#but this truly is sapphic spring

[risingshards]

"Oh man this season is AMAZING so far." —me, who grades anime seasons by how much yuri is in them

[jiminsass-istant]

SMERALDO GARDEN MARCHING BAND : NOT JUST A FUN SONG

One thing you can expect before listening to any Jimin song for the first time is that NO TWO SONGS WILL EVER BE THE SAME.

Naturally I had too many questions when I watched the SGMB Track video!

Face was about inner reflection and tragedy, while MUSE is apparently about Jimin's artistic inspiration. Since the entire Muse album is not out yet, I kept wondering how SGMB fit into the 'artistic inspiration' concept. What do we learn about Jimin in SGMB? But most importantly, who is Jimin's muse?

********************************************************************

To answer, let's look at Jimin's intents. I divided them into 2 parts:

"Tell things we/he couldn't before"

A recurring thing we have seen in chapter 2 Jimin is his desire to "tell everything he couldn't before", and this started right from 2022 Festa dinner:

True to his words, he started being more honest and telling us his story in Face. That's how we knew he had already started expressing more truth than he ever had before. Not only that, in the BTS documentary, Jimin even opened up about his depression while dining with JK.

But was that ALL he had to say? NO! Because he says this in Closer Than this which was released in dec 2023 ->

Since CTT is clearly a fan song, he is addressing fans here when he says that he wants to reveal everything to his fans. Going by the bangtan lore, I think we can safely conclude that here 'spring day' for bts refers to the day they are reunited with their fans again (2025), that is - post military. Meaning, Jimin will keep revealing things through his music well after MS is over.

A wonderful army pointed out that the english lyrics of SGMB are not entirely correct. The line "I'll tell you everything now" should actually be "i'll reveal everything on your behalf", which brings us to Jimin's second intent-

2) "The truth untold"

The BTS unit song TTU speaks about how the protagonist is unable to confess their feelings to their love because they consider themselves ugly and unworthy (due to lack of self-love).

In the first teaser for Muse, Jimin found the music sheet for The Truth Untold inside the purple lockers. And then he releases SGMB which is basically the positive (and happy future) version of TTU.

The twitter thread i referred to previously explains this very well and all of you should read it:

Let's now look at some of my personal observations in the MV before i put on my delulu cape.

Jimin's showmanship:

Jimin is basically a host, a presenter, cupid, and the lead of Smeraldo Garden marching band. It's like he entered the Smeraldo garden of thorns and despair along with his band to help the protagonist reveal their true feelings to their loved one. The garden is now lively with all positive elements- dance, kids, butterflies, bubbles, confetti. It showcases Jimin's change in attitude and how he has truly begun to love himself. That's why when Jimin says :

" Ooh, I love you babe I'll come closer to you I love you, babe (Yes, sir) Ooh, I want you, babe I wanna hold your hand I want you, babe"

He's saying this on behalf of the protagonist. That's what Smeraldo Garden Marching Band does- it helps people in despair, helps them to express love.

2) Jimin is NOT homophobic!

People really used the scene of Jimin separating the sapphic couple as him being anti-gay. Let me show you the scenes where Jimin took the flower from a guy. Look at the guy's stance, look at the lyrics. The correct translation for the lyrics in the image is " the truth untold". He is indeed referring to a hidden truth in this particular scene, 'hidden' being the keyword here, which i'm sure the lgbtq+ community is more than familiar with.

To realize the importance of this scene, just go to any reactor and see their face when they see Jimin accepting a flower from a man. They hold their breath only to release it when they see him playing matchmaker to hetero couples. Don't you just love Jimin's brain? lol.

Let's look at the 2nd scene of Jimin giving a flower to another man-

Again, Jimin is bowing down this time, while the adlibs go "just for you". Jimin is not just being a 'wingman' here as some might think- a wingman doesn't 'present' flowers like this. He is subtle and this is him recognizing all sorts of relationships.

3) The sunflowers face the viewer, not Jimin or his band. The sunflowers face the...SUN. I think I am starting to wear the delulu cape here (yes i mean cape and not cap). We all know from Jimin's innumerable moon references that he associates himself with the moon, not the sun. The sun tattoo haver has always been the sun from the sun-and-moon duo. Just like the moon tattoo haver is the moon of the duo.

So this whole time Jimin has been talking to the protagonist of TTU- is it Jungk-

NO NO WAIT! Didn't Jimin just sing -

"Since we're together now"..together as in...

("Yes Sir!")🤷‍♀️

Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't we clarify last time that being 'together' means 'dating' in Korean, as in most other languages of this world?! Ahem.

Look like someone is getting 'serenaded' as in 'serenade' version of Muse.

*sighs very loudly*

Disclaimer: Just because i made a jikook interpretation of the song doesn't mean i don't recognize and agree with non-shipping interpretations. *sigh*

Anyway, there is another interpretation of SGMB by andy-wm. I really loved the pantomime comparison:

And another by jimin-bangtan:

Trust that if Jikook make 'yes sir' jokes in the travel series, I'm gonna lose it. Just a little bit.

I cannot wait for the rest of the album! These are all love songs. We are getting happy-sappy Jimin you all ! The Jimin who went through so many struggles is finally loving himself and has learnt to be happy with his loved ones.

[jessread-s]

Thanks to the publisher for providing me with an ARC in exchange for an honest review

✩🌊🖤Review:

A dazzling adult debut from Saft!

“A Dark and Drowning Tide” follows Lorelai Kaskel, a sharp-tongued folklorist, and Sylvia von Wolff, her academic rival, as they pair up to solve their mentor’s murder whilst on an expedition to find a magical spring for their king.

Saft’s atmospheric writing contributes to her immersive world-building. Her story is set in the fictional kingdom of Brunnestaad, a country heavily inspired by Germany, that is populated by both Brunnestaaders and the Yevani, akin to the Jewish community. Saft tackles problems of nationalism and antisemitism through the perspective of her main character Lorelai, a young Jewish woman whose determination to make a name for herself in being a part of the Ruhigburg expedition stems from her experiences in being “othered”. I really appreciate the Jewish representation and how Lorelai’s rich knowledge of Jewish and German folklore contributes to the reader’s understanding of the country’s history, culture, and politics.

I could not get enough of the murder mystery Lorelai tasks herself with solving as well as the sapphic, academic rivals-to-allies-to-lovers subplot! Sylvia is the only suspect that Lorelai can rule out following their mentor’s murder. These circumstances push them to strike a begrudging alliance as they work together to prevent the murderer from striking again. I love the slow pacing of their relationship development as they are forced to confront their feelings while in each other’s proximity. I thoroughly enjoyed occupying Lorelai’s mind during this time. Lorelai is fascinating to follow as she draws on her knowledge of folklore, quick wit, and keen observation skills to find the Ursprung and the killer. At the same time, she is actively fighting against her love for Sylvia by burying her emotions and masking them with self-loathing. I adored watching Syliva break through Lorelai’s stubborn and guarded personality with her unrelenting optimism! They are truly opposites in every sense of the word and complete each other. Nothing was more satisfying than watching them capture the culprit and each other’s hearts!

Cross-posted to: Instagram | Amazon | Goodreads | StoryGraph

[femslashfeb]

HELLO ALL

TLDR

No reblogging from the blog this year - posting prompts tomorrow the 31st

For the past few years I've very much struggled with reblogging everyone's activity in the tag. So this year I will not be doing so.

(OR maybe I will? I just don't want to commit)

Even if I knew how to make a bot that reblogs - a lot of people still use the unique tag to tag outside challenges. So I've always had to hand submit. However it became too stressful for me and for the past few years I ended up avoiding it until later weeks or even months.

If you noticed I didn't finish reblogging last year so- I've just given up on that.

Honestly I've struggled a lot with depression for the last 7 years or so. It's been harder and harder to find my way back to tumblr. It doesn't help that my phone can barely handle the amount of apps it already has.

My main account @puff-pink hardly ever updates because of my big sad. And I don't know if I'll ever get back on the horse in the same way I did before.

Some of you know me as an artist, and tho I still churn out subpar art for my day-job I've struggled a lot to make art for myself during my depression. Partially because one year I overworked my hand - and still deal in continual wrist aches. Even the weeks I don't pick up a drawing tool.

I intended this challenge for myself and maybe the small fandoms I was in at the time. But it took off among writers and creators of all types across all fandoms.

One year I even tried to tally the most popular fandoms but there were honestly too many to keep track of- and I stopped after the first three pages of submissions.

I don't claim to have invented the concept of FemSlash February. Before I started the prompts I swear I had heard the phrase somewhere. Tho not sure where. Perhaps it had been amongst my friends on Skype. Back when I had online friends and Skype(I'm still not sold on Discord🤷‍♀️).

However that January I thought it would be fun to partake in a challenge of some kind. But scouring tumblr and the general internet. I could only find half hearted efforts on fanfiction sites from years past.

I'm so proud of all my Sapphic creators on here that have partaken every year. Even if I've never shown favoritism or awarded anyone. I do notice those that actually complete the challenge AND those that keep coming back each year(looking at you H20 writer(I don't remember your username but there's a mermaid writer that's a writing machine)). I truly am proud of you especially in my shriveled state of creativity. Thank you for your efforts. For your hype. And for your love of women of all kinds across all the universes.

Each year I'm surprised to find even more categories I never thought to include. From mood boards, to doll photography, to ofc the classic art and writing. May your pencils forever be in union with your sister mediums.

On that note. There is a strict NO AI GENERATED ART or writing this year.

Not that I could physically stop anyone who does use AI. But I do not want that sort of thing associated with this challenge. It's become scarily good in 2023 to the point it can't always be identified. So I simply ask for the honor system when it comes to AI generated creations.

That being said. If you've made it to the end of this post:

Prompts will be posted tomorrow.

I usually prefer to give yall more of a buffer, but I've been busy. Both with Big Sad, rescuing some feral cats, my own life, errands, chores and work.

If you're still here- here is a preview of the first three days.

FEB 1 - black

FEB 2 - spring

FEB 3 - cake

The 14th as usual will be some sort of Valentine romance type theme(haven't decided specifically yet) and as always there will be a Rest Day.

Expect some repeat prompts. In the past I tried to avoid them but idc anymore.

It's also a Leap Year this year so expect one extra prompt to throw off the symmetry of what's normally 28 days.

Thanks for coming back this year. And thank you to those that still check on this blog.

❤️🧡🤍💜🩷

Keep loving girls

-PuffPink

[gretchensinister]

Perhaps you should buy yourself a book as a present

Such as…

It’s Spring Break, and five friends have decided to spend the week at a cabin in the Berenson Wilderness Recreation Area to get away from the stresses and pressures of college. It turns out they’re the only ones staying at the park, but that shouldn’t be anything to worry about—even if someone did recently get killed in an apparent animal attack just outside the park’s boundaries. They know enough to stick together.

Unfortunately for them, it isn’t anything as ordinary as a mountain lion or bear that’s responsible for that death. It’s something—someone—truly extraordinary that calls the park his home, and calls them the perfect prey.

But even a monster wants more out of life than simple survival, and this one might well decide that one of these campers could be something other than prey to him.

Fear is in the air—but so is spring.

Berenson Wilderness Recreation Area invites you to a story that’s not as familiar as it might first appear, an exploration of friendship, fear, family, and finding out just how far you’ll go for the ones you love. ($2.99, equivalent to 234 print pages)

OR PERHAPS

Stella Black has been followed by a terrifying, malevolent entity since she was a child, but she’s never been certain of its ability to affect the physical world until now. With new evidence of its power to affect matter, she can only assume it is finally going to end her life. Desperate, she seeks out a paranormal society, and, to her astonishment, they promise to do whatever they can to help her, despite her destitute state. The entity, however, proves too powerful to be destroyed by the society’s means. While it is temporarily bound, the mysterious Alexandra Poppy says that she might be able to permanently destroy it using the knowledge contained in books on her rural estate, Dreamers’ Hill. The powerful draw of freedom and of time spent alone with Alexandra lead Stella to agree to accompany her far away from any life she’s ever known, but the forbidden wishes of her heart are not the strangest possibilities that might come to fruition under the cold stars of the year’s longest night… *** The Solstice Alliance is a story of sapphic romance and dark magic set in a strange Victorian England where love is not the only way to bind souls together. ($4.99, equivalent to 442 print pages)

OR THERE’S ALWAYS

The Watcher and the Sacrifice, which is only $1.99 and is about a young man who is all too willing to be his village’s sacrifice to their local terrifying many-limbed monster. It turns out that this is not a lethal kind of sacrifice, and a very good time is had by all.

The first reblog will have a link to all the ebooks. If you do not want to go through this Major Retailer please message me and we can work out a way for you to buy the file directly from me.

---

It's the time of year when reading The Solstice Alliance would really suit the mood! I know I'm the one that wrote it, so I'm biased, but I've been thinking about rereading it myself. The dead of winter, mysterious and threatening magic, and discovering that one is a lesbian via overwhelming crush on a mysterious wealthy woman...it's good times!

[imperialsiyo]

⌗ ︙・Mugunghwa In The Spring・

Empress!Bayan x Fem!Reader

➢ ﹒ ⊹ ₊ ˚ word count: ~2,981

➢ ﹒ ⊹ ₊ ˚ post content: kissing, flirting, unrequited love, hurt/comfort, eating, wholesome, fluff, sapphic, etc.

➢ ﹒ ⊹ ₊ ˚ Summary: The year is 1496 during the Joseon Era of Korea. You are a Kisaeng (government-owned courtesan) who has recently been promoted to a higher rank. Your talent has caught the attention of the Empress, and she invites you for a peaceful afternoon picnic by Gwahae Lake.

It was a morning of renewal, the first day of spring, and the air was laced with the sweetness of blooming flowers—pink and white Mugunghwa blossoming all around the palace gardens. The distant sound of laughter from courtiers and the occasional chirping of birds made the palace seem almost serene. You could feel the warmth of the sun as it kissed the surface of your skin. Today was an important day, one you had been preparing for with trembling hands and a heart racing with anticipation.

Her Majesty, Empress Bayan, had personally requested your company for an afternoon picnic. It was not unheard of for the Empress to call upon Kisaeng, but something about this felt different. You weren’t simply a courtesan today. You were her guest.

Why me? The question lingered in your mind, casting a shadow over your excitement.

As much as you had climbed the ranks quickly in only eight months, becoming an Ilpae (일패) felt almost surreal. Many girls worked years for this status. And here you were, an enigma to yourself, invited by the Empress herself.

The palace servants had arrived earlier to dress and prepare you, bringing the finest hanbok you had ever worn—emerald green with pastel pink accents, delicate embroidery, and a handmade gold hairpin with two dangling white pearls. The intricate design left you in awe. Surely, this is far too luxurious for someone like me.

But there was no time for doubt as you were led through the palace to the Empress’s quarters, every step heavy with the weight of expectation. When you arrived at the appointed spot by Gwahae Lake, you were met by the sight of Her Majesty, sitting beneath the shade of a cherry blossom tree, the soft petals falling around her like confetti.

Bayan’s presence was radiant, her calmness commanding. She wore a serene smile as her eyes met yours, their warmth piercing through your nervous exterior. Her royal hanbok shimmered with delicate silk, shades of purple and silver, making her appear almost otherworldly.

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to speak despite the knot tightening in your throat. "I—I cannot thank you enough for your kindness, my lady," you stammered, lowering your head into a deep bow, arms stiff at your sides.

The Empress paused, her eyes softening. "There is no need for such formality, Y/n," she said gently. "Please, come and sit. The day is far too beautiful for us to be weighed down by titles."

You blinked, feeling your chest tighten as she called your name. No titles? Her voice had a way of disarming your nerves, even as your heart pounded in your ears. Slowly, you raised your head and stepped forward, your hands trembling as you sat down on the cloth beside her.

"I—I'm honored, truly," you continued, your voice faltering. "I never imagined I’d make it this far in such a short time. I’m not like the other high-ranked courtesans, not as talented or skilled as them. It feels… undeserved."

There was a silence that followed your words, the kind of silence that made you want to shrink into yourself. Why did I say that? Self-doubt gnawed at you, but before you could say more, Bayan’s voice cut through the tension.

"Y/n," she said softly, her tone firm but compassionate. "Do you truly believe that?"

Your breath caught in your throat, and you found yourself unable to look away from her gaze. Her hand reached out, gently lifting your chin so your eyes could meet hers. "Your talent is what caught my eye, not your title. It is your ability to captivate those around you, whether through conversation, art, or song. You have a rare gift, one that cannot be taught. And that is why you are here."

Her fingers brushed lightly against your chin, and you could feel the warmth of her touch ripple through you. She thinks I’m talented? The disbelief mixed with a strange flutter of excitement in your chest, your breath hitching at her words. Her sincerity felt like a balm, soothing the insecurities that had plagued you all morning.

"My lady, I…" You tried to find the words, but your voice faltered, caught between gratitude and disbelief.

Bayan smiled softly, her hand moving to hold yours, her thumbs gently tracing the calloused skin of your knuckles. "Do not let doubt cloud your heart, Y/n. Talent cannot always be measured in the same way. You are extraordinary in your own right."

The sincerity in her voice stirred something deep within you, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to believe it—if only for a moment. You nodded, unable to find words, a faint smile tugging at your lips. Extraordinary… in my own way.

As the servants finished setting up the picnic, you and Bayan settled into a comfortable conversation. The lake sparkled in the afternoon sun, and a gentle breeze rustled the leaves above. An array of delicacies had been laid out: sweet rice cakes, fresh fruit, and small sandwiches prepared with precision.

You glanced around, noting the lack of guards. Normally, Bayan’s personal retinue would be close by. Perhaps they were watching from the shadows, or maybe she had chosen to have some semblance of privacy for the day.

"Tell me about your life, Y/n," Bayan asked, her voice gentle but curious. "I wish to know more about the woman behind the title."

