn’t call it convenient,” Dustin disagreed. “My girlfriend Suzie is in Utah, and that totally sucks. It’s been forty-six days since Camp Nowhere finished, which means two hundred and ninety-nine before I see her again next summer.”

Gareth groaned. “Come on, man. Both the freshmen have girlfriends? How is that even statistically possible?”

Dustin leaned forward intently, “Well if you look at the number of D&D players, profile them by age and cross reference them with the number of-”

Eddie’s hand smothered Dustin’s mouth. “Shh, halfling. He did not mean literally. Besides, the lady hasn’t given us her answer. Sweetheart, do you wanna help us take down Iymrith, the storm dragon? I have a feeling these novices will need a helping hand. It is going to be brutal.”

Rose took a seat at Eddie’s right hand side, and picked up the many-sided lump of red plastic on the board. “I suppose I could join you. Do you know why?”

He fell for it, hook, line and sinker. “Why?”

She dropped the D20 on the table. “Because this is how I roll.”

Dustin dislodged the Dungeon Master’s mouth; fuse lit, laughter exploding from his chest like a stick of dynamite. Groans turned to laughs.

Eddie smiled, and opened his arms wide. “Welcome to Hellfire.”

[writing-whump]

breathing in a bag: oh god oh god oh god, its here NO ONE PANIC.

I think Seline and Zaya are about to hit a wall of feelings thanks to him being a Silly Rabbit and not telling her "hey baby, i'm like. dying." soooo can I request some sweet sugary seline/isaiah before we're hit with the steamroller?

Date

Very sugary.

Seline was sure today was somehow special for Isaiah. She just couldn't figure out why.

He knocked on her door at 10 am in the morning, asking how many daydream sessions she finished and if she was in the mood for breakfast - in bed. That he knew that she woke up early these days only to fall asleep multiple times to daydream new story scenes or poems amazed her.

Then he brought the English Breakfast restaurant-style breakfast that made her feel equally cherished and underdressed for the occasion.

Usually, they always planned trips and days they wanted to spend together. Today, he was all, "I got a surprise. Trust me?" His excitement was contagious.

And she had to say it was quite the plan. They went to the Albertina gallery, which had two new exhibitions, one with hyper-realistic photographs and one with a political comic-style artist. She loved going to museums and galleries with Isaiah. He was literally the only person in the world who not only tolerated her long gawking and reading of every info, but also discussed the pieces with her. They stayed at each drawing for at least 15 minutes. Matthew would have blacked down after the first two.

Isaiah was not just patience manifested, he seemed to enjoy himself. Whenever he got really nerdy, talking about the psychological effect of using only three base colours or about the historical background of the photographs or about the atmosphere of certain series of photographs resonating with certain kinds of people and brain signals...

Oh god. It was the most exciting thing. She loved watching him. She loved listening to him. She loved that they both had stuff to say, but it didn't feel like a competition. She loved she didn't have to fight to get to say something, that he listed to her. She loved she was genuinely and truly interested in what he would say next. Because she wanted to know his opinions and get fascinated by all the new things he knew.

Isaiah was the only one who could impress her with the stuff he knew. Most people couldn't, aside her professors.

Seline found falling in love incredibly hard. Connecting with people in general, really. In primary school, she was popular for knowing all Disney movies by memory and for thinking up new plays for the kids to play. But since high school, she liked teachers more than any of her classmates.

And how the hell was she supposed to choose friends? Her peers kept falling in love every second day or talking about said crushes and she couldn't phantom what they liked. What was so interesting about that? The boys were little immature screaming bags to her.

Friends that weren't boring we eternally difficult to find. She didn't connect with anyone over anything. Social media weren't her thing, reading wasn't a thing for them. Really, people that shared any of her interests or love for writing were mostly online.

When she did have friends, mostly her girls from primary school and the few sciency friends from university field trips —people she actually didn't find a drag to listen to— they said Seline had too high expectations for a guy. Like, if he was as nerdy as her, he would surely be a head smaller and she better make peace with him not being a looker. Settle down, girl.

