#each part will have around 12-15 chapters as it's planned right now

[starrysharks]

when will all the spoilers be revealed? juuust wondering

when i actually make ultimate excalibur a real comic ,,,, which is gonna take A While sorry 😭

[yaut-jaknowit]

Whirling Seas Lap At Soft Shores

Pairing: We'ar-ow (Female Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 3132

Summary: After a gruesome battle with Dwainet, We'ar-ow deserves aftercare from her newly crowned mate.

Author Note: I may have put finishing this off on the back burner. I... I didn't want to finish it. I wanted to leave it open. I hate finishing stories. It's a chapter done in my story. But, I pulled myself up by my big girl breeches and completed it. There will be two other side parts to this.

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17

All the way back to her quarters, not a word was said between the two of you. Your heart drowned out any noises that may have filled the breezeways. Blood dripped from her fingers and lead a path to her front door. It followed inside the quarters. You led her towards her room and guided We’ar-ow into her bathroom.

It was clean and pristine in here. Until she entered. The neon blood created spots on the tiled floor. You motioned with your hands for her to wait there. Curious, the Yautja listened to your command and watched your form trot over to the bath. A small smile gracing her features. You began to fill up the bath, fingers touching the warm water. Once you deemed it the perfect temperature, you added some incense she never thought to use. They cluttered around the edge of the bath, collecting dust.

A soft aroma filled the humid air. We’ar-ow took a lungful in and let her eyes shut. The heat in her veins was disappearing. The walk back here helped ease down the excitement that filled her entire being. Hunting and killing Dwainet was more than relieving. There may be other dangers that could endanger you, but with the main problem out of the way. You had no reason to fear the outdoors again.

The problem was in her hands. His blood staining the tiles under her feet. It had cold down some but the warmth she could feel was delicious. She had made sure you had watched as she used her own strength to rip his head clean off. To show off. To ensure you knew how strong, how mighty, how skilled she was. We’ar-ow was easily able to defend you from any attackers. Including one she wished she had killed off long ago.

Your soft gaze landed on We’ar-ow. All thoughts of the past left. We’ar-ow dropped the head in the nearby sink before stepping up to your shorter frame. The position forced you to tilt your head back, exposing your throat to her. A vulnerable position she would be caught dead in. Yet, here you are, willingly giving such a fragile portion of your body to her. Not that the rest of you was vulnerable as well. She didn’t mind. It made you, you.

We’ar-ow’s chest no longer heaved for air. The battle left her veins. Now, it was time for you to step in.

The first thing you did was tap at her armor on the top portion of her torso. Her bright eyes observed you a little more. Then, her hands got to moving.

They easily unlatched each piece of metal and let them fall to the ground. We’ar-ow would later come around to cleaning them. Right now, she was more focused on you. There was something you were planning. She was willingly to wait it out and see what you come up with.

From her shoulders, she moved down. The pink Yautja exposed her entire frame to your scanning eyes. Despite the battle being unfair from the start, a three verses one – you didn’t find much for her injuries.

Most of the blood being her enemies. There were going to be plenty of bruises to see later. All you could see was where a few throwing knives were embedded into her skin and where her tresses had been pulled out. If only that darker red Yautja had still a little life left in him. You would’ve been more than happy to stomp on his face. Her beautiful tresses had been tug straight out of her skull. A very sensitive organ.

Once the last piece of clothing had been discarded to lie at her feet. You scanned over her, admiring the frame she’s crafted from meticulously. Then, you realized what you were doing. Right in front of her.

Heat flushed your cheeks to life. You squeaked before spinning around and facing towards the tub. “Um, you can… you can get in whenever you want,” you sputtered and strolled over to the faucet. The bath was close to being filled all the way. You distracted yourself with that and carefully watched her out of the corner of your vision.

We’ar-ow stepped up to the edge of the bath and look into the water. A relaxing aroma soaked into the air, causing the Yautja to let her muscles go lax. She glanced at your crouched position, not even looking at her. She chuckled deep with in her chest.

The water drew her further in past the first step. The bath easily fitted her towering form, designed specifically for someone of her size and stature. She sat down on a ledge, arms spread out on the edge. A position of relaxation.

One of her hands motioned for you to come closer. You gulped before listening to her silent command. The heat in your cheeks still prominent as ever. She looked beautiful like this. After a hard and demanding battle, she deserved this peace to recuperate. You stopped on the other side of her spread out arms and gazed down at her. We’ar-ow used a finger to get you to lean down. Confused, you still listened to her.

Something latched onto your wrist. A tug had you flailing and falling headfirst into the tub. Your body caused water to spill over the edge. You surge past the water’s surface and gasp for air. Adrenaline buzzed to life, trying to fight for your survival. Anger boiled in the pit of your stomach as you scrambled for the edge of the bath.

Hands grasped at your waist and pulled you into a figure. You fought against the hold but it was pointless. All you were able to do was spin around and pounded a fist on her chest.

“What the fuck was that for?!” you screamed at her then wiped off the excess water on your face. We’ar-ow rumbled a chuckle, shoulders rising and falling. You steamed worse than before and harshly huffed, arms crossed.

Now, all of your clothes were soaked and clung to you like a second skin. It felt terrible. We’ar-ow rested her hands on your waist. The tips of her fingers and thumbs nearly were able to touch each other. That just made you feel even smaller than before. You still in her lap and tilted your head up. She was watching you with an unknown emotion swirling in her eyes. You didn’t know what it was.