"Oh, me?" You scratched the back of your head with a nervous laugh. "There's not much to tell. My family were farmers—my grandmother and mother were Kisaeng before me, and it became my path as well." You paused, smiling softly at the memory of your home. "My mother worked so hard, always with a smile on her face, but… there was a sadness in her eyes, even when she smiled."

The words came out softer than you intended, and you felt a pang in your chest, a melancholy that you had never fully confronted. The weight of inherited duty, the life of a Kisaeng passed down from generation to generation. The tightness in your throat threatened to overwhelm you.

"I suppose we all have burdens to bear," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Bayan was silent for a moment, her eyes filled with understanding. Then, without a word, she reached out and wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into an embrace. You froze for a moment, startled by the sudden contact, but soon found yourself relaxing against her, your heartbeats syncing in a gentle rhythm.

"You carry so much on your shoulders, Y/n," Bayan whispered, her breath warm against your ear. "But you do not have to bear it alone."

Your eyes widened as you melted into her arms. Her embrace was comforting, like the warmth of sunlight on a cold day. She’s so close… The realization of her tenderness made your face flush with heat, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. You had not expected this level of intimacy, and it left you feeling both vulnerable and cherished.

"I hope I didn’t upset you, my lady," you stammered, your voice faltering as you pulled away slightly, though her arms remained loosely around you.

Bayan shook her head, her gaze soft and reassuring. "You did not upset me. I only wanted you to know that I understand." Her eyes held yours, and you could feel the weight of her words. "My mother was much the same."

There was a shared sorrow between you, an unspoken bond of understanding that made the moment feel heavier, yet somehow lighter. For a while, the two of you sat in silence, the sounds of nature filling the gaps where words could not.

Eventually, you smiled, the weight in your chest lifting as you reached for the flute she had gifted you earlier. "Are you sure I can keep it? It's lovely but…"

"It's yours, Y/n," Bayan said, her hand curling around yours, pressing the flute into your palm. "You may thank me by playing it to your heart’s content."

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, the warmth in her gaze sending a thrill through you. "Thank you, Bayan," you whispered, daring to use her name without a title.

As the day went on, you played a gentle melody on the flute while Bayan plucked a nearby Mugunghwa flower and placed it in your hair. The two of you lingered in each other’s presence, sharing sweets and quiet laughter until the sun began to dip below the horizon.

Before you parted ways, Bayan leaned in, her lips brushing against your cheek in a soft, lingering kiss—a farewell that left you blushing, your heart fluttering with the memory of her touch.

That night, as you lay awake, your mind raced with thoughts of the day.

You had never been this close to someone of such importance before. Her touch still lingered on your skin, a soft warmth that refused to fade even as the cool night air seeped into your room.

You replayed the kiss over and over in your mind, the gentle brush of her lips against your cheek, the way her fingers lingered in your hair as she placed the Mugunghwa there. The Empress had always carried herself with grace and dignity, but this… this was something far more personal, far more intimate.

What did it mean? you wondered, staring up at the wooden ceiling above your bed. You had been trained to entertain, to charm, but this was different. This was not the role of a courtesan—this was something deeper, something that made your heart race and your mind whirl with confusion. Was it affection? Friendship? Or something more?

Her words echoed in your mind: “You do not have to bear it alone.” There was a tenderness in the way she had spoken those words, as though she saw past your role, past the title of Kisaeng, and saw you—the real you.

You shifted in your bed, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself as a soft sigh escaped your lips. Could it be that Bayan, the Empress of the nation, truly saw you as someone more than just a performer? The idea sent shivers down your spine, both thrilling and terrifying.

The next few days passed in a blur of routine and duties. You were busy with lessons, performances, and entertaining officials, but your thoughts kept drifting back to that afternoon by the lake. Every time you closed your eyes, you could see Bayan’s smile, hear the softness of her voice, feel the warmth of her touch. It was maddening, how much you thought of her.

You tried to push the thoughts aside, reminding yourself of your place. You were a Kisaeng, trained to please, to perform. There was no room for personal attachment, especially not with someone of Bayan’s status. But no matter how hard you tried, the memory of that day lingered, wrapping itself around your heart like a vine.

Several days later, just as the cherry blossoms began to fall in full bloom, you received another invitation. The royal messenger had arrived at your quarters early in the morning, presenting you with a scroll bearing the Empress’s seal.

You unrolled it carefully, your heart pounding as you read the elegant script:

Y/n,

I find myself longing for your company once more. Join me this evening in the gardens. There is much I wish to discuss with you.

- Bayan

Your breath caught in your throat. Longing for your company… The words sent a flutter through your chest, and for a moment, you simply stood there, staring at the scroll in disbelief.

Without wasting any time, you prepared yourself, your mind a whirlwind of possibilities. What could she want to discuss? Had something changed since your last meeting? Was this a formal summons, or something more personal?

As the evening approached, you found yourself once again standing in the palace gardens, the setting sun casting a warm golden glow over the landscape. The air was filled with the soft scent of blooming flowers, and the distant sound of a waterfall trickled through the quiet.

Bayan was waiting for you under the same cherry blossom tree where you had shared your first afternoon together. She looked even more radiant in the evening light, her hair loosely pinned up, her hanbok flowing like water as she stood to greet you.

"Y/n," she called softly, her voice carrying through the air like a melody. "I’m glad you came."

You bowed deeply, trying to keep your composure. "It is always an honor to be in your presence, my lady."

Bayan smiled, her eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. "I told you before, there’s no need for formalities between us." She gestured for you to sit beside her, and once again, you felt that strange mix of excitement and nervousness as you obeyed.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence was comfortable, filled with the sounds of nature and the soft rustling of the wind through the trees. You stole a glance at her, admiring the way the evening light danced across her skin, the way her eyes sparkled with something you couldn’t quite place.

"I’ve been thinking about you, Y/n," Bayan finally said, her voice soft but firm. "Since the day by the lake."

Your heart skipped a beat. "You have, my lady?"

She nodded, turning her gaze to the horizon. "There’s something about you that draws me in. It’s not just your talent, though that is undeniable. It’s the way you carry yourself, the way you speak, the way you seem to understand the world with such depth. It’s… remarkable."

You blinked, taken aback by her words. "I… I don’t know what to say."

"You don’t need to say anything." She smiled, her eyes locking onto yours. "I just wanted you to know."

A heavy silence fell between you, and for a moment, you weren’t sure what to do. Her words sent a flurry of emotions through you—pride, confusion, fear, hope. Did she see you as more than just a performer? Was there something deeper behind her compliments?

Bayan reached out, taking your hand in hers, her fingers warm against your skin. "Y/n," she said softly, "I don’t want you to feel as though you’re only here because of duty or obligation. I invited you here because I enjoy your company. Because… I care for you."

Your breath caught in your throat. "My lady, I… I’m not sure I understand."

Her hand tightened around yours, her eyes searching yours for understanding. "I know this must be unexpected for you. And I know our positions make things… complicated. But my feelings for you are real, Y/n. You’ve stirred something in me that I haven’t felt in a long time."

You felt your heart hammering in your chest, a mixture of fear and elation swirling inside you. "I… I don’t know what to say," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Bayan smiled softly, her thumb brushing over your knuckles in a soothing gesture. "You don’t have to say anything now. I just wanted you to know how I feel. I don’t expect anything from you. I just… wanted to be honest."

For a moment, you could only sit there, stunned by her confession. The Empress of Joseon, the most powerful woman in the land, had just confessed her feelings for you. It was overwhelming, and yet… there was a part of you that had longed for this, a part of you that had felt the same way but had been too afraid to admit it, even to yourself.

Slowly, you nodded, your eyes meeting hers once more. "Thank you… for your honesty, my lady," you said quietly. "I… I’m honored by your words."

Bayan smiled, her eyes softening with relief. "Take your time, Y/n. There’s no rush. We have all the time in the world."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the gardens in a soft, golden glow, you sat there with Bayan, hand in hand, sharing a quiet moment of understanding and possibility. For the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to hope—for connection, for something more, for a future that felt uncertain but full of promise.

And as you sat beneath the cherry blossoms, the world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you, together in the quiet beauty of the evening.

[artemisphoebus]

Writeblr intro!

✦Introductions,

My pen name is Anastacius although I sometimes go by Anna. I usually use They/Them pronouns and am currently 17! I'm a queer writer working on a sapphic fairytale retelling about faeries and death.

✦About me,

My favourite genres to read are: Fantasy, Literary fiction, magic realism, and horror.

Some stories that inspire me are: Death in Spring, Bezoar and other unsettling stories, You Let Me In, The Summer That Hikaru Died, Gallant, The Girl From The Other Side, What Moves the Dead, PIranesi, Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell.

Songs that Inspire me: Army Dreamers, Gnaw, Rotten Core, Dance of the insects, We fell in love in October, I need to start a garden, Things to do, Anything, Ingydar.

✦WIPs,

The Arklov documents:

fantasy, literary fiction.

A sapphic fairy-tale retelling about changelings and old crumbling castles.

Nocturne/Seaglass:

fantasy, magical realism.

A young man who has only ever seen the world as an endless beach stumbles upon the parts of a man in the form of Seaglass.

The Dead Lie Still:

Fantasy, horror, romance.

A queer story set in an alternate Slavic folklore-inspired universe where nothing can truly die with an immortal elf and a young girl from another world who found herself there after her attempt.

I hope I'm able to meet some new people on here who enjoy the same things that I do! As well as other young writers and queer writers as well! If any of you are interested in my stories you can check my account as I sometimes post my writings on it and have been working on some story introductions which I will link back here :]

[benwvatt]

2023 year-end fic round-up

Thank you so much to @chocomd @itsmoonpeaches @northerngoshawk for the tag! awww, it's a wonderful kataang squad.

words written, published or not: I published 68,911 words on AO3. I publish most of the stuff I write (can you tell I like validation?) so that seems a good measure of my writing.

smut scenes written (if applicable:) two? one for oh, darling (kataang, atla) and some dream sex and religious trauma content for my petals are bruised (tara x darcy, heartstopper.) You can tell I'm funky and ace because I have an easier time writing about hypothetical sex or desire or messy emotions than actual sex.

new things I tried: OOOOH this one will be fun!

Finally actually wrote a multi-chap fic that I (mostly) FINISHED before I published, for i'm cold-blooded, love (heartstopper fic), which got published in 2024.

Can you tell I am very obsessed with writing about religious trauma? I worked a lot on my stories and wrote a lot about sanctity and blood and messy feelings. That's the major influence of i'm cold-blooded, love; my stomach churns (zukka, atla); in reverence (kataang, atla); it's all an epiphany (heartstopper); father, carry me (heartstopper); dance like nobody's watching (miss fisher's murder mysteries); and the heartstopper jolene AU. god is the worst gift that truly keeps on giving. he's a goddamn three-headed hydra.

Wrote a lot more Heartstopper 1000-word prompt fics!

Had fun writing about Graham & Karen from Daisy Jones. They're the cutest. I honestly should/could write more about them.

Attempting to disconnect my writing motivation from the satisfaction of getting comments and hits on ao3. is it working yet???

fic I spent the most time on: my spirit always drifts back to yours, the kataang kyoshi warrior AU that I hope will be finished. Sometime. When my hands and my brain are cooperating. I promise this fic matters a lot to me, I love it a lot, and I need to insert so much tenderness and smut in the future chapters. SOMETIME. SOMEDAY!

fic I spent the least time on: in the velvet water, aka the heartstopper AU where they meet at a swimming pool. Was really busy and happy that night so I just published without a second glance.

favorite thing i wrote: probably my petals are bruised, the tarcy jolene AU / lonely housewife AU, because I love writing about suburban malaise and religious trauma and sapphics so, so much. Can you tell that I am projecting? Loneliness in the suburbs sucks. Writing makes it better.

favorite thing I read: lavender fields by scienceisrealyo (heartstopper); @kaalee's Charlie Spring is Still Not Over Nick Nelson, which I was lucky enough to beta; all of the amazing kataang fics that came out this year for kataang week and for the smut weekend event; everything ever written about love (RWRB) by greenandmoss.

writing goals for 2024:

FINISH MY OPEN WIPS ON AO3. I like it when things are completed.

Don't publish a multichapter fic unless I know I can finish it on a regular schedule. I hate leaving loose threads all over the place.

Try to care less about the numbers and the validation. Writing is about joy, not about the size of the audience. but also it feels so nice to get validation and the circle of life cannot close unless creators get feedback on their work....

Be nicer to myself.

Write more???? mayhaps?

tagging: @kaalee @tinyarmedtrex @firenati0n @nostradamus0 @beachy--head @mothfluff and anyone else who wants to do this challenge! No pressure, really, to the people I've tagged. Do it if you want to.

[nailamoonsi]

The Main 6 of Blue Horizon's character profiles on the main comic site.

Since Tumblr allows for it, I'll transcript from the main comic site Antonio Chandrani-Rivera and Alejandro Caldera-Altaha's character profiles as well as the newest character profiles (Layla Chandrani, Alia Atif-Akinyemi, Khaleel Atif-Akinyemi, and Leo Abara).

They all make up the "Main 6" of Blue Horizon. You can just click the link above to see it on the main comic site instead. I would also like to note here that I'm utilizing their oldest character arts.

Antonio Chandrani-Rivera: The true eldest of triplet brothers, Antonio has long been regarded as "infamous" by the world population. Like his twins, several cousins, and Alejandro Altaha, at 15 he joins the Protector's class with the goal of becoming the Protector of Worlds... They say he's secretly planning on bringing Alejandro Altaha down. How far will he go for the sake of his goals? Among Antonio's friends he's known as straightforward, brash and a little too frustrating. Unlike his identical twin Fernando he easily loses his cheeriness, having a tendency toward broodiness. This is something his taciturn fraternal twin Raj is very inclined to too, though Raj is much quieter as a person. Antonio is particularly known to flex his beauty and boast about his accomplishments. [English-style] pronouns: Antonio doesn't understand. Sexuality: Gay Special item: A broken spring green plastic ring with a half-torn green cloth flower. Likes: Libraries; history; astronomy; complicated puzzles; flashy rings; being around confident and calm guys; having female friends. Dislikes: He won't disclose these.

Alejandro [Caldera-]Altaha: A confident individual who rarely falters on whatever path he's bent on taking, even if it meanders or causes him to become lost. Initially Alejandro isn't interested in the position of Protector. People easily relax around him, and many notice his underlying warmth. This is how he becomes close confidants with the likes of the cheery and reliable Fernando Chandrani-Rivera, the easygoing and amiable Diego, as well as the sharp and capable Alia [Atif-]Akinyemi. Despite Alejandro falling in with people easily, he winds up having trouble around Antonio Chandrani-Rivera. Yet everyone knows that Antonio Chandrani-Rivera is too often around him at 15 years age. Among all his friends, Alejandro is regarded as rather hotheaded and occasionally a little clueless. He's one of the most honorable of students in the Protector's class, though it doesn't mean he can't be deceptive. He likes to be around steadfast people. [English-style] pronouns: Grew up with "he/him." Sexuality: it is a mystery (not hetero) Special item: A carefully-kept photograph. Likes: Libraries; history; math; eating healthy; sweets; close confidants; living freely; being nosy. Dislikes: Saviors; familial problems; his brother; worrying about love; bitter foods.

Layla Chandrani: Layla Chandrani is most well-known among the all-female and nonbinary-adjacent Queen's Guard as a thunderous individual, though their powers extend far beyond that of lightning and thunder. At 17 years age, they are the most powerful among the youngest generation of Chandrani progeny in the Protector's network and have little trouble showing it. Despite being regarded as a little too easygoing and something of a cad among sapphics their age, they strangely avoid dating. Layla is known to seek out Alia Atif-Akinyemi, the most powerful young woman in the Queen's Guard, though whether they are truly friends is a puzzle amid many people's speculation. In the end, they call another young woman, the one very well-favored as the future Protector of Worlds—if she weren't interested in another position altogether—the one and only Khalida Ahmad, their 'best friend.' [English-style] pronouns: Uses "she/her" growing up. Adds "they/them" when older. Sexuality: Lesbian Special item: A pale diamen-steel axe-ish thing they can fly around on. It has spring green designs like leaves on it. Likes: Downtime; befriending girls; avoiding girls; configuring the future; testing their capabilities. Dislikes: Keya; their datelessness; people who don't aim higher; familial trouble; Antonio running towards trouble.

Alia [Atif-]Akinyemi: Alia Atif-Akinyemi is the most powerful young woman to be a part of the all-female and nonbinary-adjacent Queen's Guard. Her mother is famous, and she and her siblings are seen as individuals who will ascertain that the Atif name is respected across the planet Imion. At 17, she is the up-and-coming powerhouse of the Atif-Akinyemi clan with the strength of the stars that reflect within her seas. What most note about her from the get-go is her coolness, though she is more extroverted than her younger brother Khaleel Atif-Akinyemi. She can be rather bold and to-the-point, which leads her down paths many have to chase after. Khaleel often wants to make sure his sister is doing alright, and tails her for that reason. She seems surprisingly closed-off from Layla Chandrani despite being seen around her often, though a majority of students know that she finds Layla Chandrani very capable. She regards Khalida Ahmad as her closest. [English-style] pronouns: She/her. Sexuality: it is unknown (not hetero) Special item: A book she's had for a while. It's unopenable. Likes: Being Khalida's Second; libraries; ascertaining the future; understanding her capabilities; her trio of siblings. Dislikes: Layla running after trouble; someone far apart; otherworldly shenanigans; an old friend; prophecies.