She tried dating people, but damn, was it difficult to catch feelings. Why couldn't she feel a thing? The looks weren't that important and if they were there, she figured cringing whenever the guy opened his mouth wasn't a good sign. And when he managed to get through her rigorous list of questions and plans, because how else was she supposed to test their value and interests compatibility? - the emotion was missing entirely.

Universe, could you please, please, give me a person I could admire and feel something for? Anyone like that out there?

And then she met Isaiah.

They had lunch at a small but incredibly good family sushi restaurant. For the cake, he took her to her favorite confectioanry, though, on the balcony with an awesome view, and let her order about four different desserts, when she couldn't decide. Christ, even the place was expensive.

But Isaiah had a twinkle in his eye and a constant smile. It was very rare for him to be in a good mood so openly, like watching her was the most fascinating showpiece.

She couldn't protest anything he said with that expression.

Caught in the moment of watching him, all dressed up in a dashing suit, black hair with that gentle waves to it, green eyes set only on her, she reached over. Her hand went on top of his under the chin, then gently up to stroke his cheek.

"What mask are you wearing today?"

Isaiah kissed her knuckles, too happy to even mind the PDA. "The one I wear with you. I like it the most."

Seline couldn't help the blush, ducking her head. He was more social than her, always alert, always perceptive and adjusting to the situation. Charming gentleman, yes, kind, absolutely. But he could be funny and relaxed, or serious and scary, or authoritative and confident. Every person and group, every situation, brought out a different side of him.

It confused her at the start. Now, she found it fascinating.

Once again, she was tempted to ask what today was. Why was it special? Was there an anniversary she didn't know about? It wasn't a year since they moved in together, that would be in two months. The month they have been together for a year...that would be four months. What was this? They haven't even been a pack a year ago.

The cakes were excellent, but the sweetness and intensity of the different flavours overwhelmed her quickly. She slid her plate with half of the Strawberry Mouse Cake towards Isaiah to go to the Coffee Meringue Cake. They also still had the Apple Strudel and her favorite Mango slice tart. It felt like her birthday.

Isaiah was chuckling indulgently, finishing the cakes for her. Never a better chance to try so many. And the hot chocolates they made there were to die for. When she couldn't decide between that and the Caramel Machiatto, Isaiah ordered both.

"You are spoiling me today."

Isaiah gave her a blinding smile of satisfaction.

They went by foor afterwards, through the two nicest parks and Hofburg all the way to the Danube river. It was like Isaiah had it calculated, cause the sun was just setting and they were at the perfect side of the river to see it without being blinded.

He took her hand, fingers intertwined gently, as they passed bikes and families returning from bathing, reaching a nice molo halfway across the river.

Isaiah guided her to sit down before joining her, suit and all on the wooden molo. She watched him curiously, getting a bit nervous at how heavy the moment felt.

"The sunset is beautiful," she burst out quickly.

Isaiah raised one eyebrow at the remark, smiling. He leaned close enough to kiss her, but only brushed a lock of blond hair behind her ear. "Not as much as you."

Seline bit her lip, looking at him from under her lashes.

"I know beauty isn't that high on your priority list. And I know that's not something you want to be admired for. Not for anything you were given, not for magic or for your looks."

She ducked her head. His fingers lingered in her hair.

"I know you don't go about perceiving the world through physical sensations. You relate through your mind. You want intellectual stimulation to feel connection and interests." His hand still in his hair followed the line of her head to her neck. He cupped her cheek.

"Which doesn't mean you don't have feelings. They are so intense that you prefer to save them for later. Process them in private. That's why you don't need that much stimulation, working through the little details. Understanding yourself inside out. Body comes last and you don't put emphasis on it. If you focus on it, you get bashful."

She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks under his touch. His voice was silky smooth.

"Not that it's anything to feel ashamed of. But you feel comfortable with contact only after connection has been made. I have been trying to go slowly."

Which was true. He always let her set the pace. Make the first move.

"I don't want to scare you. And I don't want you to feel like you have to say it back." That was the first time he looked down, suddenly a little insecure, before lifting his gaze to hers again.

Her breath caught in her chest, pulse picking up.

"I love how your mind works. Constantly hungry for knowldge. Your thinking is so abstract and so creative and you are never bored, always working on some kind of thought project. Always halfway somewhere else," he said, stroking her cheek with his thumb.