“I’m all wet because of you,” you pouted, brows lowered, features pulling a ‘resting bitch face’ well. “Do you know how uncomfort-“ We’ar-ow snatched a handful of fabric and easily tore it from your torso. “What are you doing?!” That didn’t deter her from ripping every single article of clothing straight off of your body.

You stayed sat in her lap, unable to stop her until you too were naked as the same as her. After so long, the nakedness wasn’t as much as an issue as before. She’s stripped down plenty of times in front of you. Plus, she’s forced you to bathe despite disagreeing with her. That included what she just did to you.

Her hands returned to your waist and rested. There was no twitching or tight holds on you. It felt like you could leave at any point you wanted. Instead, you stayed there and found her eyes again.

The female Yautja started to purr and gingerly leaned forward. Instinctively, your eyes softly shut on their own and let her rub her forehead against yours. It was just a gentle manner; you almost thought it was a dream. We’ar-ow wasn’t soft. Not unless she wanted to be.

It caused you to relax in her grasp. Your hands came up to touch at her chest, to hold yourself up. One of her palms shifted to drift over the skin on your back. A curse sounded in your head. You melted into a pool of goo in her grasp. She knew what she was doing. It wasn’t like you were going to stop her in the first place.

Then, you shook yourself free from the calming manner and pulled away. One of your hands reached up to cup her jaw, feeling the smoother scales. You sat up higher on your knees and cupped some water with your hands. She watched as you let the water carefully run over her mandibles. You used the water to wash off the blood flakes that stained her mandibles and pink scales. It easily came off with your help.

A silence overcame the two of you. At first, you felt tense, unable to find your voice. We’ar-ow wouldn’t stop look away from you somehow finding your face the best thing to peer at. The stare of a predator forced your muscles to tense up. You fought against it, long enough to clean up her face and call it good.

Next, you worked on her upper torso since the water covered the soft swell of her breasts and down. The steam in the air created precipitation to run down your face. A heat you still weren’t used to. One you may never get a hang of. You ignored her gaze for the betterment of cleaning her up. Green blood of her enemies still staining her scales.

When you reached for the back of her head where the tresses had been pulled out, We’ar-ow ensnarled your wrist. You jolted at the unsuspecting move and found her gaze again. She brings your hand to her breastbone and pushes the palm to the scales. You can feel her powerful heart thump under your touch. A reminder she survived through it all.

We’ar-ow scoots a little closer to the end of the ledge was sitting on then dunked her head under the water. When she came back up, she shook her head and flung water everywhere. You gasped and turned away from the assault. “We’ar-ow!” you scolded but couldn’t hide the slight hint of playfulness in your voice. She instantly started to rub her wet features over your drying skin.

When she deemed it enough, We’ar-ow pulled back and lifted up her top two mandibles. A smirk. You pursed your lip and crossed your arms. “I was trying to be nice and help you. This is how you pay me back?” you huffed. The Yautja started to purr again. Your weakness.

One she knew when and how to use against you. A sigh left your lips. Your shoulders sagged. “You’re lucky I care so much about you.”

Her massive hands cupped your cheeks, easily dwarfing your features. “I am very lucky to have you at my side. Very much so,” she cooed and leaned again to nuzzle her forehead to yours. You let your arms wrap around her neck and stayed there in her arms, enjoying the moment of peace. One you knew would be far and few between.

Both of you clambered out of the bath. We’ar-ow using her brute strength to simply lift you out and set you down on the wet tiles. The heat of the ship and room kept you from feeling a chill. You were happy for once about how hot the mothership is kept at. We’ar-ow steps out and lets the water creates pools underneath each step she made.

After all the times in here, you find the blow dryer and stood on top of the grate. A warm gust of air helped fling off any drops of water that clung to your skin. You moved your way into her room and let the towering Yautja dry off as well. She followed after you.

Before she could stop you, you were quick to throw on some clothing. You knew if she had an opportunity, We’ar-ow would’ve denied you clothing. There was something about you being naked she enjoyed seeing. Especially in the safety of her quarters. All of your features exposed for her eyes only. She deepened her purr and crowded behind you.

Yet, you spun around and poked a finger into her stomach. “Hold up, go sit on the bed,” you demanded then pointed towards her bed. It would decrease her height and make it easier for you to care for her injuries. Her bright eyes narrowed down on your form. She snorted then stroll over to the low bed. You watched her for a few seconds afterwards before trotting back into the bathroom.

A first aid like kit was snatched from a cabinet before you were back at her side. We’ar-ow peered over her shoulder and observed what you were doing.

The kit was opened and laid out off to the side, on the bed. You found a serum and used it to rub across her side where the throwing knives were once embedded in her skin. It was rubbed into her scales and left it exposed. The wounds weren’t severe enough to warrant any bandages. You peered at the pull tresses and cringed at the painful sight.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to do anything for your scalp?” you asked and moved to stand between her open legs. In this position, she was eyelevel with you. You cupped her cheek again and rubbed a thumb along the ridge of her upper mandible.

We’ar-ow shook her head softly. “No, there’s nothing to be done. The wounds will close but the tresses may never grow back. It all depends on if they do or don’t,” she explained and pinched your jaw between two fingers.