Khaleel Atif-Akinyemi: Khaleel Atif-Akinyemi is more quiet and—at 16—more unassuming than his older sister Alia Atif. While his elder sisters are associated heavily with their mother and seen as people who will attempt to uphold their mother's reputation, Khaleel is more of a daddy's boy. Despite his relationship with his father causing him a great deal of consternation and leaving him with internal conflict. Khaleel was childhood friends with Leo. He attempts to stay low-key, and yet more than a few have guessed that he is in love with him. Their current relationship is more at odds, though the Protector's network assumes they are close friends again due to the outward warmth they have around each other. It's the strangest thing. He's fond of Antonio Chandrani-Rivera, and considers Alejandro Altaha his friend. [English-style] pronouns: He/him. Sexuality: Gay Special item: A letter with a promise. The letter seems to have been crafted by a child with gray unknowable squiggle text, and there's a rainbowy word on it. There's two little brown-skinned children with black hair at the bottom drawn with happy anime eyes. Likes: Upcoming. Dislikes: Upcoming.

Leo Abara: Leo Abara is known as quite friendly, and yet many gauge it, his sharpness. Raj assesses the 16-year-old Leo to be an up-and-coming leader. He's rather calm and gets along with people well. Not only do people gather at his side easily, he's known to be quite the flirt, alike to Layla Chandrani but toward a wider range of genders. Antonio and Alejandro have small crushes on him; Leo mostly avoids flirting with them. While he's among the most powerful in the Protector's class, it's been observed, how he's quite careful and avoids being over-flashy. To an extent, at least. His relationship with Khaleel is quite curious. Alia regards him as an old friend, though in the end, both know about the trouble between the Atif-Akinyemi and the Abara families. [English-style] pronouns: He/him. Sexuality: Bisexual Special item: A possibly ancient map with light obscuring it, as well as some sort of magical ward shown via rainbowing glitter that obscures the rest of it. Likes: Upcoming. Dislikes: Upcoming.

Khaleel's letter: A letter with a promise. The letter seems to have been crafted by a child with gray unknowable squiggle text, and there's a rainbow-y word on it. There's two little brown-skinned children with black hair at the bottom drawn with happy anime eyes.

[meltotheany]

Top Ten Tuesday was created by The Broke and the Bookish in June of 2010 and was moved to That Artsy Reader Girl in January of 2018! hello friends! i hope you’re all doing well, and having good days leading up to summer if we are in the same hemisphere! i actually did the top ten tuesday for 10 books on my spring tbr this year, too! and it was really fun to make, even if i only read five out of the ten, or 50%, of that tbr as of writing up this summer tbr! but i am so excited to hopefully read all of these, and i am always thankful i get to share them with you! 😊 🌞 ARCS TO READ ☆ The Dead Cat Tail Assassins by P. Djèlí Clark – august 6th ⤷ this was also on my spring tbr, but i kept pushing it back because the publication date got pushed back to august! but again –  necromancers, assassins, and a vow our mc isn’t supposed to remember, but does. i just know i am going to love this one! ☆ The Crimson Crown by Heather Walter – august 27th ⤷ sapphic snow white for my birthday? wow, what a gift truly. the malice duology was everything to me, and both books were favorites the years they were published! i truly cannot wait for this one and i am so very thankful that i was able to get an arc! ☆ Buried Deep and Other Stories by Naomi Novik – september 17th ⤷ naomi novik is such a hit or miss author for me, but i always love her writing and settings! i am really hoping that this short story collection ends up being not only a hit, but a love! 🌊 SUMMER RELEASES ☆ Saints of Storm and Sorrow by Gabriella Buba – june 25th ⤷ queer and filipino and filled with magic! and discussions on colonization and taking back and reclaiming what is yours. this is going to be everything and i am beyond words excited to finally be able to read this! ☆ A Sorceress Comes to Call by T. Kingfisher – august 6th ⤷ not only a fantasy t kingfisher, but a 300+ page novel that is a dark reimagining of the goose girl by t kingfisher? oh, please sign me up immediately. this is a need. ☆ Mistress of Lies by K.M. Enright – august 13th ⤷ 2024 is really the year of queer filo debuts and i am living for it. also the cover of this one is so beautiful and so haunting. ☆ An Academy for Liars by Alexis Henderson – september 12th ⤷ i really enjoyed the year of the witching many years ago, and alexis’ writing is so gorgeous. i cannot wait to read their adult gothic dark academia as soon as i can get my little gremlin hands on it! 🏖️ BACKLIST BOOKS ☆ Not in Love by Ali Hazelwood ⤷ i’ve really enjoyed everything i’ve read by ali in the past, so i know there is a really good chance that i will also have a good time with her newest release! ☆ Private Rites by Julia Armfield ⤷ last year, i fell in love with our wives under the sea by this author and i actually think that this has a really good shot at being one of my favorite books of 2024! i truly can’t wait to get to this one! ☆ An Education in Malice by S.T. Gibson ⤷ not only was this 2024 release on my spring tbr, but it is also on my yearly tbr, and yet i am still not reading it for some reason! i feel like so many people, who have similar reading tastes as me, really didn’t enjoy this one and now i am being so apprehensive to pick it up! but i really hope that i get the urge this summer! i cannot believe we are almost to summer, and almost half way through 2024! but it always it such a fun time in the book community, with tbrs, midyear freak outs, and all the content that creators like to put out during this time! but okay, friends! let me know if you have read or plan to read any of these books! and i am sending you all so much love, always! happy reading! 💛 goodreads | instagram | youtube | kofi | spotify | amazon | wishlist

[vizthedatum]

Being publicly closeted, poly, masking autism, and in love with my queer, poly, (undiagnosed) narcissistic ex-spouse.

Before I met my ex-spouse, I was dating a lot of poly people because I desperately wanted to also be publicly out as poly... and to learn how to do it more ethically. I already was doing it, between committed monogamous relationships... and in monogamous relationships as well (labeling and negotiating them as "open relationships" even though my partners subjected me to the "one-penis-policy" WHICH I HATE AND IT IS UNETHICAL IMO).

It was kind of a disaster with my ex-spouse. I thought we could work through it. Initially, we were doing fine. It was a relief to talk to them about it throughout our whole relationship - from the very beginning. I didn't know about "The Ethical Slut" or anything like that before I met them. They had experience, and I trusted them. They were supportive of my crushes, and I remember one time at a con, they really encouraged me to ask someone out (I didn't because I went into sapphic panic and just was awkward... omg I went to her booth/station so many times; it was too gay and too unreasonable lmao)... and my ex-spouse thought it was cute and I thought they were being supportive.

I couldn't deny many parts of myself after I graduated with my PhD. Like my gender-fluidity/non-binary identity... I really needed TO EXPLORE my gender, and it's been really eye-opening and relieving to accept how much I want to transition. Being more open about my gender exploration and identity has helped my dysphoria and mental health A LOT A LOT A LOT. I'm so much more comfortable with my breasts (to the point of liking them beyond aesthetics) because I know that I will use them breastfeeding and then either chop them off or get a massive reduction afterward... I'm so excited about top surgery. But I'm also happier with them now, in general. I've always loved lingerie and the fashion aspect of them - and I do have physical sensations, so I don't mind having them incorporated into intimate sexual sessions.

But like... in the midst of my relationship breaking down with my ex-spouse, I remember declaring in early spring of 2022... that I'm going to practice polyamory. There were several reasons. I wanted to explore my situation and feelings with my (now ex-partner) friend who had feelings for... and I did, and I'm glad I did even though we broke up. I had a massive MASSIVE crush on my ex-gf (and I want to date her again, and I'm still in love with her). I'm also heavily into kink, and I wanted to go back into that world. But it wasn't just about having sexual relationships - it was actually being more true about my innate approach to relationships (I identify as a relationship anarchist). And well... I also had other relationship, sexual, sensual, and life needs/wants/desires that weren't being met in my relationship with my ex-spouse. It didn't affect my love for them, but I wanted to be more free.

Being more open with gender and my innate desire to be openly polyamorous... along with having more stringent boundaries with my family... HELPED ME BECOME HEALTHIER.

My real glow-up started when I started accepting and living my life the way I wanted to. My physical health (even though it's pretty bad sometimes) improved dramatically.

And I truly wanted my ex-spouse in my life. That's why I wanted to get married. But I was severely gaslighting myself about how they treated me... and all the help they needed but weren't getting.

I begged them to get help. I begged them to help me more. I begged them to have the permission to have other people help us. I begged them to listen to my epidemiological expertise on our covid-risk and acknowledge how much mental health harm we did to ourselves by isolating so hard.

I know I say this a lot, but I would have stayed if they had sought mental health help, stopped emotionally abusing and controlling me, stopped playing mind games with me, respected my physical touch boundaries, been more open with their family about how much help we needed due to both of our disabilities, took me seriously about our mouse problem, went to couples therapy with me, ...

I would have stayed. I thought that love was about patience and being supportive.... so I did. And then I started standing up for myself.

I didn't lie to them. I didn't cheat (in my honest opinion). I did fall in love with people (before and after being publicly poly!). I tried to compromise and work for our relationship. I tried so hard. I came up with possible solutions while they just wanted me to do whatever they said without any negotiation. They imprisoned me. They trapped me. They yelled at me constantly. They ridiculed me. They made me doubt my own mind. While being disabled and needing support. While supporting them. I wanted to support everything for them. I even supported us (even though they also somewhat financially helped) financially after they left their job to find a better one... during the pandemic! I drove, I cleaned, I tried to organize, I paid bills, I looked out for their health when they barely cared about their health let alone their hygiene, etc. I loved them so much.

And then, after unmasking who they truly were, they threw me away.

[dadsbongos]

like batman!

14.8 K words

warnings - stupid teenage boys trying to ruin your life, not super beta read

summary - You and Robin get Kill Bill teenager-style revenge on Jason Carver and his friends after they spread a nasty rumor about you. Sapphic ways ensue (Do Revenge but a little gay).

Pressed and pleated bubblegum skirt that hangs below a baby pink sweater - you opposite the woman of sunshine and fake freckles, your best friend since the first day of sophomore year, Claire Green. She is doused in spring green hues and smells of fresh daisies. Her plush lips glossed and kiss-inspiring, cookie brown natural coils that make all the girls with perms leprechaun in jealousy. She may not be the queen, per se, of high school, but she seems to effortlessly hold down that number two spot.

People usually stare when you two pass, either lust or hatred or admiration, but now it feels different. You’re getting pointed at and giggled over. You as in you - specifically.

“Hey, Claire,” she hums, half listening and half asleep, “Am I crazy? I think everyone’s laughing… at me.”

She yawns and glares when two of your fellow debate team members jab fingers your way, “You’re totally sane. So far.”

The air feels thin when you and Claire wind up at your locker, like your throat is split seconds from completely muscling shut. Cheerleaders and mathletes alike let their eyes stray and suddenly you feel silly.

“Am I overdressed?” you open your locker door and go to work clearing out what remains of your lip glosses and polaroids and trinkets. You can hear the blood pumping in your ears, face boiling hot and hands brushing over the Barbie plains of your outfit, “‘Cuz I totally don’t have anything else to change into - my gym uniform isn’t even clean right now!”

“We were supposed to take those home last week,” Clair raises a brow at you, boredly twisting a dark curl around her finger.

“I forgot,” you pout, throwing your bag into your locker and slamming the door shut, “Seriously, though, this is not how I need junior year ending.”

“You look fine,” Claire shrugs, eyes scrawling over you quickly, “Really, I doubt anything is actually different. Maybe you’re just sobering up from all that princess worship.”

“I am not worshiped,” you lean against the cold metal and fold your arms across your chest, “Why are they staring at me? I hate this.”

Claire tilts her head and frowns, you hate how you can’t tell if she’s being genuine or not, “Alright. Fine,” she grabs you by the elbow with her cherry red polished nails, “Let’s go find Chrissy and hide in the bathroom. Will that make you feel better?”

“Much,” you truly detest the stares.

Freshmen to seniors, men to women, band geeks to varsity jocks, you feel deathbed ill. Like you’re raw meat on the side of the road and they’re maggots.

Before Claire gets so much as an opportunity to run with you, the honey-haired queen bee herself finds you. She is easily the only girl in school who could get away with denim overalls over a white shirt.

Chrissy’s brows are tightly knit, she bats her caked lashes and asks, “Is it true?”

Your expression morphs to match hers, “Is what true?”

She laughs like you’re stupid, “Did you blow Andy in the Enzo’s bathroom last night?”

Claire rears back, hand dropping, like you’re roadkill. Your head etch-a-sketches its way into blank simplicity - for a second there’s ringing silence. Bile climbs up your throat and nestles there in a lump you can’t swallow down. The shine of Chrissy’s pearl earrings catch your stare and it’s so tempting to stay there.

Pretend you didn’t hear her.

Pretend you don’t know her.

Pretend you didn’t go out with Andy last night.

“No way, why would I do that?” your lip wobbles with telltales of nausea and Claire lays a hand to your back, a tender squeeze to your shoulder, “That bathroom is, like, ruled by feces.”

“Well,” Chrissy throws her hands up, “that’s what Andy’s saying happened.”

Shock subsides long enough for brutal rage to crack your prim shell, “Where is he?”

You and Andy weren’t steadies - you thought that could’ve been in the cards eventually, foolishly - last night was your first date and you assumed he was a nice guy. Because he was your friend and he never gave you a reason to think otherwise.

God, what an idiot you’ve proven to be.

“Andy!” he jumps from the shriek of your voice, smugness overtakes him as Chrissy and Claire rush to catch up with your thunderous steps, “What the fuck?”

“Aw, c’mon,” Jason steps forward as he usually does when one of his friends gets cornered, “Mad he spilled your little secret?”

“Excuse you?”

“We all knew,” Jason nudges your arm, “you don’t exactly keep your legs shut, honey bunny.”

You wrench back and Chrissy moves from your side of the courtyard to Andy’s, “But it’s not fucking true! You should all know that!”

“Hey, that’s not how we should speak,” Andy goes to cup your cheek but you shove him back, “Not very ladylike, baby.”

“Do not call me ‘baby’, just set the record straight,” from the corner of your eye, you see Claire shift from behind you to beside Chrissy, “Nothing happened after dinner last night!”

“Nothing?” Andy leans closer, other students pause and circle. It sickens you more than when you had the actual flu over winter break.

You can’t bear the way people look at you, like you’re wicked. A temptress in Molly Ringwald’s clothing. Slamming a palm into Andy’s chest so hard he stumbles, you feel blood broiling in your face as you shout, “Nothing!”

“Not even dessert?”

You saw the musical Chicago with Claire and Chrissy over summer - then again with your mother, and again with Lucas (who sang its criticism and insisted it would be terrible before he even saw it). From that very first viewing, your favorite character was Velma Kelly, who claimed to not even know her husband and sister were dead until she was washing the blood off her hands.

And, similarly, you honestly don’t remember kicking Andy Johnson in the balls so hard he red-faced, neck-veined bawled on the pavement. You happen to wind up in counselor Kelley’s pink-bricked office by chance.

“That story is not going to pass, young lady,” Kelley folds her hands across the laminate surface of her desk, a pointed stare poisoning you from beneath her bangs.

“Well, what am I supposed to say, Ms. Kelley?” your eyes burn with tears and mascara waterfalls have freshly dried against your cheeks, “Obviously, I kicked his kid cauldrons but he totally deserved it! He spread an awful rumor about me, he doesn’t deserve the other cheek!”

Kelley pushes off her desk and settles deep into her wheeled office chair, one hand clutching either armrest, “I really thought you were it. Honestly. Captain of the debate team, excellent GPA, loved by the entire school,” she presses her apple tinted lips thinly, “I’m very disappointed in you.”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“Ignore it,” you huff and she drives the knife deeper, “It’s the last day of school, nobody would have remembered it past summer.”

“So what? This is all my fault?”

Kelley shrugs and you want to puke all over her black flats and sea phthalo rug, “I’m sorry, but what do you want me to say?”

Your lips pull impossibly down and a tightness curls in your lungs. Darkness looms, and there’s a terrible sense of evil that drips like tar off the rungs of your ribs. In a broad picture, this is far from the overbearing death sentence you feel brewing, but you can’t look at it from that lens. It’s too fresh, like if someone wedged their thumb into a gunshot wound.

At least Velma got to kill the people that screwed her over.

“You’re being put on a probation period for next year,” she tilts her head, “if you return,” another round of mascara leakage follows her words, “If you return next year, you will not only be stripped of your title as captain of the debate team - you won’t even be on the team. And you’re going to be serving five weeks of Saturday detention,” Kelley stands and moves to stand in front of her desk, both hands supporting her against the surface, “I know you’re a good kid, but I think you should try conducting yourself with a little more… respect.”

Your jaw hangs loose, “Ms. Kelley- “

She puts up a finger and walks around you to the door, shouldering it open and jerking her head towards the hall, “You’ll also be sent home early. Clear out your locker and say goodbye.”

You jelly-leg your way out of Ms. Kelley’s office, desperately clinging to the walls and lockers as you make your way through the winding corridors. Dry heaving, you barely manage to muscle out of the building without puking.

“Hey, Pretty in Pink! You okay?”

It’s no surprise that super senior Munson is still lingering around the grounds, he’s smoking against the hood of his tin can van. Eddie is a perfectly fine person when you’re not intimidated by the Satanic mask and robes he parades himself in. Sure, he reeks of weed and doesn’t brush his hair, but he isn’t a bad person.

“That’s a movie title, not a person, asshole!”

But you’re in no particular mood.

He sits up and off the van hood, meandering over as you hobble past the student parking lot, “You look like you died.”

“Maybe I did, what’s it matter to you?”

He quiets, slowly walking beside you, “You, uh, wouldn’t happen to need a ride home, would you?”

Walking home from Hawkins High would be a stab in the gut while you’re down. And it isn’t like your social standing could possibly fall further on its ass.

That jabs the thumb in your gunshot wound.