"But I love everything about it. Your mind, your order rituals to keep yourself tethered to the real world, the way you read spoilers ahead to enjoy the same thing from different lenses, your broad view of things, your ability to look at things objectively but also understanding the emotion behind it..."

Seline was amazed how scarily accurate all of this was. She couldn't move under his touch, eyes getting wider.

"I love everything...about you." He looked to the side then. His fingers against her face were shaking. "Just thought you should know."

Seline shook her head, voice all stunned. "That's your new trick? You go all impressive psychology on me and analyse me, cause you know that will make you irresistible?"

Isaiah looked up, startled. "I wasn't-"

"You are ridiculous." Seline grabbed him by the collar and smashed their lips together. Her heartbeat was somewhere in her ears. It felt like she wouldn't be able to breathe if she didn't kiss him immediately.

"You know how hot I find it when you talk all smart. I had a feast of you today," she said against his nose, her hand reaching behind his neck to hold him more securely.

She said hot on purpose, cause that was a word she didn't use often. It was too vague and felt too...indecent. Some part of her was always scared of it, of being some kind of primitive animal only focused on the body.

But with Isaiah the body turned to a medium, the carrier of his soul. It was special because it held him inside, the lips that spoke to her, the spirit looking at her from his eyes. It meant something completely different, to feel this closeness. Touch became a way to express it, not threaten it.

Was she not saying it enough? How much she admired him, how much she enjoyed him? Being this smart and relaxed and doting?

"I'm a girl of words. I love words. And I love when you talk. You are never boring. I'm always learning something," she said, leaning forward to hide her face against his neck. "You have so many faces. So many masks. I want to know all of them."

Her lips brushed against the skin on the side of his throat. Isaiah shivered underneath her.

"I never felt this way...about anyone," she admitted quietly.

Isaiah took her face in his hands, making her look up at him again. "It scares me. It isn't fair to everyone else, how much I can love just you."

Why did that make her so incredibly happy.

Isaiah wrapped her in an embrace and just held her, letting their bodies take comfort from the touch while they both worked through the impact of those words.

Seline ended up leaning against his shoulder, his arm around her back as the sun set in front of them.

It was the perfect moment.

Isaiah's body jostled underneath her suddenly. His free hand moved towards his middle for a second before dropping.

Seline frowned, turning to look at him. She didn't have a good angle on his face, but her access to his throat was ideal. She could feel it bobbing as he swallowed.

She pushed her hand up into his hair gently. "Okay?"

Isaiah shook his head in denial. "Sorry. Just-urrrp-ate too much."

"Oh. All the cakes."

Isaiah suppressed another burp. "I'm sorry. Don't-don't mind it, please." His neck and cheeks went all red.

Seline chuckled, weirdly pleased. "I mean, it's kinda my fault. Kept pushing them to you." She leaned more into him, her whole side pressed into his.

Her hand went down around his back again while she sneaked her free one to his belly, tentatively pulling at his button up.

"I'm sorry, I didn't want to ruin-"

"Shhhhh." She kissed his neck and then his jaw. "It's okay, baby. You couldn't ruin this in any way. This was perfect." Another kiss under his ear. "And it's cute, just so you know."

"You say the silliest things."

"I never say anything I don't mean," she corrected smugly. "You taking your walls down just for a bit. Around me. What's not to like?"

Isaiah huffed. "You can't-"

Her hand sneaked up to his belly, cutting him off. She let her palm rest on top of it, feeling the bloat under her fingers. Having him this close, his breathing a little ragged from the discomfort and emberssment made her insides dance.

"I love this. I love you. I love everything about you." Seline nuzzled her face against his cheek, feeling incredibly intimate. The contact, his sudden shyness. The little crack in that armor he still didn't quite take down. Or was that only her feeling?

"You don't have to say it so many times," he said, scratching at the top of his head self-consciously, turning his head to blow up the air from another breathy burp.

Seline giggled, drunk on the feeling. Feeling. She was feeling so much. She let herself feel it all in that moment, everyting she felt for him. It was a flood of mind-melting, honey-coloured happiness. "I can't say it enough."