Being this close to her, you weren’t disturbed by the face she was still naked. A sight you’ve seen plenty of times, nearly every day. Some Yautjas liked to sleep naked. You kept your eyes strictly on her face, trying to respect her. The sight of her naked was beautiful though. A goddess carved into the most beautiful, most powerful creature to walk this universe.

“Okay,” you timidly responded. In response, We’ar-ow ensnared an arm around your waist and tugged you flush to her. A yelp surged past your lips. Your free hand was then pinned to between the two of you. She laid down on the bed and brought you down with her. Her other arm wrapped around your back, effectively pinning you to her.

You just let it happen. Your eyes slowly shut, letting the calm setting wash over you like the most soothing bath ever. Her arms were a comforting weight on your back and kept you pinned to her. One of the most safest places to be.

An unknown amount of time passed before she was shifting from underneath you. A groggily noise escaped your throat when you felt her warmth leave you. Your eyes blinked open to find We’ar-ow pulling on a simple pair of shorts. The Yautja strolled into the bathroom before heading into the main area of her quarters.

Curiosity got the best of you. You slipped out of bed and lumbered after her retreating form. She stepped into her trophy room. A place you kept a wide berth from. There were human skulls inside. It was natural to fear the fact one of those could be you. This time, you only hesitated before taking the plunge and going inside.

The room was considerably large. A work desk was built into the wall. Random gadgets and smaller bones laid about the wooden table. We’ar-ow set down Dwainet’s skull into a vat full of what had to be acid. It was angry looking and smelled like it was burning. You timidly stepped up to her side and motioned towards the vat. “What are you doing?” you asked and turned your head towards her.

We’ar-ow was watching as the acid bubbled with the added food. “Cleaning your courting gift,” she answered then plucked it from the vat. The sky-blue liquid dripped off of the now skinless skull.

White bones were all that were left in its wake. The other pieces part of the jaw and mandibles had to be scooped out as well. She brought all of them over to the desk and set the pieces down with the skull.

A stool was pulled up for you perch upon. You thanked We’ar-ow and watched. She carefully used a clear string like fishing line to reconnect the mandibles and jaw back to the main part of the skull. The way her large hands were delicate and still with the process shocked you. You didn’t doubt her. Far from it. But, for such a brute creature, We’ar-ow knew when and how to use that strength when the time calls. Including coming to your aid when you needed someone most. She became that someone.

The Yautja worked swiftly with practice. You zoned in on her work and ignored what the rest of the room held. It was best not to think about it. Or else, you’ll freak out. That would look terrible in front of her.

It didn’t take long before she stepped back from the standing desk. Despite the knowledge of who that skull is, you weren’t weirded out. Actually, it offered a sense of peace of mind. Dwainet couldn’t do anything to hurt you anymore. Now, it was just We’ar-ow and yourself to face what else the universe may throw at you. The two of you could defeat them all.

She took the skull into her hands before kneeling in front of you again. Inside the swirling emotions in her eyes, you saw the love that sparkled in them. Your name soft left her mandibles as her gaze pierced your very soul. “I wish to present this skull to you in a show of my skills and triumph of today’s battle. I show my skill and prowess to protect you. I show there is no reason to doubt me or what I can do to protect what’s mine,” she declared and lifted the skull closer to you.

Your hand rested on the dome section of the skull and smiled at her. “We’ar-ow, thank you. You don’t understand how much this means to me.” Your shoulders slightly sagged. “I don’t mean to seem like I’m doubting you but it’s human nature. I know you are strong and mighty. I don’t doubt that. I trust you, We’ar-ow, with all of my heart,” you stated, gaze softening at We’ar-ow.

The air between the two of you grew tense. You felt it squeeze at your chest.

We’ar-ow was the first to break eye contact by clearing her throat and looking away. “Do you have somewhere this should be hung up?” She stood back up to tower over you. You softly huffed through your nose with a shake of your head.

“Anywhere is good.”

The skull ended up above the bed. It’s final resting place of the male who betrayed you.

[deceptive-daydreams]

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 | Ch. 8 | Ch. 9 | Ch. 10 | Ch. 11 | Ch. 12 | Ch. 13 | Ch. 14 |

Smoke Signals

Chapter Three - Two Old Fashioneds

W/C: 5.2K

Eddie x Fem reader - Grumpy!Bartender!Eddie x Shy!Reader

Your first shift at The Bourbon goes less than smoothly and more chaotic. Does the town's hard-ass really have his shit together like he leads everyone to believe?

A/N: guys I'm so excited for this to pick up even more (i want to make them kiss like barbies but all in good time)

Masterlist

Prev | Next

The ins and outs of a bar were something you could have never anticipated and while similar in certain ways to a diner, there was a distinct line that separated the two.  A diner had grumpy old men complaining about not getting their coffee soon enough.  The bar had grumpy old men slurring their words, groaning about their lives and insisting that a ‘cute lil thing like you’ would fix everything.  You had to stop yourself from gagging, plaster a smile on your face, and carry on.  Because one complaint and you could be out of a job, only proving that you couldn’t handle the ‘rowdy’ customers as disclosed by the boss, who now that you thought about, hadn’t seen in the last forty minutes.  