You sniffle and feel the tears blot your waterline, Eddie stutters back - his hands fly up in defense as you hiccup a sob. Throat squeezing shut and shoulders scrunching to your chest like the most agonized accordion. You feel childish - highlighted in pink and runny makeup - wailing in front of Eddie Munson.

How could he?

A scream is bubbling beneath the surface and Eddie so kindly guides you to his van, a hand hovering over your shoulder, “Okay, I’ll just assume you’re having a shit day and not full of Munsonphobia.”

A face wash and steaming shower later, you’re sitting in front of the boob tube with America’s darling Jeopardy. Your mother sleeps fitfully upstairs while your father is still bored in his cubicle prison. That terrible something brewing inside you surfaces from your stomach acid when the phone chimes and rattles. You fling a hand out to the side table and raise it, “Hello?”

“Hey!” Claire. You can imagine her twirling the cord around her finger and that brings a sliver of hope. The hope is swallowed by that previous brew, “So.”

“Uh oh,” you curl into the corner of the couch, legs tugging up to your chest and a pillow brought to press your side, “‘So’ isn’t good, what’s ‘so’ mean?”

You hear her suck in a sharp breath, “So, me and Chrissy have been thinking, and we’ve decided that maybe we all, you know, take this summer to maybe process what happened today.”

A bizarre thing for your best friend to say, no?

“What is there to process?” your legs swing down, you lean forward, almost falling nose-first into the carpeted floor, “Claire, you know he’s lying!”

“Yeah, but you assaulted him in the middle of the quad! Girl, you have to know how insane that was,” you’ve been called that a lot.

By the people who know you beneath the sugar and snap peas, at least. But Claire Green is just as bad, if not worse. She once didn’t talk to you for three months because you accidentally spilled beer on her favorite dress - it was miserable.

“You’re kidding!”

She wasn’t.

“Good luck,” you’ve heard her speak sincerely before, and this was not one of those times, “Honestly. I’ll call, okay?”

You squeeze the pillow at your side, so tight that you’re almost worried the stitching will pop between your fingers. Your jaw screws tight, clenching, “Okay.”

The scream crawls up from your throat and splatters against the throw pillow you’re clutching.

Honestly, you’ll take being fired from the Hawkins AMC to save them money if it just meant that you’d stop seeing all the Edvard Munch scream faces of the peers that forsake you. Though, maybe the Starcourt mall isn’t the perfect place to apply if you’re seeking refuge from seeing those peers every day.

“So, uh, what experience do you have?” Robin never once claimed to have the best social skills, but when the fallen princess of your high school stumbles in asking for a job - it just might make you feel a little worse, “Like, with… this?”

You drum your rose pink nails against your knee, “With ice cream parlors specifically? None, but I’ve been doing customer service since I was sixteen.”

Not super long ago, but Robin isn’t going to drill you on when exactly that was.

Robin has always found you charming, since those early days on the playground in Hawkins Elementary to, well, now. With nectarine smiles and cozy aura, you always entranced her whenever you two spoke. Which was never often after elementary school, but still it counts.

“Okay, well,” Robin slides your resume over the backroom table, carefully dodging a mysterious stain that she’s certain is from Steve, “shockingly, we don’t have a ton of people applying so I’ll just,” she gestures wildly, “You’re hired.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she cards her fingers together awkwardly, “It’s also the last weeks of summer, so not a lot of people are looking for work anyway,” she tilts her head suddenly, “Technically I’m not supposed to just tell you you’re hired, so please don’t mention anything to,” she points at the cherry door to the floor room, “him.”

“Of course,” you stand as she does, smoothing out your skirt with a shaky exhale, “I’m honestly just glad you considered me when you saw that it was, well, me that applied.”

“Oh,” Robin blanks, brows raising sharply, “Oh my God, I - you know - never believed that rumor.”

“Sure,” you fold your arms and she feels sick at the thought of making you uncomfortable, “It’s okay, Robin,” she’s shocked you remember her name, “Everybody believed that shit.”

One bonus to come from this entire nightmare is that you now don’t live in fear of swearing when Jason can’t barrage you with what ladylike behavior should be.

“No, really,” Robin gnaws her bottom lip, eyes threading to the clock above your head, “I, too, have a vendetta against those assholes. So, I sort of figured they were lying.”

“What’d they do to you?” you take precious care in not sounding as though whatever they did to her isn’t as bad as what they did to you.

Robin likes that. She’s always liked that about you. Your transparency.

“They bullied me,” she sucks in a breath through clenched teeth, eyes widening, “Like, a lot.”

“Are you serious?” you step forward, arms dropping boneless at your sides, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well I doubt it’s something they went bragging about to their local- “ she stops herself.

“Local what?”

Robin cringes, picking at her nail beds and looking down, “Airhead. Sorry.”

“It’s better than slut,” you lean against the cold marble counter, “Chrissy, too?”

“Technically no, but she never did anything to stop it either,” Robin joins your side, almost brushing arms.

“I wish we could just…” you hold up your hands in a choking motion, fingers flexing tight, “fuck up their lives, you know?”

“Why can’t we?” she turns, but you stare straight ahead.

“What if we get caught?”

Robin moves a little closer, leaning forward and tilting so you two are forced to lock eyes. She grins, “Just don’t be obvious. If we work together, people won’t see it coming. Nobody from school comes here ‘cuz Steve’s shattered ego scares ‘em off, they don’t know we know each other.”

“I dunno…”

Shrugging, Robin stumbles forward and grabs an ‘AHOY’ sailor hat, tossing it your way with all the plastic candor of someone experienced in thankless customer service.

“Then welcome to Scoops Ahoy! you are now a private in our navy,” she grabs a spare uniform and presses it into your chest, “And captain of scrubbing the poop deck. Newbie policy.”

“How long does that last?” you shudder at the thought.

“Two months,” she holds up a finger before you can groan and huff in cheap protest, “Or until Steve forgets - which is usually three weeks.”

“Awesome.”

Robin nods and grabs the silver handle to the door at your side, “Awesome.”

White, rose-patterned dress with lacing at the hems - you walk up to school alone for the first time since ever. Taking the bus to school was a new experience, too - usually, you would ride with Claire, but she failed miserably in her plan of calling over summer. Now, you find yourself searching for her.

There were years wasted that you felt needed repentance for. That or you needed her at your side again, and you refuse to accept that reality.

People’s heads twitch your way as you pass and it sends you right back to that May, what was months ago now feels like minutes prior. Your chest squeezes all over again - how cliche. You will it to stop but then you spot something even worse than a couple of underclassmen leering.

Claire linking hands with Andy, looking at him with bambi eyes as though he’s an angel among the clouds. She wears a blue sundress under a navy sweater. Chrissy stands beside her with Jason, swamped in a candy red dress with her own crimson sweater. You earnestly try not to stare, but coming back to school means business as usual. And business as usual means Jason Carver can't keep his fucking mouth shut.

“Hey!” he sings your name and dread curdles inside the bowl of your gut, “C’mere!”

You tense, both hands strangling one of your bag straps.

“Come on, you,” he waves a hand towards the group, laughing.

Chrissy and Claire glare at him before giving you wide-eyed stares. Patrick shuffles and glances on occasion. Andy doesn’t even look at you.

You don’t know which is the worst.

But Jason won’t shut up, so you make your way into the group that chumbaited you for the sharks, desperately trying not to let your knees buckle.

“Hey there, pretty girl,” Jason tilts his head, “Meant to call.”

“Of course,” you keep your head angled to the side, and for a moment you see Eddie Munson making his third trip into Hawkins High. He sees you, too.

And you’re brought back to that toddler tantrum of junior year’s last day.

“You understand, right?” he loops an arm around Chrissy and Andy matches, even pressing a kiss to the side of Claire’s head, “You’re not mad at my Chris or anything, right?”

Students gather and cling in a tight circle around you and your former friends. You feel hot-faced and watery-eyed all over again, “Jason, please- “

“Well, we just wanna be sure there’s no, you know, bad blood.”

Nobody runs to defend you. God, were these really the people you thought you’d be with forever?

“You did have a whole summer to cool off, after all,” Jason leans forward, smiling as if he’s untouchable. And as far as he and his leeches are concerned, they are untouchable. If you’re caught trying to poke the bear, its guidance counselor mother will rip your head off, “You wouldn’t hold a grudge like that for so long, would you?”

The oozy hellfire of people’s stares schlucks you into a corner. The only corner safe of Jason’s lava dump.

You grit your teeth and puppeteer your lips into something acceptable as a smile, “Of course, not.”

“Of course, not,” he fakes a punch to your shoulder, your breathing heavies and you know that as soon as he finally releases you, you’re going to find a broom closet to scream and cry in. His voice drops into a whisper and Andy’s impish lips curl, “Good girl. Was that so hard?”

How could they?

How could they?

No.

How dare they?

You’re dabbing black tears away before they can drift or smear, you march straight to the band’s practice room - straight to the sound of wind instruments blaring their off-key tune. Your hand slams against the chipped blue paint of the practice door.

Brass handle crashes through the doorstop and you watch Robin jump five feet from her chair, big ocean eyes blown wide at your frame in the doorway.

“Alright,” you sniffle and Robin stands, careful yet shaky hands coming to your arms. You give up the fight of saving your makeup and wipe away the budding tears, “Let’s do it,” she quirks a brow at you, “Let’s do revenge.”

Robin twists, looking around the still, cautious faces of her bandmates before dragging you into the costume closet they share with the theater department.

“What happened?” her mouth opens and closes, not unlike a fish, as she drums up some idea of how to comfort your tattered ego.

“Fucking Jason,” you choke on the lump that never quite faded since May, “He humiliated me,” you roll your eyes and Robin carefully brushes a thumb under your leaky eyes, “What else is new?”

“Do you wanna hug?” she steps back, arms flinging wide at her sides, “I know we aren’t, like, best friends or anything and we just sort of work together, but- “

“No, no, I need this,” you shake out your hands - deep breath in, deep breath out, “I want to be mad right now,” you grab Robin by the arms and pull her close, practically nose to nose, “We are gonna fuck those Madonna mule-fuckers up, Buckley.”

“Woah,” she laughs, a raspy, deep sound, “Chills.”

“Thank you,” releasing Robin, you nod curtly, “Now, with my intel and your unassuming status, we can really pull this off.”

“Who do we go after first?”

You fold your arms, eyes falling to the brown splotched carpet, “You ever play Kung Fu Master?” she shakes her head, bobbed hair shifting with her movements, “Well, as you fight - the opponents get harder.”

“Oh, like Destroyer?”

“Sure,” you swing your backpack around to hang off your chest, pulling out a notebook and flipping to a blank page. Robin watches you scribble, pressing her back to the wall and eyeing the names you plant, “The easiest to take down is Patrick McKinney. He doesn’t really stand out, and he isn’t the strongest guy in Jason’s circus. Generally smart.”

“Is there a but coming?”

“But,” you jab a finger at the notebook.

McKinney - ailurophobia. only showers when everyone else leaves. trusts Lucas

“I’ve babysat Lucas Sinclair since I was thirteen,” you move onto the next boss in your makeshift, live-action game, “he’s our man on the inside on this one.”

Robin almost gasps at the next name down your list, “Cunningham? As in- “

“Chrissy - yeah. She also isn’t very asshole-ish, or vengeful. Also not super strong, her bones are like a baby bird’s, so she honestly won’t be too hard. But we have to make sure there’s something we can hang over her head or else she’ll say something. If she says something,” you point your eraser’s end in Robin’s face, “it’s game over.”

Cunningham - deathly afraid of spiders, baby bird bones

“Who's next?”

You can’t help but to laugh at the twisted fates that led you here, “Claire Green. My former best friend. The biggest backstabber in school with the ability to hold a grudge longer than a life sentence. Not nearly as influential as Chrissy, but she’s incredibly smart. At that point, we need dirt on both Chrissy and Patrick because no matter how hard we try to cover our asses, she’ll know anything weird in her life is my fault.”

Green - hates going out in the rain, Goddamn does she hate getting dirty

“Then Jason?”

“Nope!” you chirp, looking at Robin with a grin that sparkles, “He’s last. Next, we have Andy. A pure monster. Nothing but a stupid, popular monster.”

“Like Dracula?”

You giggle and Robin leans closer into your side, “Like Dracula.”

Johnson - dad is the pastor, hated by Eddie with the fury of 1,000 suns

“Now Jason?”

“Now Jason,” you finish your hurried jots and press the notebook into Robin’s chest, “No known weaknesses other than the fact he’s an arrogant stain on the state of Indiana.”

“Great, so,” Robin tosses up a hand, “how exactly do we get the dirt on Patrick and Chrissy to keep their mouths shut?”

Your gaze drifts from the rosy freckles of her cheeks to a miniskirt and shoulder-padded overcoat. It reminds you of the women you see on the local Hawkins news channel.

Robin’s head turns, “Is it stained? What’s wrong?”

“Do you have a microcassette recorder?”

“No,” she wets her cherried bottom lip, “but I know someone who does.”

Steve Harrington - a casual enjoyer of all sorts of piracy.

Robin never suspected his consistency in low-level crime would pay off.

You look at her through your lashes and something in her chest stutters, “You wanna get some cats with me after school?”

“Clever way of begging for pussy.”

“Ew,” you put up a finger, “never again, Buckley. Never again.”

Under the promise - a solemn swear - of getting the delightfully purring bundles of fur in your arms a good home, Mrs. Burman allowed you and Robin to take five cats off her hands at the shelter. Mrs. Burman was kind when other adults slammed their doors in your face - she heard the rumors, by now everybody had. That didn’t cloud her judgment, though.

Patrick hates nothing more than showering in front of his fellow men - it feels exposing, like stage spotlights directly in the face kind of exposing. And what he hates next to that, is being wrong.

A locker door clinks shut and he clenches the eggshell towel tighter around his waist.

“Hello?”

Silence stills him.

A moment wades by. Another follows.

Patrick clears his way to the bench and hurries through his dressing routine, at least until he notices that his shirt has vanished.

He feels the thrumming of his skin and places an open palm on the cracked metal door to his locker. Something pushes back. Sharp and quick into his hand. Patrick’s knees hit the varnish bench and he stumbles, sliding down the lockers behind him until his ass hits the cruel linoleum. The metal door is batted open and between the slot peeks a furry, muddy white face. Terrifyingly sparkling blue eyes that linger.

A mew cracks and paws pitter out of his locker, gracefully bouncing onto the bench, and right to the edge of the wood. The kitten pops onto his chest and Patrick tilts his face, neck craning as far from his nemesis as possible.

You and Robin lock eyes behind the wall of metal cages. Two cats huddled under either of your arms. Crouching carefully to the scratched linoleum, you both set one of the kittens loose from your holds. They scamper along the checkered lines before nuzzling into the divots of Patrick’s ribs.

Getting Lucas to sneak you both into the boys' locker room after everyone else had left was easy - ice cream bribes for a week easy - but getting him to squeeze catnip into the body wash Patrick used was harder.

“Why’d you lie, Patrick?” Robin murmurs, he doesn’t recognize her voice because of course, he wouldn’t, “Why do you hurt, Patrick?”

You slough another cat onto the patched shine and grin when the man behind the bench whimpers.

Robin holds one cat between her arms, she eyes you wearily and you nod her along. Creeping around the corner of the lockers, Robin cards her fingers through the ginger hair of the cat in her embrace. You imagine she looks powerful.

Like the sun. Or the ocean.

He doesn’t even recognize her face.

Maybe you underexaggerated how much of an asshole Patrick McKinney could be.

But Robin decides that it takes too long to explain their history, so she pins this chance encounter elsewhere.

“Why would you lie?” she tilts her head and the ginger in her arms claws to be let down.

“I didn’t say anything!” Patrick’s eyes are screwed shut, face blighted away from the purring balls of fur on his chest, “I never said a word!”

Robin, as if she can sense your thoughts in her throat, says exactly what you think, “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” she kneels to his side and digs into the pockets of her sunshine yellow shorts, “You want help, Pat?”

He nods helplessly. Breath thick and brows glistening with sweat.

She laughs, honest to God, and presses the cold end of Steve’s microcassette recorder into his throat.

“Alright, sweetpea,” Robin pulls the recorder back and rubs her thumb into the bowl of the red record button, “I’ll get the cats outta here if you can look me in the eyes and admit that you knew that blow job was all a lie.”

“Why do you even care?” he snaps.

“I just hate to see a promising young woman’s life ruined. Now,” Robin holds the cat closer to his glaring face, clicking the recorder alive as he sucks in a breath.

“Andy Johnson was lying through his fucking teeth about the blow job and I knew it! All our friends knew it! Now, get these fucking cats off me, freak!”

Coming to a stand, Robin lays the ginger ripping at her sleeve onto Patrick’s chest as she ends the recording.

“Thanks for cooperating, McKinney!”

You two share a high-five that echoes in the hallway as you storm off.

Following the hitched success, you and Robin collect and split the kittens between Dustin and Eddie. For the low, low price of free - an unbelievable deal. And it’s from the Forest Hills trailer park that you drive Robin home in a candy red 1985 Audi 5000S. Suddenly, there’s a gasp and Robin’s hand slams into the dashboard - you glare and she mouths a spoonful of apologies.

“Just - oh my God - how’re we gonna get the literal queen of Hawkins High?”

You would roll your eyes if you weren’t focused on navigating towards the pink house with red shutters that homes Robin Buckley, “That is so easy.”

One excuse note and one hall pass - both doctored - later, you and Robin are skipping third period to sit, sweaty and deranged, on the metal skeleton of the stagelight crane. Freshmen quarter club rush in Hawkins takes the form of many club and extracurricular leaders selling themselves to the incoming students. Chrissy is next.

Your legs dangle from the open spots in the cage’s hollow, Robin warily eyes the rusted bucket sat between you both - tied to one of the crane’s rungs by thick rope.