[sleepinglionhearts]

No no get started on the whole "new adult" thing, I desperately want to hear

Ok, so here's the thing about New Adult:

It's a genre that's been emerging lately in the catalogs I view when doing frontlists (essentially just pre-orders for upcoming titles) for the book store and I'd been wondering what the hell it was. I'd noticed it was especially common in the descriptors for the romance books, but it was often the ones with that sort of sexy-but-not-full-blown-erotica kind of book that also tended to have the sort of description full of fanfic trope terms and "for fans of [usually a Young Adult title]" or "like [popular title] combined with [other popular title]!!" <- and here it's important to note that the popular titles don't always sound like they would mesh well.

And finally, FINALLY, one of these books is highlighted by the sales rep who works with us and she's got a little blurb about it and I get my first useful description of what "New Adult" is:

"Imagine the golden age of YA - The Hunger Games, Divergent, The Mortal Instruments - but aged up and spicy."

S P I C Y

Which would explain why they're not-quite-erotica type books, you see, we're not straight up PORN we're just ✨️spicy✨️

Nevermind that a lot of these books do have sex in them, but whatever, it's SPICY because that's what's popular to say on BookTok!

Oh. Right. Yeah. BookTok also gets mentioned a lot in listings for this sort of title.

And yes, this includes the Court of... books by Sarah J Maas and things like The Infatuated Fae books by Jeaneane O'Riley. In fact, I'm pretty sure O'Riley was described as a "BookTok darling" in the contributor bio part of the listing, but don't quote me on that, I'd have to look at the listing again.

Anyway, these are some of the biggest offenders regarding that whole "we will describe this with fanfic buzz terms and BookTok girlies will eat it up :)" issue.

[gothicallybright]

BUT, SHE'S A CHEERLEADER!

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

you have been a guitarist for your school band for a while now, performing at numerous school events and sport matches which cheerleaders also attended. the new cheerleader, chappell, catches your eye, causing an accident to happen at one of the rehearsals.

yes i will be writing a part 2 because this would be just too long.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

In the early morning, the sun was already shining bright, casting warm, golden light on everything it touched. You woke up to the sound of your annoying alarm clock blasting its usual horrendous note. You lazily got up, your favorite guitar resting by the bedside. You quickly got ready for school, making sure to bring your guitar along. You are supposed to attend the band practice for a football match, so you decide to wear something more solemn. A white shirt and a black tie for the top part and black jeans for the bottom and your usual black converse. Not so solemn, but to hell with it!

As you walked to school, with the heavy guitar casket on your back, the soft morning sun warmed you and the neighborhood was alive with the sounds of distant chatter coming from other students also making their way to school. The trees lined the street, their leaves swaying with the light wind and casting flickering shadows on the concrete. The scent of blooming flowers filled the air as children played in the parks nearby, enjoying the summer day.

Once you arrive, you lazily enter the school building. The halls of the school were crowded with life, filled with the chatter and laughter of students passing by. Your locker door is adorned with stickers and photos. Walking down the hallway, the sea of familiar faces pass by you, a mix of excitement and nerves buzzing inside you. After all, this is the most important school event you'll be performing at.

Your school has a reputation for being very sports-oriented, with trophies and accolades filling the halls and trophy cases, so you knew you had to give your all in this rehearsal. The football team seems to receive the most attention, and their achievements are well-known throughout the city. Your band came close behind, with banners and signs scattered around the school halls. While not as popular, there is also a space for the lesser-known groups like a debate team, or the arts club.

You had been playing in the school band for some time now, your guitar skills improving with each performance and rehearsal, so you didn't understand why you were anxious upon entering the gymnasium hall. The large space was filled with students and the atmosphere was buzzing with chatter and music. You clutched your guitar case nervously, the weight of the past performances and the expectation to be good making your stomach churn slightly. As you glanced around, the trophies and awards on display only intensified the feelings of inferiority, making you doubt yourself.

As you were still glancing around nervously, your eyes landed on someone unfamiliar. You spotted the new cheerleader, Chappell, on the court. The curly locks of her red-brown hair framed her face as she moved gracefully through the warm-ups, her movements elegant and energetic. She wore the standard cheerleader outfit; a red crop top with white shorts and white sneakers, accentuating her figure. As you watched, your heart skipped a beat, intrigued by the unfamiliar face that just became the center of your attention.