Not one other server was on staff to at least show you the ropes, it seemed like you were the first one.  One of the bartenders, Jett, who had been the one you’d seen working the day before, was unfortunately selected to both train you and run the bar for the most part tonight, no time for a proper introduction before you were thrown into the deep end, only a quick exchange of names.  It was a Thursday night but apparently to people in Knife’s Edge that meant the weekend started early.  Poor Jett was nineteen years old and the whole bar depended on you two ever since 8:00 PM when you clocked in for your very first shift.  It was nauseating having to ask him stupid questions in between attempting to serve tables while he made drink after drink, desperately trying to keep up with each order and delivering them to the right customer, even going as far to step out from behind the bar to tend to some of your tables.  You assume he was probably used to it, what with how he did it without hesitation and seemed to have his own little system in place.

It wasn’t your fault, he assured you.  It’s just that you happened to pick up your first shift the very night that the kitchen ran out of beef which also happened to be the main ingredient of one of The Bourbon’s only menu items, the famous Shreddar Burger topped with an ungodly amount of cheese and jalapenos.  Turns out the customers went wild for it.  It didn’t seem appetizing but you weren’t going to argue with the crowd favorite.  And now it was being requested left and right, the explanation that the kitchen was currently out but should be back to whipping up another round soon, not enough for their hungry bellies.  The best you could offer was a basket of fries until the beef magically showed up, Jett insisting that someone was taking care of it and that the cook would be back to whipping them up as planned sooner than later.  You were beginning to lose faith in his promises but proceeded one step at a time regardless.

Just one more task and then the beef will be here and I won’t have to hear another damn grievance over a heartburn-inducing burger. 

Yet it seemed to never come to an end, table after table requesting the very same order each time; only for you or Jett to break the news that their precious burger would have to wait and that again, the best you could offer were some fries or chicken wings, neither measuring up to the pedestal they held this burger on.

By around 9:15 PM, out came Eddie from the kitchen, door swinging behind him as sweat dripped from his brow.  He was out of breath, chest heaving while he gestured for you and Jett to come over to which you obeyed, zigzagging around tables in a hurry with a tray tucked under your arm, brows pinched together stressfully.  A new party of eight had just arrived which prompted you to push three tables together to accompany them, their drink order hadn’t even been taken yet and Eddie seemed to pick the worst time to call an impromptu meeting, in the middle of a never ending rush.  Burgerless.  

“Beef’s here.  Jett, I need you to help with the rest of the boxes so we can get burgers going.”  He instructs, the boy immediately following orders and frantically heading through the swinging door at full speed, very aware that he still had the front of house to attend to.  “And you, Bambi, change of plans.  I need you in the kitchen.”

So much to unpack in just one sentence.  The kitchen?  Bambi?

“Well–I-I thought I was just a server–”

“I said change of plans, I need you in the kitchen.”  Before you could ask further questions, he disappears into the kitchen and for a split second you turn to glance at the full bar awaiting service only to wince and follow him.  No one was managing the front and that made your nerves twitch but you suppose the boss knows what he’s doing.  At least you hope.  Your first hour or so had been a shit show.

Pans clanked against the metal worktop as he shoved them out of the way, clearing the space and igniting the flat top all while not batting an eye at you or caring to further explain.  You could just make out the formation of numbers on his lips, no sound coming out, but he was distinctly lip syncing the numbers one through three over and over.  It was strange though you didn’t have much time to process it, instead opting to internally lose it over the sheer idea of filling in for another position.  You didn’t sign up to be a cook and this was way out of your scope of skills.  He deemed you as incapable of being a server and now he was putting the foundation of this place on your shoulders.

“Randy, our cook left.”  He begins, oiling up the surface, his focus never faltering.  “Don’t know why, don’t know where.  All I know is I went to pick up beef and when I came back he was gone.”  

Jett scrambles near the back door, hauling boxes of beef into the walkin freezer as your eyes dart between him and Eddie, a certain queasiness forming in your stomach.  Eddie continues pulling supplies out and though it's within your rights to demand to return to your original position in the front, you can’t, the words won’t come out.  

“So you’re gonna flip burgers, Jett and I will be in and out to help while also holding it down out there.”

“I don’t even know how to ‘flip burgers’!”  

It comes out less hostile and more alarmed, your eyes feigning apprehension at the current inconsistency of the place.  In any other circumstance you should leave, quit with your dignity intact however that is not an option and you are in no position to be calling any shots; you begged for this job, afterall.

“You don’t know how to flip burgers.”  He deadpans.

“I-”

“You ever flipped a pancake?”

It’s not a genuine question, more of a mockery of your simpleminded excuse.  His head drops to catch your line of sight that had been previously shooting around the colorless kitchen, saturated in grays and whites that would drive anyone mad.  

“That’s not what I meant–”  You proclaim, setting your tray on an unoccupied work top.

“Just–cook the meat.  Make sure it’s not raw.”

As if that wasn’t the whole point of ‘cooking’ it.  This guy must have thought you had mush for brains yet he was the one with a crumbling structure of a business just based on what you’ve experienced in one night.  One hour, even.  You were starting to miss the senior citizens from the previous evening that appeared to have had a great deal of patience in comparison to the younger crowd that seemed to have more audacity and a shorter attention span.