“They’re trying to climb up, I’m not kidding - look,” your eyes stick like paste to where the new debate club president advertises himself to the crowd. Robin huffs and leans, continuing to peer inside your bucket, “I honestly can’t even believe I’m doing this. This is crazy. You’re crazy. I don’t- “

“Shut up, Buckley,” you snap a hand over your mouth as soon as the words leave. She looks like you just stabbed her - Brutus to Caesar cruelty, “I’m so sorry. Oh, Robin,” you lay a hand to her shoulder across the bucket, “I didn’t mean that. I’m just- “

“Agitated and irritated?” Robin suggests, rose petal lips tilting up, “Me too. It’s fine, just try to not do that again.”

“Of course,” you realize you’ve held her for too long and pull your hands into your lap, legs swinging, “You know, I was president of debate before… everything.”

“Yeah,” Robin leans her chin onto the rod that reeks of iron, “I think everyone knew,” she sighs through her nose, head quartering to look at you through her lashes, “You know what you didn’t know about me?”

“Of course, I don’t know if I don’t know.”

“Shush,” she bites her bottom lip just to hold her grin from growing too wide, “I was in theater. Freshman year. And first semester sophomore year.”

“No shit?” you chuckle, quiet and restrained, “Well. Something not a lot of people know is that I was in chess.”

“Are you serious?” her jaw drops, neck hanging over the banister, “No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way,” you look down, tempted to drop a boot straight onto the new debate president’s head, “I hate him.”

“You two know each other?”

“Not really.”

She giggles, and that makes the wait for Chrissy a little bit better.

Robin’s previous upset returns when Chrissy stands a little more to the left than what was planned. She curses, “dammit”, and digs into her navy shirt’s collar down into her bra. You watch with knitted brows as she pulls out a dime and hangs it above the queen bee’s skull.

Like a pin it dollops right into her scalp. You gasp and she shrugs.

“Ouch!” Chrissy cups the tender spore, stumbling over her shoes into the correct spot.

Before you get to laugh, Higgins begins to search upwards. Hurriedly, you yank your legs through the holes and Robin attempts to duck from his line of sight. Her knee knocks the bucket and nearly sends the tin of eight-legged spindles right onto you. Fumbling hands attempt to catch it, but it only slips. You roll onto your hip, dodging the spiders and latching onto the pail to fling it over the edge of the crane.

Since you’ve known Chrissy Cunningham, she has always made you take care of the little arachnids - big or small, deadly or friendly - they all petrified her to her very bones.

And now that she’s a big bad teenager, she takes initiative to sling a scream and run rather than freezing up.

Robin ducks low as she waddles down the side of the crane, you following after. Higgins studies the metalwork as it rattles and you barely manage to unhook your skirt from a stray spoke before he comes around to the ladder. Your peachy skirt tore near the thigh and Robin hates how she stares, but she can’t bring herself to look away.

Robin takes you by the hand, shaky and sweaty, but you don’t say a word because your palms are just the same. You two slam to a squeaky stop in front of the home ec. room - giggling, you share a look. A look turns into a stare.

“We almost got caught because of your ass!” Robin snickers, fingers trailing to the soft material of your skirt.

“You got down fast enough, racer,” you nudge her arm with yours, “Good job, by the way, it’s as impressive as it is concerning that you can hop ladders.”

“And good job on gathering those spiders,” she leans against the pale popcorn wall and tilts her head to meet her shoulder, “How’d you get them anyway?”

“Munson said he owed me a favor for the cats,” you join her side at the wall. Arm to arm. She feels warm.

Footsteps call your name.

Robin pauses. You’ve been frozen since you caught the first glance of who had walked in.

Chrissy Cunningham stands in the middle of the abandoned hallway, fists balled beneath the hanging material of her varsity jacket. Her chest rises and falls like she’s ran the width of Indiana. She ignores Robin entirely.

“Did you have anything to do with it?”

You should’ve known better than to stop here - there was a bathroom at the end of the hall.

Now she looks at Robin. She recognizes her, unlike Patrick.

“Did you?”

You step up, Robin pushed behind you. You set your face stern and hold Chrissy’s attention, “I poured them.”

You’ve never seen Chrissy so mad. Not once.

But now, she’s earnestly pissed, “Why?!”

“You ruined my fucking life, Christine.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Robin watches you two trade blows like you’re the best of tennis players.

Chrissy continues, her fist flying to her chest, “It isn’t my fault that you got fucked over!”

You feel like you’ve been shot straight through the heart, “It’s all your fault, Chris. You could’ve said something! You have more power here than anybody, you should’ve said something - we were friends!” tears cool the heated skin of your face as they drip, “Maybe if you could get out from under your douchenozzle boyfriend’s thumb, you’d see what a colossal bitch you’ve been.”

With a shriek, Chrissy darts forward and wraps her bird-boned arms around your waist. Your back hits the floor with a thud and you’re winded - Robin tries prying the queen off of you but Chrissy flings an elbow back and it crunches Robin’s nose. Your nose copies when she curls a fist and punches you - blood crawls down your throat and leaks onto your tongue.

Non-vengeful may have been the wrong label then.

You wring her neck in your hands and push against the fill of her throat, stiff-arming until she heaves and pulls away. Before she can gather herself, you get on top and push an arm into her chest to hold her down. Robin kneels at your side reflexively and presses the recorder to Chrissy’s lips.

“Admit it!” you crush harder into her chest when she’s silent, “Admit it, Christine!”

“It doesn’t matter,” she spits, kicking her legs under you, “Nothing will change - you’ll still be fucked because nobody cared that much anyway!”

Robin looks to you, face pinched in concern.

You pick Chrissy up by the collar of her jacket and slam her back into the ground. She thuds, echoing through the halls, “Say it!”

Chrissy gives in because, of course, she does. As peculiar as it is to have her fight you, her rage doesn’t last long because it’s still her. When the Jason Carver influence disappears, it’s just her. And she tearfully submits to your prolonged hatred.

“Andy lied about the blowjob and we all knew it.”

You stand with Robin’s help, spitting a glob of mucus and blood onto the floor, “Clean that. And if you say anything about this, just remember who tackled who.”

Robin deletes the message counselor Kelley leaves detailing her absence as you kick off your shoes at the front door. Following that, you end up on her bathroom counter - Robin standing between your spread legs. She holds a pack of frozen carrot slices to your bruising (but thankfully not broken) nose.

“You were kind of terrifying back there,” she admits, pressing the frostbitten plastic closer to your skin.

“Sorry.”

“No,” Robin chuckles, thick and raspy through soft lips, “It was kinda hot.”

Your lips drop flat. Brows raising hairline high.

“What?”

Robin stands back, arm still extended to hold the carrots in place, “No- not like. You know. Not like- “

“Robin, are you? Are you into girls?”

The carrots pop against the ground, splintering apart from the impact. She steps further back, but you grab her wrist before she can yank it to her side. Robin swallows rough.

“It’s okay, Robin- Robin,” you lean in, “I like girls, too.”

Something difficult to come to terms with when you were younger, but watching Grease is admittedly more fun when you don’t have to lie to yourself and say you’re only watching for John Travolta.

Robin finally releases her tense shoulders and grins, both parts skeptical and good-natured, “No fuckin’ way.”

Slowly, you nod, pulling her back between your legs, “Yes fuckin’ way. Now you’ve got a storm to bandage,” you point straight at the bridge of your nose, “Right here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Robin rolls her eyes and picks up the carrots by her foot. Reaching into the medicine cabinet, she pulls loose a cotton pad and medical tape, “What was your life like? Before… everything.”

You assume she asks to keep your mind off the pain to come, but it feels nice to be asked about yourself. Or, at least, how you’ve changed.

“It was kinda weird,” you close your eyes as Robin closes in, her soft breath caresses your cheeks and something like affection blooms there, “Super weird. It always felt like I had to act like this good girl from some fucked up movie.”

“Mmm, you’re still pretty prissy and pristine.”

“Yeah, but now I can say ‘fuck’ without getting lectured about my lack of ladylike behavior.”

She laughs and you grin at the sound.

“What’re you hoping for?” you imagine she sticks her tongue out when she focuses. You’re scared to make eye contact though, scared of what it might insinuate. What it might lead to.

“I don’t even know,” you admit, “I just want them to know they made a mistake crossing me. I want them to feel like if I could, I’d run them down with my car.”

“Would you?”

You remain silent. Three seconds pass before you teasingly shrug. The two of you giggle and it's something from a romcom, only now there is no John Travolta or Judd Nelson. And maybe you two prefer it this way (you definitely do).

“What’d they do to you?”

Robin’s finger shakes and knocks the tender cartilage of your nose, a million little apologies following soon after.

“Just, you know, the basics,” she forces a laugh, hollow and thin, “making fun because I ramble and say things I shouldn’t and can’t pick up on social cues. I also don’t have a lot of friends - I mean they’re all either acquaintances from band or my coworkers… clearly.”

“What was ‘making fun’?”

“Oh, just - gum in my hair, stealing my homework, dead animals in the locker, dog shit on the lawn.”

“Jesus, how did I not hear about that?”

“Don’t know. They were pure evil.”

Robin pats your knee when she’s finished patching you up. Your eyes flutter to life and she holds out a hand to help you off the bathroom counter’s water-and-soap-scummed surface. Electric shocks tingle from her hand to yours.

She thinks over the time. Your peers aren’t even at lunch yet, “You wanna get ice cream?”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

You two don’t hold hands as you get ice cream, but something sugary strings you together. You can feel it. Bubblegum and banana split delights are just the cherry on top.

It’s a nice break before you potentially get your ass kicked again by another former best friend.

The hoods and bonnet and beanies may have been a touch too far, but you’ve always had a taste for the finest flair (and protecting your hair from the bullying of mother nature). And flair kindly distracts you from the way that Claire and Andy are kissing in the frame of her bedroom window. She did always hate going out in the rain.

Robin holds you by the shoulder, stray hairs clinging out from under her beanie to the sides of her face. You find the burn of your eyes there, when you look away from Claire’s familiar bedroom lights. Years spent under those lights - daytime, nighttime, fun, fear, tears, the lights have seen it all. When her parents were home and when they were away, like they are now.

Before Robin can grant you pity and sorrows, you shove the plastic package of toilet paper into her arms, “Let’s fuck this bitch up.”

You rip open seemingly endless flat packets of instant mashed potatoes of varying flavors - cheddar, garlic, garlic cheddar, and Vermont sour cream and chives. With speed and intent, you dump flavored white powders along the paved walkway. Some of it splits into the gassy lawn as Robin throws toilet paper clumps at vacant windows and the surrounding plant life.

Your one-woman mashed potato brigade is stopped on the first lines with one glance into the bedroom window.

Andy is rolling the mint green shirt from Claire's body, exposing a midnight black bra. It takes you back.

How Andy would flirt like you were a delicate princess and he a mere peasant boy. How Claire helped you dress and prep for the date. How Claire picked you up after dinner. How excited Andy seemed when you agreed to go out. How excited you were when your parents finally agreed that you can go out.

How mad he was when you said you didn't want to go any further than hand-holding.

What aches most is Claire's betrayal. You actually, foolishly, thought that maybe the two of you would still be friends after the disaster of May. At least until that call. Her call.

With all the might in your body, the last meaningful hand of instant mash powder is launched right at Claire's bedroom window. Clarity hits you when it splats thickly and they jump.

Hurriedly, you grab Robin by her black long-sleeve and drag her into the rose bushes that separate the Green and Schumer houses. She goes down first, back into mulch - you follow, elbows holding you up. Noses separated by a hair's width.

"Hi," you're quiet. Whispering against her apple lips.

"Hi."

"Shh."

"You- “ you cover her mouth before she can respond.

Claire pops the front door open, holding a silk, plum robe together at the chest. Andy lingers in the background.

You roll off of Robin as she wails at the mess from her doorstep. Robin hates when you move, but she'll accept the lackluster dance party to the tunes of Claire Green's misery. Small wiggles and finger disco, but it makes you both giggle quietly.

As far as either of you can hear, Andy makes no move to step forward and comfort your former best friend.

From within the bushes, Robin claws up mudded dirt and flings it at Claire's expensive robe. You gape and clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from giggling too severely. The both of you crawl away, coming to a stand in the Schumer's vegetable garden backyard.

Lovingly, you swipe mud and dirt from her frayed, peeking hairs and face and she watches you clean your palms on black leggings.

"Sorry we didn't get a confession from her."

"Whatever. I already have two. One straight from the Cunningham herself.”

Robin follows as you begin over the garden fence and back down the sidewalk to your home. Her fingers twist over one another and she feels her mouth run dry.

"Really," she starts, "I'm sorry. About everything."

"It's fine," you slow your pace to be at her side, "I kinda just don't want to think about it."

"You probably should, it isn't healthy to bottle things up."

It isn't healthy to enact revenge either.

"It sucks, what else can I say?"

"Really, I think you should talk about it. It helps, like a lot."

"Why do you care?" you laugh but it's nothing except tense. Accusing.

Robin removes the beanie from her head and wrings it between her lithe hands, "'Cuz I know what it’s like. To get betrayed like that.”

“How would you?”

She pauses and you turn, her brows are furrowed and she looks prepared to yarf up her dinner, "You don’t remember at all?”

You blink once. Twice. Stupidly.

Robin breathes heavy, folding her arms, "We used to be friends, you know? In fifth grade. I told you I liked girls at a sleepover and you just… stopped hanging out with me," her eyes widen in show of her disappointment, "And then got super popular."

"Oh my God," you feel shame and dread tighten at your nerves, "I'm so sorry, Robin, I- I don't know why I did that. And I'm so, so sorry I didn't remember. That's so awful."

"I mean," she's shockingly understanding for someone so wronged, "I forgive you. I forgot what I had for dinner just a few hours ago. But if you're so inclined, you can make it up to me by actually opening up."

"What can I say?" you hug yourself, eyes drifting down, "It's terrible. Every day. People I thought were my best friends just lied and abandoned me for dead."

The tears finally cradle your face and Robin steps forward, taking you carefully in her arms. You latch to her, hands winding tight in her black shirt.

"They all got off free and I lost everything. And I have Saturday detention tomorrow with a teacher that just sleeps the whole time," you sputter a laugh, face warm against Robin’s, "I really, really hate that senior year is looking so shit right now."

"I hope revenge is sweet, at least."

You're silent for a moment. Pondering. You nod, beaming, "It is."

Something rattles in a nearby trash can and Robin pulls from the embrace, though her hand continues to hold yours.

"We should probably go get warm before we catch something. And before whatever is in the garbage bites us- " she's walking, dragging you by the hand, before you even get to reply, "I have a fear of rabies, actually."

"Seriously?"

"Hey, you ever seen Cujo? That shit is real, it takes over your mind."

"Yeah, I'm sure," you squeeze her hand playfully, "Totally not insane."

"It isn't," she stresses, though even that front cracks into sprinkles of laughter, "I'm totally justified, everyone else is just insane."

"Of course."

"For real!"

"Never said I didn't believe you."

The trek home is tedious and rainy, but Robin makes it easier to swallow. Like sugar to cough syrup. Or whatever Mary Poppins said.

Your final Saturday detention and Ms. Click is already head back, open-mouthed, freight train snoring asleep. You almost wish there was a princess, basket case, nerd, criminal, and jock there to save you from such unending boredom. And despite being schlucked into such an unforgivingly plain and exhausting field, you feel better than you did the first time. Maybe it's because this is your last one. Maybe it's because Robin promised to pick you up afterwards.

Either way, you feel better now.

Eased and content, at the very least. Willing to let things go as they are, even if the only two left on your revenge roster are the main villains. It most certainly helps that Robin seems to enjoy being around you as much as you do her.

A knock clouds the glass of Ms. Click’s classroom. Your attention snaps and you see Robin Buckley, the woman of your hour, waving you over excitedly. She points over her shoulder at the bike she’d obviously ridden over. It’s castleton green with purple tassels on either handle - very loved, very mud splattered from years of use. You look at her like she’s insane - as far as you know, she genuinely might be - and she just continues to wave and point to her bike with the basket on it.

You rise from your seat, a glance from Ms. Clink’s stone cold knocked out position to the clock, then take great care in mouthing “theater”.

Robin meets you by the double doors at the side of the school - foolishly left open and unlocked.

“I have to be back at three, you know?”

She hooks a flanneled arm through the crook of your elbow and lugs you forward, toward her bike, “You’ll be safe and in your seat by 2:50, at the latest. And that’s a coveted Buckley Swear,” she puts up three fingers, as though a proudly honored boy scout.

The ride from school to the local replacement diner for Benny’s - Johanna’s (a cheap imitation, though the fries are truly award-worthy) - isn’t more than five minutes. Robin is such a slow biker, taking every handful of seconds to chat at a stop, that it soaks up seven minutes of your brief freedom.

Leather sticks to your skin from the booth, but your company is simply to die for.

“You know, I should’ve known something was off with Andy when all he could say about me was that I was pretty.”

Robin icks, sticking out her tongue at the man’s name, “There’s no way he and his friends are part of the men Dolly Parton’s begging Jolene to spare.”

“I know, I once got told that he cheated on a girl at a party when she was literally in the other room,” rethinking it, your entire time with Andy was a sign that he was everything but a decent guy, not that your rose-colored glasses could see red flags. They always just looked like plain old flags, “But I think I’m better now. I used to be nice, but it wasn’t really me. I changed everything about myself and those assholes were never satisfied.”

Robin grabs your hand, hidden behind the red plastic baskets that your meals were carried out in, “You’re still pretty nice now.”

You don’t know if you believe her, but the way she bats her lashes and simpers from fruity ripe and flower-pink lips just might convince you.