You stood still watching Chappell, lost in your admiration, a sudden push from your drummer friend Lucy broke you out of your thoughts. The drummer, Lucy, is your lifelong friend.

She is infamous amongst her friends for her sharp tongue and sarcastic sense of humor, never hesitating to tease and joke with her friends - you, of course, being her main target. She loved making witty comments and playful jabs, often finding amusement in reactions from others. This was particularly irritating to you, who had grown used to Lucy's behavior over time, but it still manages to annoy you sometimes, like now. She nudged you with a mischievous grin, noticing where your gaze had landed, and started teasing you about Chappell. Really, really teasing you.

Your cheeks burned up as she, in front of the whole gymnasium, started moaning Chappell's name, doing suggestive hand motions. Some students were giving you weird looks while also looking at Chappell and you had to hold yourself back from absolutely beating Lucy.

''God, you're such a DICK!'' Frustration welled up inside you and you swung your fist, landing a hard punch on Lucy's arm, making her stop.

''Ow!'' She whined, giving you a dirty look. ''What the hell dude? I was just kidding!'' Lucy's expression hardened slightly and her playful demeanor shifted into mild annoyance. She rubbed her arm where you had hit her.

''Yeah?! Well, there's a limit to it!'' You hissed back, keeping your usual stubborn character.

''Whatever…'' Lucy rolled her eyes before going back to her position at the drums.

The gymnasium hall door shot open and the principal entered the space. Students clapped and cheered on him as he smiled and grabbed the microphone, preparing his speech.

''Students! We all know how important this event is! So…----….'' As the principal delivered his speech, he emphasized the importance of the upcoming sport event. However, you struggled to focus, your mind drifting to Chappell. The principal's words turned into background noise, fading out as your gaze kept returning to Chappell, watching her listen to the principal.

You became so engrossed in the sight of Chappell, completely unaware of the time passing by and the principal's speech. That is until the sudden roar of clapping echoed through the gymnasium, jolting you back to the present. Your eyes widened in surprise, realizing you had been completely zoned out for an embarrassing amount of time. And the worst thing is, you didn't even know what songs you'll be playing. You quickly turned to Lucy and asked her about the songs. She explained to you in a whisper and you thanked her. Thank God you usually practice random songs and you knew half of them.

After the clapping ended, the principal's order for the cheerleaders to position themselves in front of the band sent a jolt of shock through your chest, your heart skipping a beat. Chappell, included among the cheerleaders, would now be standing right in front of the music group, directly facing you. You felt your pulse quicken, the anticipation building as you realized how close Chappell would be.

Chappell, standing with the other cheerleaders, got into position just in front of the band, her stance matching the other girls. Her gaze shifted, locking with yours for a moment, exchanging a glance, a smile tugging at your lips. For a moment, your gazes held, and you felt your whole body ignite. You had to look away at your feet, breaking the strong eye contact.

Your heart raced and you felt as if your whole body was thumping, like your soul is trying to get out. You took a deep breath, you had to focus! The rehearsal is about to begin!

As the principal blew the loud whistle and as your band started playing, the cheerleading routine started, with the girls executing precise and energetic movements. They twirled and swayed, their moves in sync with the rhythm. Chappell, standing alongside the other cheerleaders, moved with grace, each of her movements precise and calculated, yet full of passion as she became one with the music and moved in unity with the others.

You tried to give all your attention to the guitar in your hands, but your eyes had a mind of their own as they kept wandering over at Chappell who seemed to be enjoying herself dancing with the music your band executed. You notice that her eyes occasionally drift towards you, flashing you a small smile each time.

As the performance hit its final twirl, Chappell lost her balance and toppled, but you moved swiftly, dropping your guitar on the ground, reaching out to catch her just in time. You wrapped your arms around her, stopping her fall and holding her in a stable embrace. This sudden closeness sent a wave of awkwardness and awareness coursing through both of you, neither expecting this moment.

When the all lovey-dovey feeling finally left your mind, you realized what you had done. Your guitar, its broken strings ringing in the air, lied down damaged and broken. Chappell immediately shot up from your grip, a hand over her mouth as her eyes narrowed and her expression dropped into a guilty one.