“But what about–”

“Stop asking questions!  Just follow my lead.”  He demands, rushing out to the back, the door propped open so he could assist Jett in retrieving the remaining boxes from his truck.

What lead?  There was no lead.  Only chaos.

You idled next to the grill, shuffling your feet against the grimy tiles beneath you and taking notice of the astonishingly disgusting drain on the floor, coated in some kind of copper-colored grease.  At least if Eddie came back in to yell at you for not doing anything, you had the excuse of manning the grill, ensuring his precious bar didn’t burn to the ground though metaphorically, it already was.  What else were you supposed to do?  

–

You were sure the smell of beef, onions and cheese were going to be crusted into your hair for eternity when all was said and done.  Eddie and Jett had been taking turns walking you through the steps of creating this so-called famous burger and after a few mutilated testers, you eventually got the hang of it and it became a game of rinse and repeat.  Sometimes an order for a rare cooked burger would come in and you could only hope that you cooked it just enough that it wouldn’t bring on a nasty case of food poisoning to whoever had requested it.

Eddie stood behind you at the fryer, back to you while putting together another batch of fries to store under the heat lamps while you pieced together yet another burger, setting it along the space designated for finished meals along with its corresponding ticket underneath.  Eddie dumped some fries onto the plate before swiping it up and delivering it to its table.  When he quickly came back in to repeat the same motions, a question lingered in the back of your mind and it only made sense to ask it.

“Why am I on burger duty?”  You question, mentally facepalming at the phrasing you chose.

“Come again?”  He gives you another chance.

“I-I mean, if I’m brand new, why put me in charge of one of the most important things on the menu?  Why don’t you cook and I keep serving?”  

It seemed like a valid concern, only your first day and suddenly you’ve moved up to head of the kitchen?  Okay, maybe not head of the kitchen but that’s how it felt when thing one and thing two were constantly rotating out and mainly only managing fries and other small bar foods that were simple enough to make in big batches.  The grease from it all felt prominent on your skin, and you feared your sweat was going to become one with the vegetable oil.

“Every person out there knows me.  And I know them.  I know how to butter them up.”  He explains, a rogue curl escaping his messy bun in the mayhem of it all as he dumps another large portion of potatoes into the fryer.  “You…well, you know.”

It’s uncertain whether that was meant to be an insult or simply him losing his train of thought.  Either way, you didn’t read much into it, only nodding hesitantly.

“Don’t worry, we’ll throw you back to the wolves in no time.”  Eddie half jokes, exiting the kitchen once again, this time with plates balanced on his forearms and palms, Jett zooming past him to start up another round of wings.

“So, how are you enjoying hell?”  He laughs, giving his hands a good scrub down.

“Oh, it’s amazing.”  You exaggerate, piling some cheddar cheese high on top of the charred meat, topping it off with jalapenos and a bun, then plating it up with some fries.

“Well, I promise it’s not like this every shift.  And contrary to what you may have seen tonight, Eddie’s a good boss.  Just kinda cranky but you learn to ignore it.”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”  The man in question rushes by, heading for the walk-in freezer, yet again counting in threes, this time using his fingers as well.

–

As promised, you were sent back up to the front once things had slowed down, the bar emptying out aside from a few regulars that had straggled behind.  It was a manageable workload between three people, plus Jett was able to offer a little more in depth training behind the bar as well as giving you the official tour of The Bourbon.  

There was the main room where all the action was, dimly lit to create a nice ambience littered in knick knacks that decorated the walls, torn band posters covering the ceiling along with some Christmas lights.  Of course there was a pool table though you hadn’t witnessed any intense games in your short time here.  Jett took the liberty of educating you on the kitchen a little further should anything of tonight’s nature happen again.  You learned where everything was kept for their small but cherished menu, where the storage closet containing all the cleaning supplies was as well as the back office which was only reserved for Eddie according to Jett.  Lastly, he showed you the dumpsters, in case you happened to be on trash duty and he even gave you strict instructions on how to close them back up so animals wouldn’t rummage.

Now you were back behind the bar, being taught to make the signature drink, an old fashioned containing cinnamon, nutmeg, and ginger.  You could appreciate it, a bit spicy and a touch smooth, accompanying that burnt wood taste that would get you there fast.  It wasn’t a difficult drink to make however, perfecting the presentation was what set you back.  You couldn’t simply toss a cherry and an orange twist into the liquor, it had to be done tastefully.  Or that’s how Jett explained it, claiming that those were Eddie’s words.  The drink was in a way, an art and you couldn’t be sloppy with it, not by The Bourbon’s standards.

A  hectic night of becoming a makeshift cook, training as a server, and an intake of so much new information would do a number on anyone and the bags under your eyes clearly showed the physical exhaustion you were experiencing.  You didn’t think you ever worked so hard even at the diner back at home during rush hour.

“Little lamb made it through the night.”

Tilting your head up from the cocktail before you momentarily, you’re met with that pair of intimidating but gorgeous eyes, nearly black in the low lighting of the bar.  It was interesting, you’d seen many brown eyes in your lifetime but none of them resembled something quite like the universe he held in his, his outlook on things noticeably different from the average person.  He had taken a seat at one of the stools on the opposite side of the bar from you, some paperwork laid out in front of him as he began scribbling something down.  All you could offer him was the raise of your brow in acknowledgement of his presence, too engaged in perfecting the cherries on the toothpick just right, balancing them on the rim of the glass like a circus act.  