Robin rubs a tender thumb over your knuckles and speaks again, “Wanna know something?” you hum, popping one of Johanna’s to-die-for fries in your mouth, “Beethoven wrote Für Elise for a lady, and he wanted her to be able to play something easy, but impressive,” she snags a bite from her burger, holding up a finger as she chews, “But when he found out she was engaged, he made the other parts so complicated that she’d never be able to play it.”

Taking a sip of cola, you shake your head, “I don’t think that’s true.”

“I don’t either,” she snickers, “but I wanted you to feel better about our revenge agenda.”

“Well, I feel fine, thank you.”

“Here, I’ll tell you three truths about me - as an apology.”

Unnecessary, but you don’t plan on fighting her - not when you like the sound of her thin rasp as she talks.

“I was told to never say food tastes bad, so I would say ‘unlucky’. I once cracked my neck and then my nose started bleeding. Once when I was checking out a couple customers at Family Video, their toddler kept saying ‘fuck’ until they left.”

“Thank you,” you tilt your head, “It sounds like you lead a very interesting life.”

“Hm, yes, I went from outcast dork to protecting the world from a gloop monster and Russians with two of the most popular kids from school and then helping the fallen Hawkins princess get revenge on the new most popular kids in school,” she ponders, stark silent for just a second, “I actually have the most boring life imaginable.”

Nodding, you stand and smooth out your skirt, “Yeah, actually, sounds like it. I’ll be in the bathroom, don’t have too much fun without me.”

“Impossible.”

When you return from the eventful fun of the Johanna’s bathroom run, you spot two towheaded nerds dazzled in varsity jackets. They taint the marron-stained edge of your table, hands in their pockets as they talk down to Robin.

It makes you ill, the way they so easily spit up on the only person at Hawkins High to make you forget about that stupid May of ‘85.

“Why’re you obsessed with her all of the sudden?”

Jason should mind his business, you think.

Robin doesn’t speak. It’d be bizarre if the two were more welcoming.

“We both know what you’re doing,” Jason leans down, hands flat on the table and his gaze piercing through her freckled cheeks, “and I hope you know that the only reason we haven’t done anything is because of Chrissy and Patrick.”

“If you’re trying to scrape the remains of her popularity, you’re pathetic,” Andy tilts his head, she liked it more when you did it, “A reject.”

Robin takes it quiet, eyes straight ahead and hands folded across her lap, because she wants them gone as soon as possible so that you don’t have to deal with either of them. You do see them, though, and you decide to deal with them.

“Get the hell out of here,” you’ve grown since the beginning of the year - something more confrontational, “What do you two think you’re doing? There’s no glory holes here, so you’re both out of luck.”

Andy shucks your shoulder with his as he passes, Jason steps on your shoe, and both glare. Deadly and thin and built with all the spite that one could handle.

You thought you could change your mind, really you did. But you watch the evil wrapped in loose, folding jackets leave through sliding automatic doors, and you feel a wickedness crawl the length of your spine.

They just chose the worst way to get you off their back. Now you’re coming back. Like fucking lice - you’ll come right back with immunity to all their potions and charms.

You grab Robin by the elbow, continuing to glare out the windows. You imagine that they’d be set ablaze if it were possible. Robin shudders under the hatred you radiate.

“We have to come up with something totally fucked up for the ringleaders of Hawkins High,” your faze turns down to Robin, blazing, “We have to ruin their lives.”

She grins lopsided, brows raising, “I’m kinda scared but really interested, is that bad?”

“Not particularly.”

Hawkins Highs opens approximately thirty minutes before seven o'clock, depending on who's working that morning. You and Robin meet at the unlocked double doors five minutes before seven - when the football team arrives for their daily congregation. You're digging into your (dated) bell-bottom pants' pockets while Robin is elbow-deep in her backpack.

She nudges her head towards your hip, "How much did he charge you?”

"Not a cent,” you beam, braggy and bright, “Mr. Munson was more than glad to donate to a worthy cause.”

"Lucky," Robin grumbles, faux glare as she pulls out the neck of a communion wine bottle, "I almost shit myself fifteen times trying to get this stupid wine.”

"Sorry, sorry," you crack open the combination of Andy's locker and slip in the weed and one bottle of communion wine.

Next to that, you plant a bright pink paper slip. A bland secret admirer's note asking him to meet in the AV room as soon as he reads it. He'd be a fool to fall for it, but thankfully - a jester is exactly who you're dealing with.

Robin hands you the second wine bottle, shaky and splashy in her unnerved hands, "Are you sure about this?”

"Nope," you tuck the bottle under your shirt, as if it isn't still entirely obvious, "but it isn’t like I can find another way to ensure this asshole never comes back.”

Robin bites down her protests, fiddling with the edge of her frayed sleeve. And she holds those protests down as Andy finds his way into the AV room at 7:08 AM. She slides the lock shut behind him and hurries down the echoing hall towards the office.

The projector is flickering, but most certainly on. Andy can't sense it nor see it, but you're ducking behind the control panel. A single bottle of red clutched tight between your fingers.

Bumbling, you play the film reel loaded into the projector and hold your breath as your voice comes down from the speakers.

"Are you seriously recording this?"

"It's something to commemorate, baby."

A shaky, grainy image of you and Andy, side by side on one of his father’s pews, lights the projector. The camera flips and Claire’s beaming face comes alive. That night was the night that you three promised to stay together forever, seeing each other every break during college.

“I’ll be too busy being a star football player,” Andy insisted.

Claire joked that you two will have to frame him for steroid possession. You called her intense. She called you a sourpuss.

“Oh,” Andy laughs in real time with his video counterpart, “you’re pathetic.”

You feel it.

“Okay, you know what?” he creeps past the control panel you hide under, a hand thunking to the door handle and he pulls, “I’m going.”

His body leans fully, but the door doesn’t budge - he laughs, twisted and sick.

“Let me out,” when you fail to respond, he bangs on the door and you think the walls reverberate, “Let me out! You can’t keep me in here!”

You lay the bottle of communion wine and roll it down the gentle slope to the doorway. The glass smooths loudly along the floor and Andy sweats at the sound, he jumps shamefully when it bumps his sneaker.

Nervously, you peek up and flounder for the volume knob, turning it higher.

“You’re a bitch, and a fuckin’ coward!”

You crank the volume even higher.

“I could never actually ditch you. Either of you.”

His own words scathe him. Betray his wickedness for the both of you to pick apart like vultures to decay. He inspects the back rows for a body, closer and louder, heavier and thicker.

Before Andy gets the satisfaction of finding you, you pop out from beneath the panel - twisting the volume knob even higher. He turns on his planted feat and you watch his nostrils flare, face red and full of hate, “You fucking bitch!”

He charges forward and you refuse to run. Not when his rage was so accounted for.

Robin, meanwhile, puts on her best acting face from amateur freshman and (half of) sophomore year theater in countering to Ms. Kelley’s promise that if she was lying about the contraband in Andy’s locker - she’d be suspended. She twiddles her fingers and shakes her head, “No, I’m not exactly nervous about that…”

Higgins props open Andy’s locker and Robin mocks a gasp as a bottle of wine and a baggie of Eddie’s cream of the illegal crop are visibly at the forefront.

Kelley side eyes Robin, “Why are you nervous then?”

“Well, he was meeting someone in the AV room. That… girl that kicked him in the balls last year? She wanted to meet him, to apologize I think.”

Higgins and Kelley share a glance. Long enough for the social fear of teenagers and weed to lead their conclusions somewhere dark. Not that Robin exactly thinks Andy needed help with being seen as a dickhead.

You barely manage to dodge the wine bottle he throws, it smashes against the control panel and grape nectar rolls down the plastic lining until it stains the carpet. Glass rains near your feet and while you’re focused on not stepping on any, Andy grabs you by the shoulders.

His grip is tight, you think he might leave a bruise, “Why can’t you let this go, you fucking psycho? You gonna terrorize for the rest of high school? College? That’s pathetic.”

It’s hard to believe you were ever into him, “You people ruined my fucking life! Would you leave it alone if someone did that to you?!”

He tuts and grabs you by the collar, lifting you just slightly, “Guess I don’t have to find out, do I, whore?”

You were called that a lot. Men. Women. Young. Old. Familiar. Stranger. All because of a lie. All because of him.

Distant footsteps hang from the hallway and the door’s lock slicks back just as your video ends. Then more steps echo from behind the door, hot in their approach and Robin’s faint voice pipes up.

You tilt your head in faux innocence, “Don’t you?”

“What?”

You scream, something horrified and wretched, and the door swings open with a fury. Your throat burns when you’re done.

Kelley and Higgins smell the wine first. Then see the sparkling remains of a bottle splattered across the floor. Then the way his fingers are coiled into the collar of your shirt.

“Mr. Johnson,” Kelly snaps and he drops you, you fall helplessly, cutting your palm on the glass, “My office. Now!”

Higgins rushes to you, his smooth hands assisting you up as Robin carefully steps up from the background.

“I can take her to nurse, principal Higgins,” you find yourself more comfortable leaning on her tall frame, “While you deal with, you know- “ she eyes the doorway, where Andy is screaming about a setup and lies.

You two begin towards the nurse’s office and Robin doesn’t mention that you got blood on the side of her white shirt. She also doesn’t mention that you don’t technically have to be using her as support to walk, but that’s also for her own self-interest.

“That was equal parts psycho and stupid,” Robin looks at you, a brow raised, “You know that, right?”

“Of course,” you grin back, “It was worth it though. He’s gone and his dad is in hot water, at least for a bit.”

“You’re so dumb sometimes,” you two pause in the hall.

An electricity runs there. Right between you. It makes you screw your arms under hers, and she squeezes you just as tight. And it's as you hug Robin in that barren hallway, you remember, “Oh, shit, I left the video in there.”

“What’re you gonna do with it?” she pulls back, arms loose and limply thrown over your shoulders.

Her lips are tantalizing. That same apple - that same tree - that same snake.

“I dunno…” you shrug, hands roaming down to settle on her hips, “Wanna burn it with me?”

She ponders and you like how she likes your hands on her body, “Yeah. Actually. I’ve never burned film before.”

“It’s nothing big.”

“Sounds exciting, though.”

“Someone could really get hurt,” Jason gestures down to your bandaged hand and you cup it defensively to your chest.

You glare and you feel like hell itself clutches you by the cheeks as he talks, “Jason, you turned me into a social pariah just because you could, if I let you go before actually beating the shit out of you - consider it lucky.”

“You’re a psycho,” he looks around the band practice room that he dragged you into, “And this place smells like cat piss.”

“‘84 accident,” you deadpan, pushing him back by the chest when he attempts to strike past you to the door, “Wait.”

And now you’re pacing nervously across the fuzzy pink rug in front of Robin’s twin-sized mattress, freshly finished with your retelling of such a tale.

“I know what I want done, but I don’t know how we do it,” you pause before her.

“Well, what do you want done?” Robin moves to the edge of her bed, she looks at you like you’ve hung the moon - like you’re worthy of something, “I’ll do it. Trust me.”

“My hero,” you sit on her bed, the way you land making you straddle one of her thighs. You wrap your arms around her neck, “What would I ever do without you?”

“Be without your totally awesome revenge, probably.”

“Definitely,” you giggle and she returns the gesture in kind, “I want to record Jason admitting to everything. He’s meeting me at the Hawkins Elementary playground at 10 PM.”

“Let’s start simple,” Robin’s hands fall to your hips now, and maybe if you were brave you’d admit to yourselves what that meant, “We need a camera.”

You get a camera from Jonathan Byers.

“My mom’s old boyfriend left that, so…” he waves a hand about, looking more exhausted than pleased at the conversation, “Why do you guys need it anyway?”

You and Robin share a pointed look, her frosty blue fingertips tip-tap along the side of the camera patiently. You take a deep breath and fold your arms, “We need it to film Jason Carver admitting that he knew Andy was lying about the whole Enzo’s bathroom blowjob thing and that he turned my old friends against me. Then we’re gonna play it at homecoming tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan nods sluggishly, hands burrowing into his pockets, “Just, uh, don’t break it.”

And the filming location is scoped by the both of you later - a very bizarre and peculiar experience, being two teenagers perusing the local elementary school playground for a good filming angle.

Robin finishes her rig from behind the tire swing tree beside the real swing set, peering through the viewfinder to ensure that she has a full scene of you and, theoretically, where Jason would be.

“What now?” she steps out from behind the tree, all limb and lank and affection.

“Now,” you grab the camera and delicately hold it, “we buy Hawkins home pride for homecoming tomorrow.”

“Ugh, gross.”

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes good-naturedly and grab her by the hand, entwining your fingers, “think of it as a costume change before the big villain exposition.”

Undershirts hung over either arm, you wade through the skirts’ section with Robin. Two Hawkins High jerseys with Jason Carver’s number over the chest in bold white that you’d forgotten to toss out.

Robin ‘ooh’s and plucks a hanger from the section excitedly, shoving it right before your face. It’s pleated, green with white lining at the bottom - she then holds it beside the shorts she’d picked up for herself, split down the middle, half orange and half green.

“I think this is the final piece,” she nods assuredly, “This is perfect.”

“We still need to try everything on,” you grin as she groans and tucks the skirt into your grasp, “But yes, this is perfect.”

You step out of your respective dressing rooms in tandem, you clutch the strawberry fabrics between both hands and Robin feels her heart jump to her throat. You’ve got a green scrunchie around your wrist and cheesy orange sunglasses on your head - mirroring her own green headband.

Robin looks both ways down the hall and steps into the gray carpet wonderland that separates your rooms. She sighs ragged, pulling the straps of her white tank top closer to her neck, “I feel silly.”

“Me too,” you nod and drop the curtains as you come toe-to-toe with Robin, “but it’s dramatic as hell,” you reach up and remove the emerald headband, shaking it free from clinging, sun-bleached hairs. Pulling out her bangs, you settle the band behind her hanging strands, “You also look hot, so bonus.”

“Yeah, bonus,” she watches your lips, mostly.

It feels safe with you. Not in the way it usually feels safe with people she knows, but it feels like if she were to jump off a cliff then you would put a mega marshmallow bed for her to land on. Maybe it’s because she knows you like girls, too. Maybe it’s because you two are friends now, like officially. Maybe you’ve bewitched her.

“You look hot, too,” she swallows, dry and uneasy.

“Yeah?” you tease, stepping back and pulling loosely on the scrunchie snug around your wrist.

“God,” she plays off any desperation as a laugh, “yes.”

Dear God, yes. And it seems to be all she can think about when you’re driving her home in your candied Audi. Robin has had crushes before - Tammy Thompson and Vickie McNulty, to name a few tangible ones (Brooke Shields, Daryl Hannah, and Lisa Bonet, to name a few intangible ones). But they’ve never consumed her so thoroughly before.

She’s never smelt their perfume on her clothes after school and almost screamed (lovingly). She’s also never had cheesy inner monologues about how beautiful and fun they were.

But you’re just that incredible, she supposes.

She understands, now, your thought process in fifth grade. Or at least, she can get an idea. You must’ve been scared - for God’s sake it was only 1978 and David Bowie hadn’t exactly turned tides against bigotry. And now you’ve apologized. She feels better.

She circles back.

She’s had crushes that didn’t swallow her how you do. Does she…?

Honestly, it would be the least surprising thing to happen in her life so far.

Though, that realization makes her startle at the way you glance over, “What’re you staring at, huh, Buckley?”

“Nothing,” her head snaps forward, tossing back into the passenger side rest.

“Anything you wanna tell me? You look sick.”

“No,” she drags the vowels and you don’t believe her for a second.

But as soon as you’ve dropped her off at her house, you realize you can’t wait to see her again. In the way you used to impatiently wait to meet with Andy, but Robin would never do what he did. Robin is kind and trustworthy and you might just like her.

You most definitely do. And that’s a pill you have to swallow dry so that you can hurry home to prepare for ten o’clock that night.

At ten o’clock that night, you rock gently on the Hawkins Elementary swingset in the pink and white pinstriped dress you wore to Enzo’s on that spring date with the man to ruin your high school reputation.

“Could you be any more dramatic?” Jason has his hands buried in the pockets of his varsity jacket. A powerplay of his own, not that he’d ever admit it.

Looking up in an act of thinking, you hum before sneering, “This is way more fun.”

He rolls his eyes at you, “Anybody follow you here?”

“Not a soul.”

“You’re losing your mind with all this crazy revenge shit you’ve been doing,” he moves closer and you have to stand from the swingset to maintain a semblance of power balance.

“This isn’t even half of it,” you wring your fingers tighter around the iron-scented chains, “You people wanted an outcast, but I don’t think you realized what little an outcast has to lose. Unless, you know, you can go ahead and admit it now.”

“Fine,” he swings his hands out at his sides, “Everyone in the group knew Andy was lying through his teeth. Are you happy?”

“No,” you release the swingset chains and step closer to him, your shoes scuffing his white soles, “How did you convince my friends to turn against me?”

“I didn’t do anything,” he shrugs, “You kicked Andy in the balls and I made them matter,” he laughs and you want nothing more than to throttle him where he stands, “When you’ve got the entire pigsty, parasite, Podunk population of Hawkins High eating out of your palm - people don’t tend to turn their backs on you,” he reaches up and ghosts his fingertips along your cheek, “Unlike the whore that publicly assaulted Hawkins’ golden boy’s best friend.”

You feel the back of your throat burn.

Jason bends down and you want to jump away as his jacket brushes your legs, he picks up the bag at your feet.

“If I play these, and they’re fakes, you’re dead,” he points down the barrel of your face. You feel sick, like he’s stabbing you straight through the throat, “If you tell anybody about this, you’re dead,” he laughs and finally steps back, “Or, hey, maybe I’ll just tell everyone you tried humping my leg like a dog in heat.”

Jason looks into the bag and grins when he spots two cassette tapes. You roll your eyes at his jovial behavior.

He snaps, “Don’t roll your eyes at me, whore.”