''Shit… I'm so sorry… I lost my balance there and I didn't think you'd…-'' You stopped her fast explaining and said it's okay, but really it isn't. The whole band, this whole event rested on your shoulders, but with a broken guitar you're nobody. Just like you were nobody back in elementary school. No one wanted to hang out with you, because you're nobody without your guitar. These memories, they came back into your mind like a river. Breaking the dam your mind tried so hard to build, to stop them from ever coming back again. Your eyes started to water and your lips started to shake.

It didn't help that the whole gymnasium was looking at you, some people whispering amongst their friends. Chappell was looking at you, her expression saying that she knows she's guilty. You couldn't take it anymore.

You rushed out of the gymnasium.

[monathedefiant]

ricky september is racist but there's hope for him. . .

right?

ricky might not be racist in the same way as lindy and her little friends. but he's grown up in the same white supremacist culture as everyone else. there's nothing in the culture he's exposed to that's challenged the racist ideologies that he's grown up with as just a part of life. he's not racist on purpose, That's Just How Things Are and that makes his brand of racism just as bad if not worse in some ways.

it's the kind that sneaks up on bipoc when we feel safe and when we've let our guards down. a moment that happens so quickly that we can almost tell ourselves we're being ridiculous. . . until it happens again, and again, and again. like when the doctor tries to explain the codes to ricky who then cuts him off to assert his own knowledge while giving a skeptical up and down look. as if he's perturbed that someone that looks like the doctor would assume they have knowledge he doesn't.

HOWEVER!!!

ricky's reaction could also come from feeling underestimated. he's a pretty boy pop star who's brand is bright, flashy, and geared toward teenagers. he's probably used to people assuming he's dumb because of his outward appearance, despite the fact that he goes out of his way to learn and take in knowledge.

so, part of ricky's reaction is "how dare someone who looks Like That speak to me That Way" and the other part is "i may be pretty and popular but i know things and don't need to be coddled about something so simple".

i say this because ricky's interactions with the doctor (for the most part) don't feel that different than his interactions with ruby. he gives them both the same boyish grin he gives lindy when they first meet. he doesn't do a double-take at the doctor's presence. ricky doesn't make the doctor feel out of place in conversation or question the doctor's knowledge. to a certain point, he doesn't even seem rejecting of the information the doctor's giving him. more just overwhelmed and pretending not to be. hence the hand by the ear thing which reads more as self-soothing that anything else.

that being said, i can't read that skeptical up and down look as anything but a manifestation of the passive racism he's unknowingly learned to live by all his life. that look says "who do you think you are" in a way it doesn't toward ruby and i can't ignore that.

just as important, though, is ricky's potential to go against the grain of what's been ingrained in him. the world he lives in has been whitewashed to hell and back. the history books favor the "victors" (read: oppressors) over the Ugly Truth. i doubt it describes the Great Abrogation as anything but a benevolent necessity (when it was clearly an act of colonialism). we don't see anyone with anything close to radical ideologies, and they definitely aren't there to share those thoughts with any of the named characters. not to say they don't exist (and isn't that the perfect nugget for fic based off this episode??) just that they get no air time. even if ricky feels that something is off in this society, where would he learn the type of truth that could truly radicalize him?

while we don't get ricky the anti-racist, i still see potential in him. he frequently takes breaks from social media to touch grass and read books. he's open to new experiences even when they're scary or difficult. we see how lindy struggles that first time not depending on the dot and bubble even just walking around. let alone seeking out information. ricky put himself through that multiple times (ON PURPOSE!!) to learn how to walk and to gain an appreciation for reading.

which tells us he's willing to learn ideas that challenge the status quo. he's also willing to share what he learns with others. if given half the chance, ricky might've been just as bad as the rest. maybe i've got my head in the clouds and am refusing to face the Very Clear Facts.

but the man is dead and we'll never known for sure. so, i'm choosing optimism because like why tf not ya know. plus, i just like the idea that even someone steeped in a shitty society can still unlearn the bad and do better. i do after all live in the u.s. and support palestine so *shrug* i'd like to think ricky's no more damned by being born into a White Supremacist Wonderland than i am from living in a Nationalist Nightmare Zone.