“They’re too close together.”  Eddie remarks, his gaze glued to the paper he had been marking up, an inventory list you notice at a second glance. 

“Hmm?”  You might as well have been in your own world, some kind of trance caused by fatigue pulling at your muscles and overworked mind.  

“Cherries.  They’re unbalanced.”

For a man of such few words, he still seemed to say a lot.  The attitude ingrained in his tone never appeared to let up and it felt as if something was either always bugging him or losing his interest.  Never content, always sour and sharp-tongued.  

“Oh.”  You sigh in defeat, as if it were impossible to simply pick up the toothpick resting against the glass and your finger and move the cherries, solving the case of the wobbling toothpick.

Jett emerged next to you after participating in some small talk with a regular at the end of the bar, a grin on his youthful face despite what a shit show the night had been.  So far you observed that he was something of an optimist, smiling his way through tough situations.  It was refreshing.

“There you go!”  He praises, gesturing greatly to the drink you’d just created.  Your third try at it. 

“Jett, you’re bein’ a shitty example.  Leaving your sheep unattended.”  Eddie grumbles, sticking a toothpick in his mouth.  You’d be lying if you said you wished he’d stop sticking toothpicks in his damn mouth.  Well, half-lying.  You’d admit he looked good chewing on a tiny piece of wood but he did it far too often.

Wait…sheep?  Were you the sheep?  Was this a jab at you?  You’d just spent the night keeping this place afloat and he was insulting you once again?

“Munson, I’d say I’m doing just fine considering you left us without a fuckin’ cook the whole night.”  Jett defends.  You want to grimace, knowing this wasn’t the standard when talking to your boss but Eddie seemed unphased while the boy kept grinning at him as he leaned against the bar.  “Plus, it seems like this sheep kicked ass on only her first day.”  He nudges your shoulder with his, sliding the drink you’d just concocted in front of Eddie.  You smiled in appreciation of his kind words.

“I didn’t leave you without a cook.  Cook fuckin’ left without telling anyone.”  He reasons, immediately throwing half the drink back in one swig.  

Please don’t taste shitty, please don’t taste shitty, please don’t taste shitty.

“And I guess you proved not to be as dainty as I thought.”  Eddie admits to you, throwing the rest of the drink back.  No complaints yet.  Only what you could make out to be a compliment.

“So can she stay?”  Jett pleads, bottom lip jutted out for emphasis.  He seemed to have taken a liking to you but then again, the place was short staffed so maybe he was just desperate to have anyone help out.

Eddie looks up from his list, pen tapping against the bar top with annoyance.  There was still no indication whether the old fashioned had been any good or not, seemingly forgotten about amongst the conversation and it was quietly eating at you.  The need for validation.

“That’s up to her, kid.” 

Both pairs of eyes landed on you, anticipating your answer.

“Well, uh, I dunno.”  You shrug.  “Was I even any good at making a drink?”  Like you had a choice in accepting the job, this is all you had.

“I dunno.”  Eddie replies, sliding the glass back over to you.  “Try again, let's see.”

“That’s a yes.”  Jett chimes in.  “Big boy wants a refill.”

“Jett, I will personally give you a swirly.”  There’s a glimpse of humor in Eddie’s tone, the smallest you’ve seen within him so far though you refrained from giggling.

“Oh, a swirly?  Real mature.”  Jett mocks, Eddie quietly snorting a laugh in response.  

His smile was cute.  

And it may be the first time you’d seen a genuine one from him.  He had dimples, deep, deep dimples.  It was a wonder why he didn’t put them on display more.

In the midst of the banter, you began whipping up another old fashioned, The Bourbon way.  You figured it wouldn’t be your place to insert yourself among the jokes, being the new girl.  It was best to keep quiet until you blended in a bit more.  Several customers throughout the night had already initiated conversation stating they’d never seen you before and you didn’t need to draw any more attention to yourself than you’d already received.

“Make it a double?”  Eddie interrupts your process.

Again you look up to meet those large eyes, practically black holes absorbing any and all light aside from a tiny sparkle you found that survived within them.  He was asking and not demanding.  He owned the whole damn place and yet he was asking you to make it a double when he could very well just tell you.

“Yeah.”  You whisper, unsure of yourself.  A double just meant…well, double, right?

So you turn to Jett who was now scrubbing at an especially sticky spot on the bar.  He didn’t take any notice in your silent plea much to your regret.  You looked like an idiot, pondering over what exactly the measurements should be since today's training didn’t exactly cover what to do should someone ask for a double.  At least you knew how to use the entirety of the kitchen though…

“Just another shot.”  Eddie instructs, emotionless.

With a nod, you kick right into action, using what you learned and putting it to use while remembering to add an additional shot and not completely overlook it in your uneasiness.  You didn’t care to peer up at him once more, uncertain if he was still watching your every move and unsure whether he would reprimand you for making one mistake in crafting his drink.  He said nothing so it was safe to assume he had resumed filling out his boring paperwork.

“See, she’s a natural!”  Jett applauds upon turning back toward you as you carefully pierce the cherries with a toothpick, balancing them just how Eddie had taught you.  

It really wasn’t rocket science and you could feel the humiliation seep into your bones at the thought of him judging you for simply not being able to figure out why they kept falling in before.  You were by no means a natural.