Hawkins’ golden boy finally retreats back to his 1984 Jeep Cherokee and you wait until the thing is off property before beaming and turning to the tree with the tire swing.

“Did you get it?”

Robin pops out from behind and gives you a thumbs-up as she wrangles the camera down from its spot in the branches.

Honestly, it’s like the meathead never heard of making tape copies.

The next day, you stroll into Hawkins High for the pep rally with your film reel and confession tapes - decked in the tacky costumes you bought and tried on together. You feel pride and excitement bloom as Robin brushes through the tiled hallways with you at her side. You part at the AV room, with Robin going to jingle the projector to the gym while you sneak into the front office.

“Hey,” she catches you by the wrist, her lips gently tipping up at the sight of you.

“Hey,” you slide your hand up to entwine your fingers with hers, “Everything okay?”

Robin takes a deep breath, “I just…” she looks down and you tilt her head up by the chin, “Even if none of this goes well, I want you to know that I’ve had a lot of fun,” she thinks your lips would taste like the fruity lip balm you’re always wearing, “And I still wanna… be friends, when this is all over.”

Something about the way she hesitates in the title of friends elates you. But then again, being limited to that title burns. And you’ve turned into someone who isn’t satisfied keeping her thoughts to herself.

“Friends?”

Robin shrugs, “Yeah.”

“No more?�� you realize the question as Robin gasps, you slap a hand over your mouth, “Sorry!”

“No, more,” she grabs the hand over your mouth and holds that one, too, “Yeah. More,” that nervous little raspy giggle you love peeks through and another wave of excitement gleans below your ribs, “More is good.”

You two share school girlish giggle and squeeze hands and you check both ends of the hallway for any sign of life. When you find none, you lean forward and give her a taste of the fruity lip balm she can always smell from the passenger seat of your car.

The apple is sweet and slightly chapped, and you think you love it.

There’s a twisted hesitance as you pull apart, you grin at her heavy blush and brush her hair back behind her gem-studded ear.

Kissing her cheek, you pull away slowly and it aches to leave her behind.

“Good luck, Buck,” she cringes, nose wrinkling and openly gagging, and you only laugh at her disgust, “Don’t get caught!”

You kneel at the announcement office door, your decade-old library card slithering between the crack in the door. It pops open and you sneak inside, hooking your cassette into the player for the PA system just as the walkie-talkie stuffing into the waistband of your skirt buzzes.

Muffled whispers attempt to blurt through your jersey.

You slip the walkie-talkie up to your ear, catching the tail end of Lucas’ whispering.

A click of the button and you’re speaking into the walkie, “Hey, sweet Sinclair, I’m gonna need you to repeat that.”

This time you catch the end of a thick sigh before he whispers, “Everyone’s in the auditorium and Jason is about to make his speech - so whatever you’ve got planned, you better hurry up.”

“Got it, captain, hang tight,” you flip to the channel you and Robin settled upon before school, “Did you get the scoop from Lucas?”

“Sure did. Projector’s all set up, too, and I’m under the bleachers.”

“Great,” you slip the walkie-talkie back into your skirt waistband and giggly press down on the siren engine red play button on the PA system.

And Patrick McKinney’s voice echoes through the hallways.

Robin pokes her face into the bleachers’ gap, she sees Patrick shy from the attention. Shrugging off his varsity jacket and bringing it up and over his head as he ducks down. Higgins runs off the stage and Kelley attempts calling to the masses through a microphone - it fails. And fails harder when the voice of Chrissy Cunningham autoplays next.

Chrissy leans down, whispering - hissing, rather - for her friends to hide her.

Meanwhile, at the office, you can hear heavy footsteps from the hall and manage to creep under the desk just as Higgins kicks in the door. He swiftly cuts around the desk and you squeeze under the desk’s high gap as the tape cuts off on its own. He rips out the cassette and turns it for a label or name while you crawl away and out the door.

Robin clicks on the film projector from between the bleacher slats and she watches Jason look back from beside Kelley when his own voice rings in the auditorium.

He sees himself, and you, by the Hawkins Elementary swingset.

“What the fuck?”

Kelley jaw drops at his language and smacks him on the arm.

There’s a collective shock as Jason bites himself in the ass.

“When you’ve got the entire pigsty, parasite, Podunk population of Hawkins High eating out of your palm - people don’t tend to turn their backs on you. Unlike the whore that publicly assaulted Hawkins’ golden boy’s best friend.”

Kelley stumbles away, her brown heels clicking on the stage as she tries to distance herself from the king being beheaded.

You shove the double doors to the auditorium open and heads swivel to where you stand as Jason Carver from the projection gets close to your face, clutching a bag in hand, and spits a, “Don’t roll your eyes at me, whore,” after threatening your life.

Eyes turn back to Jason. Judgment. Curiosity. Confliction. It can’t be real, but they’ve seen it before their eyes. Like rubbernecking a car accident. Your downfall, meticulously crafted and carried out and now you finally get to witness it being repaid in full. Chrissy and Patrick huddle into their own covers as people slowly turn against them. Claire shrinks into herself and ignores the sweat that begins along the back of her neck as cheerleaders and peers stare.

Jason is frozen, eyes piercing where his own damnation featured for the entire present population of Hawkins High. Including counselor Kelley.

She grabs him by the arm with the vice grip of an anaconda, dragging him back and behind the velvet curtains - all the way down the stage stairs that you and Robin sprawled down after pouring spiders on his girlfriend. You go to climb the bleachers, stunned when a hand grabs you by the arm.

A girl you don’t quite recognize with chili red glasses grins and holds you up as you climb the middle stairs. A boy with braces helps on your other side.

Freshmen to seniors, men to women, band geeks to varsity jocks, you are assisted up the bleachers until you’re finally plopped onto the cold, smooth, cornstarch-scented seat beside Lucas Sinclair. He claps you on the back, beaming with all the relief of a boy who’s watched G.I Joe escape yet another perilous situation.

“Congratulations on a good show.”

You shrug off the praise, “Oh, you know me. A natural.”

Higgins wanders in, then, and beckons you down. Cheerleaders and mathletes assist you down and ensure you don’t stumble between the bleacher gaps. You feel a flick to your ankle and glance back in time to see Robin peeking there, she smiles lopsidedly and waves. You wave back as Higgins’ turns away to lead you to his office.

Higgins sits stern across from you, hands folded as Kelley’s were on that last day of junior year.

“There’s no evidence I violated school policy because why would I?” you laugh humorlessly, “I mean, why would I go out of my way to surround myself with the people that tried ruining my life?”

He looks away from you. You both know you’re lying through your teeth. Why the hell would you be in that video if you had nothing to do with the scheme? And where would you have been during the pep rally? And who else would be so invested in your Luciferian style fall from grace to act entirely on their own?

But can he bring himself to truly do anything now? When you’ve proven the space between the horse’s teeth is full of lies?

Higgins’ chocolate drop eyes abandon you in favor of the records file at his side.

“Alright,” he sighs, tightens his tie, and leans back until his office chair creaks, “you’re free to go, but we’re going to keep a close eye on you, young lady.”

You bright and clasp both hands in your lap, spine shooting straight, “I’d expect nothing less from Hawkins’ finest, Mr. Higgins.”

Once again, both of you know that you’re lying through your teeth.

But so is he.

“Off the record,” he leans forward and the chair groans again, “did you do it?”

Higgins believes himself to be the kindly, understanding principal, but you feel jaded. Wiser and older, even if you’ve only matured by a fraction.

“Nope!”

“So, who did?” whether this interaction is truly as off the books as he claims, he’s definitely trying to goad you into an answer.

“Who knows?” you sigh, histrionic, as your back hits the chair’s cushion, “Maybe some… super vigilante that thought some justice was needed.”

“What? Like Batman?”

You think for a moment. You aren’t quite as comically rich, nor are you so brooding, and perhaps you’re stroking your own ego now - but there is a sense of just performance. Like you’ve done something right.

“Yeah. Like Batman.”

Robin waits outside for you. She’s leaned against the wall and it brightens the dim space. You don’t even notice the others until she nudges her head to the side and says, “You got a couple visitors.”

Chrissy, Claire, and Patrick are standing ashamed and knobby-kneed.

Claire steps forward, one hand nervously twirling a dark curl around her finger, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Onyx eyes that jade like honey pots in sunshine water and wilt, her cheeks wet with tears and Patrick nods, laying a hand on her shoulder. He wets his lips and sighs like he was somehow hurt.

Truly hurt.

“We just got caught up in Jason and his need for us to play specific parts. You… you know how it is.”

You most assuredly do.

You wish Robin wasn’t shying away from you. You hate that it's their fault.

Chrissy clinks her fingernails together, “You should come back. We miss you.”

“We all miss you,” and you know Claire isn’t lying as she says that.

You know none of them are, but you look at Robin as she nervously gnaws her bottom lip. They wronged her deeply as they did you - even if you could forgive them for yourself, you can’t find it within you to ignore how they hurt her. And again, you can’t actually feel yourself ready - or prepared - to forgive and forget for your own sake.

“Nah,” you smile as you grab Robin by the hand and turn towards the side doors of the school.

Chrissy and Claire go to protest. You can hear Patrick’s sneakers squeak against the dirt-smeared corridor floor. And you pay them no mind as you commit to skipping the rest of the school day with (you hope) your new girlfriend.

“Higgins inadvertently called us Batman,” you unlock your car and open the door for Robin as she ducks in.

She hums, nodding, as you climb into the driver’s seat, “If you’re Batman can I be Catwoman?”

“Don’t they fight each other?”

“Yeah, but I don’t wanna be that Robin. He’s like twelve.”

“Then let’s just both be Batman,” you wait until you’ve both clipped in your seatbelts before pulling out of the student parking lot.

Robin settles her head back against the passenger seat rest, rolling until her ear hits the cushion and she stares as you steer - utterly helpless and enamored, “Do you think we’ll ever have to do this again?”

“Hm,” you make it out of the Hawkins High gate and roll down the street, entirely calmer than when you had to get driven home by Eddie Munson, “maybe a first date is in order first. Then maybe we can do more revenge. Be women of the people and all that shit.”

“I’d love to,” Robin laces her hands together and you notice, holding a hand out over the center console for her to hold, “I’m not happy you got outcasted and lied about, but I am glad that we met.”

“Me too, Rob,” you pause completely at a stop sign and lean across the gap between you two to lay another precious kiss to her lips - she eagerly returns the affection, “Now, I don’t believe we ever got to properly finish our meal at Johanna’s. And I’m simply starving.”

Her nose crinkles as she laughs and you don’t know if you could ever get enough of the sight or sound or feeling of her. She nods and pecks your lips again, “I could eat.”

[leftoverenvy]

Heaven

Part 2 of Hallucinate - read part 1 here

Summary: Reader is a school teacher dealing with her overwhelming grief over Emily's death. This is a song fic inspired by I Miss You by Adele written for @sweetprentiss 's spring writing challenge.

Bingo Prompt: make up sex

BINGO (x3)

Warnings: smut (18+)

Word Count: 3k

Read it on Wattpad

Taglist: @ssa-sapphic 🧸; @5raysofsunshine 🌮; @reidselle 🦭 @foxy-eva ; @sleep-deprived-athlete ; @1-lindsay83

Heaven

"Emily?"

"Y/n…" she sighed walking further in the room.  My knuckles tightened on the edge of the desk, my nails scratching into the wood.  I slammed my eyes shut, squeezing them tight together.  This couldn't be happening.  My breathing sped up; my heart pounded in my chest.  "Y/n/n," she repeated.

My head spun so fast I thought I might pass out.  I couldn't think or breathe, let alone respond to her.  My breath started coming out in pants, tears spilling out my clenched eyes.  I wrapped my arms around my stomach to try and physically hold myself together.  I dug my nails into my skin in an attempt to ground myself to the present moment.

"Y/n/n-"  I heard her soft footfalls moving closer.  I threw myself backwards, my wheeled chair slamming against the back wall.  My head shook rapidly back and forth - a warning for her to keep her distance.  My breathing had sped so much I was now hyperventilating.  I clawed at the skin on my arms hoping to feel anything but this overwhelming confusion.  My head fell into my hands, my fingers winding around my hair and pulling.

I was panting so hard, my entire face became wet with tears and strings of spit.  My heart was burning from its rapid beat.  I couldn't hear anything except the blood rushing around my head and my heart thudding in my empty chest.

I had truly lost it.  I had spent countless nights lying in bed begging the universe to kill me or bring her back to me; it had finally listened.  But I couldn't trust it.  Because clearly I was on some psychotic break.

I felt a hand lightly touch my shoulder and pull me more upright.  She surrounded me in her gentle embrace.  "Oh baby," she sighed.  Her sweet smell washed over me.  Though the perfume was different, Emily's essence was the same.  Surely I wouldn't be able to hallucinate a new scent on top of her natural, divine fragrance.  Great.  I was trying to rationalize my newest delusions.  "Hey…" she said gently tipping my chin up to look at her.

My heart broke all over again.  She was gorgeous.  Pictures and memories were nothing.  I felt like for the last four months I was cheated.  Why did it have to take my mind four months to start hallucinating her?  Her face was torturously beautiful.  I hadn't seen such radiance in four months, and now my eyes didn't know how to process it.  "Emily," I said, exhaling loudly.  Saying her name felt like gasping when I awoke from nightmares.

"Oh my love," she said, wiping tears from my cheeks.  "I'm so sorry.  I'm so sorry, baby.  I will spend eternity making this up to you."  Now I was confused.  Surely I should be able to understand my own hallucinations.  "Please understand, I had to go."

"What?" I asked stupidly.

Her brows furrowed.  "Can we talk about this at home?  I only came here because I didn't know if you had moved…"  Shouldn't my Emily delusion know where I lived?  She lived in my brain for Christ's sake.  I stood up, despondent.  This was a welcome change.  Despondency was normal, familiar.  I had been a zombie for four months.  Her fingers lightly traced over the scratches down my arms from my own nails, her tongue clicking in disapproval.  "Y/n!" she said insistently, pulling me out of my stupor. 

I snapped my eyes back up to her face, studying her.  Her bangs had grown out and she had new wrinkles around her eyes.  She had aged.  My mind wouldn't have aged her; my mind would have conjured the last Emily I had seen.  If she had aged, that meant she had just been gone these past four months.  "Please understand, I had to go."  Her previous words finally sunk in.

I clenched my teeth and ripped my arm out from her soft grip.  "What?" I hissed.

Shock registered on her face.  Her mouth fell open as if she didn't know what to say.  "I-"

"Don't," I demanded, gathering my stuff to go home.  I was exhausted from my earlier panic attack, but rage now consumed me.  I just spent the last four months grieving her, and she just walked in here and thought I'd fall back in her arms with a simple, "Y/n/n."

I was outraged that I had been fighting for my life and within thirty seconds, Emily's presence had cleared the storm cloud that had hung heavy over me for months.  I was livid that she looked so good, clearly the months hadn't been hard on her.  But above all else, I was terrified.  I thought back to yesterday's close call and how just this morning I wished I had been successful.  A close call because she was here now.  I wasn't hallucinating.  What if I had died yesterday and I missed her coming back to me?  The thought was unbearable.

I clung to my anger because it was much easier to be angry than to feel the overwhelming excitement and hope that she was back when the thought that this wasn't real still lingered in my mind.  I genuinely didn't know if I would be able to handle losing her again.  Anger was easy.  And even though I was pissed, I reached out for her hand as we walked out of my classroom.  I couldn't bear to ignore this gift, hallucination or real.  If she was here to touch, to be with, I was giving my entire self.  I'd suffer the consequences later.

When we made it to the parking lot, Emily held her hand out, palm up for the keys.  And like countless times before, as if no time had passed at all, I dropped them in her waiting hand.  I flashed my eyes up to hers, both of us amused at our old habit.  She smiled brightly, but I was too wary to return it.  She squeezed my hand and opened my door for me.  

I slid in the passenger seat of my car, suddenly embarrassed by the mess.  I looked around in shock as if this were the first time I were seeing it in months.  And I suppose in a way it was.  Emily, though I'm certain she registered how filthy it was in here, didn't say anything.  I was suddenly very nervous for what our home looked like.  Our home.  Was it still our home?

When we walked through the door, I watched Emily look around in awe, tears forming in her eyes at the picture of us still sitting on the hall table.  "It smells like home," she whispered.  "It smells like you."  She turned towards me her eyes haunted.  At her devastated look, my anger evaporated.  "I missed you so much, baby."

"You did?"

She pulled me in her arms, burying her face in my neck just like all those times before.  I heard a heavy, stuttered inhale and then she was sobbing into me.  I froze; I couldn't wrap my arms around her.  She had left me.  All this time she had been alive.  What did she have to be upset about?  "I'm so sorry, y/n," she said between sniffles.  "I've been waiting four months to come home to you."

I was confused again.  But this time I was brave enough to ask, "What do you mean?"

"Didn't JJ tell you?" Emily asked, a V creasing between her eyebrows as she wiped the tears from her own face.

I moved deeper into our apartment, flopping down on the couch.  "Tell me what?" I asked, unease filling my gut.

Emily sat next to me, taking my hand in hers.  "That I wasn't actually dead."

I blanched.  I breathed a sigh of relief at hearing it confirmed that I hadn't lost my mind, that this was real.  And then the anger surged with renewed vigor.  "No," I spat, "JJ did not tell me that."  She sucked in a shocked breath, the air catching in her throat.  "I was there when they lowered you into the ground.  I wept over your casket, Emily," I said harshly.

Her breath hitched, tears forming behind her eyes again.  "Y/n, I-"

"I grieved you for MONTHS, Emily!" I exploded.  "And you're just…here?"  I was so tired.  Last night's lack of sleep exacerbated by the roller coaster of emotions I was experiencing this afternoon.