“You’re gonna be the new favorite, I can already tell.  Everyone’s gonna love ya.”  Though Jett’s words are appreciated and far too kind, you can’t help but doubt his confidence in you.

You were used to being a fly on the wall, observing and keeping to yourself among loud personalities.  And you were okay with that.  Being so removed grants you the ability to perceive everyone else without barely even being perceived yourself.  It was flattering, the way Jett talked you up having only known you for a few hours but you knew you were nothing special.  He was just being nice and most likely picked up on your anxious undertones.

Eddie remained mute, continuing to scribble away at the paper in front of him as if you and Jett weren’t there.  Just as silent, you slid the drink over into his peripheral before occupying your hands with a rag to wipe up any remnants caused by your shaky hands.  He only scanned the drink over once before tapping his pen against the counter, three times.  Always in threes.  

Awaiting his consensus on your bartending, you pretend to pay no mind, as though his opinion is the last thing on earth you would want.  Really, it’s all you want.  To know if you exceeded at crafting the bar’s signature drink or if you failed so miserably that he wouldn't let you behind the bar again.  After all, your official job title would be ‘server’ and server’s didn’t generally make drinks, they served.  But this wasn’t a normal bar and it seemed everyone was performing more than one job at a time so if you had to make drinks you might as well be somewhat good at it.  And if not, it could render you useless in his perception, seeing as he’d already underestimated you before.

When he finally takes a sip, large hand wrapped around the glass, you refrain from sucking in a breath because although he had already had one, he gulped it down like water.  This time it seemed he was performing a quality check.

“Good.”  His monotone voice doesn’t convey much other than you’ve at least satisfied him to some extent.  But that's it.

Next to you, Jett celebrates again before tending to another customer and then yelling out for the last call.  Eddie’s focus doesn’t budge from his work while he sips away at his drink, this time nurturing it rather than greedily throwing it all back.

–

Some time around 12:30 AM Jett had dashed out after the bar received a phone call from his mom complaining that the racoons had stormed their barn and came too close to threatening their chicken coop again.  With all patrons now gone and only cleaning and closing left to be done, Eddie dismissed him from work and told him to get a better handle on the raccoon situation seeing as it happened three times in the past month.  Jett muttered something about how raccoons are relentless and how they will find a way if they really want to on his way out.  

With one last wipe down of the tables and a thorough cleaning of the bar top, all that was left on your mental checklist given to you courtesy of Eddie was making sure behind the bar was organized and pristine for the following day, bottles accounted for, and glasses washed and dried.  He was absent for a good thirty minutes but you concluded he was doing his share in the kitchen as you heard the clanging of metal on metal and a few curses every now and then when there was an extra loud crash. 

The sudden crackle of a speaker and booming music startles you, a glass nearly slipping out of your grasp at the sound.  A harsh metal song blares through the bar, guitar wailing and bass vibrating, causing a few bottles to gently clink against each other on the shelf.  Seconds later, Eddie came sauntering out from the back office with a broom in hand and a cigarette hanging from his bottom lip, unlit.  

You try to ignore whatever he may be up to but find it impossible not to look up from the glass you were polishing off.  His hair was unruly, now out of the confines of a bun and seeming to have only gotten bigger throughout the night and–he wasn’t using the broom for sweeping.  Instead, he crawled on top of a freshly cleaned table with his dirty, clunky boots and poked at something in the rafters, tugging it forward.  You wanted to be mad that he was stepping on your freshly scrubbed table but you couldn’t help but be curious, pausing your motions to stare and try to predict his next move.  

The end of the broom was looped under the handle of a small wooden box and his arm stretched out to open it before pulling some cash out of his pocket and sticking it in the box.  Then he closed it back up and shoved it back into place, out of sight.  Once he jumped down off the table, he began walking toward the back again, stopping in his tracks when he realized you were standing there watching him the whole time.  

A puff of air escapes his lips, his bangs briefly blowing upward before resting back against his forehead.  You tear your gaze away, now more interested in cleaning water droplets off of another glass.  Your heart pounding, his footsteps only inch closer and closer and yet again, he is on the opposite side of the bar from you, staring you down.  It was obvious he had forgotten you were there.  The unlit cigarette is plucked from his lips in between his fingers and tucked behind his ear.

“You didn’t see that.  If it goes missing, I’ll know it was you.”  He speaks so gruffly and low, as if someone might hear despite the place being empty.

Nodding in submission, you can’t bring yourself to catch his fierce gaze.

“Yeah?”  Eddie pushes for a verbal response, more intensity to his tone.

“Yes.”  You chirp.  Like a pathetic little bird.  

Satisfied with your answer, he hums, resting the broom against a stool before making his way around the bar, pulling a rag out of his back pocket and assisting you with wiping down the remaining glasses.  There had to have been at least a dozen left and by the looks of it, he had finished his tasks and wanted to get out of here.  So you worked in silence, side by side.

It felt like an eternity but it must have only been two minutes later when you began to feel antsy.  Like you were supposed to initiate a friendly conversion.  Some kind of bullshit small talk.  And then your better judgment kicks in, telling you ‘better not’ since the man beside you didn’t seem like the small talk type.  In all fairness you weren’t either but it felt like you had to constantly conform to certain standards.  Then your mouth started running without a second thought because one thought provoked you and now you just had to know.