Emily explained the danger she had been in, how they didn't catch the unsub.  She told me it was a matter of national and global security.  Need to know only.  That one stung.  I knew it was irrational to expect Emily to tell me - a teacher - about matters of national security when she couldn't even tell her team, but it chafed me. I was her fiancée after all.  "When he stabbed me," she continued, "And they didn't catch him, Hotch made a decision - for my safety - to fake my death.  I made JJ swear to tell you it wasn't real."

I sat, eyes wide, absorbing this new information.  Emily had been in immense danger, and I hadn't even known.  She had kept this huge secret from me and couldn't even be bothered to talk to me about it?  "JJ swore to me she'd tell you the truth."

"YOU should have done it, Emily!  Don't you think you owe me that??"

A tear slipped down her face.  "Yes," she whispered.  "I'm sorry-"

"Sorry doesn't make it hurt less, Emily," I said bitterly.  "I-" the anger faded as fast it had come earlier.  "I was so lost without you," I sobbed.  She pulled me onto her lap, and for the first time tonight, I snuggled in.  She smelled so good and she was so soft.  I had been yearning for this for months, and now she was here - touching me, holding me.

I couldn't help myself.  My lips attached to her neck and furiously moved up to her mouth.  Electricity sparked to life as soon as her lips locked with mine.  I felt the weights on my arms and legs lift.  Life flowed through me again.  Emily's kiss was healing.  Emily's lips brought me back to life.

I couldn't stop.  Her hands grabbed me closer, squeezing tightly.  She pushed me to lay back on the couch and hovered over me.  I pulled her down into me, arching my back.  I couldn't get close enough to her; I needed every part of her on me.

"Em-"I gasped as her teeth sunk harshly into my neck.

"I missed you like this, love," she murmured into my neck.  "I missed you in every way."  I moaned at her words and her tongue soothing the sting of her bite.  "I need you."

"I'm yours.  Mind, body, soul.  It's yours.  Please, Emily.  Touch me," I begged.

She stripped me quickly, hands tracing reverently over my skin.  Each glide of her hand down my arms and legs, each sweet kiss pressed to my skin soothed my worry.  And though it relieved the ache in my heart, it blazoned a new one between my legs.  An ache I hadn't felt in over four months.

Dusk was settling in around us, but it felt like a new day was dawning.  Her mouth lathed around one of my nipples and my moan echoed around the quickly darkening room.  Her fingers danced lightly over my panty-clad pussy.  "Don't tease, please.  Not right now.  I need you, Emily, please."  I cupped my hand around the back of her neck, pulling her to my lips again.

She pushed my panties aside and slipped her fingertips between my folds.  I moaned into her mouth, her lips curling up into a smile at the sound.  My hands roamed up and down her body, trying to re-memorize her lines and curves.  I frantically tugged at her clothes, pulling them from her body so I could touch her bare skin.  It felt like silk beneath my fingertips.

My back arched and a moan echoed around the room as she slipped two fingers inside me.  "Em-" I gasped.  I panted into her neck.  She felt so good.  The universe had been listening.  I begged for heaven, and I found it.  Heaven was Emily Prentiss's touch between my legs.  Heaven was Emily Prentiss's lips lapping at my own.  Heaven was being in her arms.

"Don't stop!" I begged, head thrown back in euphoria.  My keening wails felt so loud.  It had been months since this apartment was filled with any meaningful noise.  

"That's it, angel," Emily cooed.  "Come on, baby - cum for me."  My nails clawed at her back, pleasure crashing over me.  Light flashed behind my eyes, stars dancing behind my eye lids.  I slumped under Emily, trying to catch my breath.  I slowly opened my eyes, heavy with lust and fatigue.  I cupped Emily's face and pulled her down to kiss me.

And like before, the sting of electricity zapped through me, charging me once more.  I pushed her back while she helped pull me into her.  "Can I taste you?" I asked, reaching for her belt buckle.

"You don't ha-"

"Please," I begged.  I needed this.  She nodded at me and I slid her clothes off.  And like she had done for me, I tasted each section of skin revealed.  She was exquisite under my lips.  And when I finally swept my tongue through her wetness, I felt the last piece of me click back into place.

The way Emily squirmed underneath me was the holiest dance.  It was familiar and new at the same time.  Her breathing picked up and her hands tangled in my hair pulling deliciously.  I moaned into her, overjoyed I was here - between her thighs - once again.  "Y/n!" Emily moaned.  "Oh god," she groaned.

I slid down to the floor to get a better angle, settling her legs over my shoulders.  I slid a finger inside her, relishing in the hot, tight fit.  "Harder," she demanded.  I slipped a second in her, curling them slightly.  "Harder."  I pushed them in her and sucked on her clit.  "Harder!" she begged.  I slammed my fingers in her, driving them in and out frantically.

"Y/n!" she screamed, her hands pulling my hair a little too harshly.  I continued to lap at her to allow her to come down.  She tugged on my hair and softly exhaled.  "Come here," she said.  I slipped my fingers out of her, licking them clean.  She whimpered at the loss.  

She opened her arms and I laid down, sighing contentedly.  Exhaustion crept over me, settling heavy in my eyes and limbs.  The darkness, Emily's scent, and her gentle breathing lulled me into a trance.  But even though I hadn't slept last night, I didn't dare fall asleep.  

Emily slid me off of her and moved to stand up.  My heart stopped, the breath burning my lungs much like the water had not twenty-four hours before.  I tried not to breathe heavily to tip Emily off that I was starting to panic.  Though it was nearly pitch black now, Emily's silence illuminated my every fear, blinding me to everything else.

"Come to bed, sweetheart."  My heart stuttered, kickstarting itself back into a normal rhythm.  I exhaled heavily, my unfounded fears with it.  "Love?  What is it?"

"I-" I willed myself not to cry.  I was so tired of crying.  She crouched by me, stroking the top of my head.  When I didn't answer, she scooped me up, and helped me stand up.

She paused in the threshold of our bedroom.  "I just assumed…" she trailed off nervously.  "Is it okay if I stay?"

My eyes flashed to hers in fear.  She was contemplating leaving?  "Don't go," I pleaded.  "Stay.  I need you, please Emily.  I just got you back-" she interrupted me with a kiss to the forehead and a soft shush.

She tucked me in and wrapped me in her arms.  A rogue tear escaped down my cheek.  And the harder I tried to keep the rest from following, the harder they fought to fall.

"What is it baby?"

"I'm scared to sleep."

She stroked a thumb under my eye, tracing the lines of the puffy bags and dark circles.  "Have you been having nightmares?  I can tell you haven't been sleeping."  I steeled myself. This was Emily; if I could talk to anyone, it was her.

"I'm scared you aren't real and that when I wake up, it will be to an empty bed once again.  I'm terrified if I close my eyes, you'll be gone when I open them again."  She kissed my forehead, allowing her lips to linger there.

"I'm not going anywhere, baby.  This is very much real.  Here," she grabbed my hand and placed it over her heart.  "My heart beats for you.  I missed you every second of every day while I was away.  In a way, I really did die.  To be away from you was unbearable.  But to hear that you genuinely thought I was dead?  It's agony.  And I could kill JJ for disregarding my wishes."

Her hands stroked softly up and down my back, calming me down.  She always was so good at drawing me back from a panic attack.  "And," she continued, "I know a lot has changed for us.  And I'm hoping we can face the unknown together.  I still want there to be an us.  Above all else, I need there to be us."

I kissed the corner of her mouth.  "I want that too," I whispered.

"You're it for me, y/n.  I meant it four months ago, and I mean it now.  I love you." 

"I just missed you so much, Emily."

"I know, love.  I missed you too." I snuggled deeper into her arms, losing myself in heaven.

_ _ _

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[gretchensinister]

Perhaps you should buy yourself a book as a present

Such as...

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But even a monster wants more out of life than simple survival, and this one might well decide that one of these campers could be something other than prey to him.

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Berenson Wilderness Recreation Area invites you to a story that’s not as familiar as it might first appear, an exploration of friendship, fear, family, and finding out just how far you’ll go for the ones you love. ($2.99, equivalent to 234 print pages)

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Stella Black has been followed by a terrifying, malevolent entity since she was a child, but she’s never been certain of its ability to affect the physical world until now. With new evidence of its power to affect matter, she can only assume it is finally going to end her life. Desperate, she seeks out a paranormal society, and, to her astonishment, they promise to do whatever they can to help her, despite her destitute state. The entity, however, proves too powerful to be destroyed by the society’s means. While it is temporarily bound, the mysterious Alexandra Poppy says that she might be able to permanently destroy it using the knowledge contained in books on her rural estate, Dreamers’ Hill. The powerful draw of freedom and of time spent alone with Alexandra lead Stella to agree to accompany her far away from any life she’s ever known, but the forbidden wishes of her heart are not the strangest possibilities that might come to fruition under the cold stars of the year’s longest night… *** The Solstice Alliance is a story of sapphic romance and dark magic set in a strange Victorian England where love is not the only way to bind souls together. ($4.99, equivalent to 442 print pages)

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The first reblog will have a link to all the ebooks. If you do not want to go through this Major Retailer please message me and we can work out a way for you to buy the file directly from me.

[the-wolf-who-kissed-the-moon]

• Kassandra x Eivor Varinsdottir x female reader. 💋

• Warnings: graphic adult content, erotica, sapphic love.

our sapphic verse, part III.

The midsummer winds caressed your bare skin, and that’s when you truly felt exposed.

By instinct you made an attempt to cover your chest, and Eivor allowed your soft hand to slip through the hold of her sturdy fingers. You were endearing, but neither of them were willing to rush something meant to be savored slowly. You glanced at Kassandra, wide-eyed and speechless, and she gently caressed your cheek with her thumb. The look in her citrine eyes was so inviting you couldn’t resist the urge to drape your arms around her firm shoulders. She softened her body beneath your curious touch, allowing you to explore the wide expanse of her strong back muscles.

“…show me.”

You whispered, closing your eyes as you pulled her in. Her mouth was overwhelmingly hot, burning your parched lips with its slow affections. You tasted wine and fresh grapes as she parted your sweet petals with the tip of her tongue to penetrate your tender mouth. She was so incredibly sensual, the way she moved closer in your embrace and how she hummed with pleasure as she conquered you. Every stroke of her tongue against yours made your head spin, and albeit gentle, she was openly domineering with her kiss, hard and deep. You tightened your grip on her smooth shoulders, seeking leverage, but she effortlessly pushed you back right into Eivor’s arms.

Heat overwhelmed you from behind. You felt a pair of strong arms slowly wrap around your waist, and when soft breasts caressed your shoulder blades, you broke free from Kassandra’s kiss with a gasp.

“…you’re ours now, sweet songbird.”

Eivor murmured as she dipped her head low to nuzzle the side of your throat. Her heated breath tenderly caressed your skin as she caught your scent; peonies and spring water. You sighed with approval and relaxed in her hold, smiling against Kassandra’s hungry lips.

You were in heaven.

The viking shifted to lean back against the pillows with you in her arms, and each brush of her breasts against your back drove you mad with desire. Kassandra followed, slow and predatory, crawling up your body to keep her mouth on yours. Your head fell against Eivor’s broad shoulder as you willingly offered your throat to your beloved misthios. She languidly feasted on your sensitive skin, her lips like the touch of burning flames as she passionately kissed down the elegant curve of your neck.

“…Kassandra.”

You praised her name in sweet surrender as you groped her shoulders and dug your nails into her firm muscles. She groaned like a feral beast, her teeth grazing your skin with unsated hunger. Breathless, she pulled away to meet your gaze, and the way she licked her lips was terrifyingly arousing.

With eager hands she peeled the lavender silk off your body, revealing the beauty of your nude form beneath the dark night sky. You shivered, not from cold, but how good Eivor’s hand felt on your chest as she begun to caress you. Her palm was rough, hardened by wielding heavy axes, and yet her touch was tender, incredibly erotic. She cupped your breast and squeezed it softly, boldly indulging in the pleasure of caressing your womanly mounds. And gods, she was so good at it. You twisted in her hold, grabbing her arm which felt much stronger than it looked, and up close the firmness of her muscles was almost frightening to behold. But dear gods, her skin was soft like young rose petals.

“…aah..”

You cried softly as she thoroughly enjoyed your tender chest, sensually massaging your breasts until your body was tingling all over. Each stroke of her thumb against your sensitive nipples sent an erotic impulse right between your legs.

Kassandra took a moment to simply admire the way you tensed and softened beneath Eivor’s ravenous touch. The sweet sounds of your quiet ‘ahhs’ and ‘mmhs’… She smiled seductively as she begun to trail her hot palms down your shivering body, caressing your stomach and hips back and forth. You felt completely subdued by her penetrative gaze peering right into your soul, and by instinct you parted your legs.

Her hands naturally knew how to unfold you and your body yearned for her, arching up into her warmth as she lowered herself onto you. And as her beautiful mouth adored your navel with soft kisses, Eivor’s hand temporarily abandoned your raw breasts and slipped lower. Your legs trembled at the feel of her coarse fingertips slow-dancing along the outline of your pubic hairs.

“…how’s this, little songbird?”

The Raven murmured, her deep voice sizzling with passion. Much like your beloved Kassandra, this Norse goddess knew how to unleash her dominance in such irresistibly seductive ways. It was too late to pull away now, when you were starved for their affections. And so, you laid your dainty hands atop her own and caressed her scarred knuckles, silently encouraging her to touch you.

A brief cry left your sweet lips as Eivor cupped her palm over your vulva. She squeezed, putting enough pressure on your swollen clit to make you arch beautifully against her firm body. A deep sigh of satisfaction escaped her sensual lips as she tightened her arms around you. You curled your toes with a meek whimper, already too sensitive to her fingers brushing between your delicate folds, prying them open for Kassandra’s delighted gaze. The mischievous goddess allowed Eivor to torture you slowly with her skilled hand, dipping her fingertips into your burning lady core and spreading your hot nectar all over your sensitive folds. She thoroughly explored your vulva with feather-like touches, slowly preparing you for oral sex. You were about to implore mercy when your most adored misthios buried her head between your legs, at last.

Gods, her tongue…

So skillfully caressing your smooth flower, molding perfectly against your twitching petals. She took her time savoring your delicate shapes before closing her lips around your throbbing jewel. Her tongue rolled back and forth over your pulsing need, so hot and wet it made you whimper with a desperate need yet to be satisfied. You were so painfully aroused that you begun to struggle lightly in Eivor’s iron grip, but she held you tight in her embrace, and all you could do was endure the overwhelming pleasure of Kassandra’s mouth working so good on you.

“…how does it feel, songbird?”

The Raven whispered against the shell of your ear. Her voice deeply reverberated in every cell of your being, like the low growl of a hungry wolf. You felt her hand gracefully wander up your body, groping you gently and stimulating your sensitive skin just right.

“ah-… amazing…”

You moaned softly between heavy breaths as you sought Kassandra’s beautiful hair with your trembling hands and undid the leather strap holding her braid together. Velvet chestnut tresses fell freely over her strong shoulders, adding to her magnificent charm. You caressed her head tenderly, in silent praise and silent plea. But The mighty Eagle-Bearer took her sweet time to enjoy you, keeping you suspended in long moments of intense, almost unbearable pleasure. Her masterful tongue moved flawlessly between your sensitive inner lips, parting them to gently taste your core, and then slowly slipping up to roll over and around your pearl. It was a flowing rhythm that nearly pushed you over the edge of a much needed climax, but never quite enough. Although you struggled and begged helplessly, she denied you release and instead aroused you further, until you were trembling with each stroke of her deft tongue. Only when your desperate moans were on the verge of pained whimpers did she finally grant you sweet mercy.

Her pace abruptly changed, with her mouth’s focus solely on your hypersensitive cherry. And heavens, she knew just how to move her tongue against you, growing faster and harder with each precise flick and roll. Your hips were pinned to the floor by her vicious grip, leaving you no room to escape. Sensations rose rapidly and pleasure came in deep, overwhelming waves. Your vulva pulsed in anticipation of a powerful orgasm, and when you reached the peaks of absolute bliss, you cried her name out to the gods.

- To be continued…

*part IV.

[sillyguy-supreme]

hey, was anyone looking for a sapphic tragedy wip in these times?

(ps if you know anything about flower language pls message me)

@even-if-in-another-time this snippet is for you <3

Here is how the story is told here:

A witch who made flowers joyfully spring from the ground where she walked.

A witch cursed to roam the earth, immortal and forever young, without her lover beside her.

A princess who the wind whispered warnings to the forest about.

A princess doomed to eternal slumber, until the world needed her to save it.

Here is how it could have gone:

A witch hoping to see her love again. She knows that the princess will awake in drastic times. The witch knows that she will be alive when the princess awakes, as her destiny states.

She does not want to see her lover die again.

When the princess awakes, the first thing she sees is her witch, bent over a thick tome. Her eyes are sadder, something haunting her expression, but it is, undoubtedly, her.

“It’s good to see you again, my rose,” says the witch, a smile lighting up her features for the first time in centuries.

That is not how it goes.

They will dwell on the way it could have been for eternities after. (It’s all they have of each other, after all.)

Those who tell the story wonder if this is how it could have gone, if the two hadn’t done everything painfully right, if they didn’t play right into the prophecy, even though they tried so hard not to:

A princess, cursed to slumber until the world needed saving.

A witch that could not think to roam the earth without her rose beside her.

When the princess awakens, a figure covered in flowers begins to stir.

“Good morning, my heart,” says the witch with a sleepy smile.”

That is just wishful thinking, the hopeful thoughts of a young scholar studying late.

Here is how it truly happens:

A princess in eternal slumber, only said to awake to protect the world from an apocalypse.

A witch, desperate to see her love again, whatever it takes.

The first to die are the witch who cast the curse and the prophet who relayed the damning prophecy.

The princess wakes up one week later.