“So…the bingo night…is that a regular thing?”

A side eye from him may as well have shot daggers directly into you, his movements pausing as he scowled.  So you backtracked.

“N-nevermind–”

“Yes.”  He answers abruptly, much to your surprise.

“Oh.”  

Your voice comes out soft, as if trying not to spook an animal.  And for as annoyed as he looks, he’s the one who answered after you attempted to give him an out.  He was a very conflicting man, hard to read and mysterious.  

“Every Wednesday.  The senior home wants its residents to get out every now and then.”

“And…they chose a bar?”  A smile tugs at your lips, one that you can’t help.

“What’s wrong with that?”  

His face shows offense but his tone holds some kind of amusement, the slightest bit of personality seeping through the cracks and exposing itself to you.

“I just–nothing, it’s just, out of every place they could choose…a bar?”  You couldn’t wrap your head around the idea, shaking your head.

“I mean, we’re the only place that offered.”  

There’s a genuine kind of hurt behind his words.  You’re unable to determine if it was directed toward your question or something else wading through his mind.  Or if it was even meant to slip out in any way based on how closed off he was.  Your guess was that his sudden projection of an emotion was a slip up and that it was up to you to ignore it otherwise he’d give you an even harder time.

“Oh.”  Again, your soft spoken voice carries itself gently to his ears.  “That’s…nice.  Really nice.”  You say honestly, glancing at him.

For having such tough armor and such offputting behavior, Eddie was pretty.  His curls were messy and appeared to be pieced apart by his fingers running through them constantly, leaving them fuzzy and unkempt.  But still appealing.  And his side profile illuminated by the warm lights was soft but still manly, handsome.  He was good looking, there was no denying that.  His personality was rather repelling though and good looks could only get you so far, not that he was flaunting how attractive he was and using it to his benefit.  

Coming out of your trance, you find that you’re both down to the last few glasses, silence taking over once again.  Out of the corner of your eye, you take notice of the way Eddie’s mouth forms numbers again, without sound.

One, two, three.  One, two, three.  One, two, three.

All mouthed as he seems to breathe unevenly.  You don’t draw any attention to your observation much like earlier when you’d caught him doing the same thing.  There were depths to him that you were beginning to feel were unexplored by anyone other than himself.  A loneliness detected beneath the surface of his solid and impenetrable armor.

~end~

Masterlist

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tags - @gravedigginbbydoll @ohauggieo @spicysix @lunatictardis @ali-r3n @batkin028 @mrsjellymunson @witchwolflea @emma77645 @emxxblog @eddiemunson95 @angietherose @lottie-90 @sheneedsrocknroll92 @pullingattheroots @avalon-wolf @vintagehellfire @cryingglightningg @foreveranexpatsposts @winchester-angel @mmunson86 @witchwolflea @kurdtbean@micheledawn1975

[toast-tales]

A human-dealing giant comes face-to-face with the consequences of his actions, in the form of a tiny human girl who isn’t afraid to stand up to his bullshit.

Danny is a human who fell into the world of giants, in a rural giant town called Red Tree. In this world, humans are only four inches tall and treated like drugs—illegally consumed for pleasure and released afterwards. She was lucky enough to befriend a giant named Nathan, who has been able to hide her away and keep her safe—up until now.

Christopher Penn is a notorious human “dealer,” who sells humans he finds to hungry giants. When he kidnaps Danny and finds out her connection to the giant he knew from years ago, he makes a terrible decision that he doesn’t know how to rectify.

That is, until this human girl turns his life upside down.

In a strange twist of fate, Christopher finds himself having to look after Danny. Somewhere between the bitter insults she throws his way and the smug, insufferable facade he wears, the most unlikely and tumultuous alliance begins to form—but trust and friendship are not so easily won, and redemption is a hard thing to earn.

Join the Discord | Read on A03

Fanart | Character Physical Descriptions

#itwom chapters #itwom #itwom fanart #itwom art #itwom audio #oc christopher #oc danny #oc nathan (and the rest)

[1] A Rude Awakening Danny meets the human dealer Christopher for the first time.

[2] Slipping Danny spends the night inside of Christopher, and Christopher devises a plan.

[3] Play by the Rules Nathan retrieves Danny from Christopher.

[4] Dance with Death Danny returns, and she's having none of Christopher's twisted games.

[5] Too Little, Too Late Christopher has regrets.

[6] Black Market Danny finds herself in the hands of an unfamiliar dealer.

[7] Unpaid Debts Christopher goes to rescue Danny from the Black Dragon.

[8] On One Condition Christopher proposes a solution for keeping Danny safe.

[9] Redirection Danny agrees on a strange means to an end...reluctantly.

[10] Domestic Life Danny and Christopher share their first morning together.

[11] Intruder Christopher finds a familiar face lurking around the house that night, and decides to take care of it.

[12] Let Sleeping Giants Lie Another morning, another round of "exposure therapy."

[13] On the Inside Christopher gets a visit from an old client, Sam.

[14] Open WoundsChristopher and Danny have a heart to heart.

[15] Commitment Nathan comes over for another visit.

[16] Meet and Greet Sam meets the gang, and they start to devise a rescue plan.

[17] Hard to Swallow Nathan practices his part of the plan - eating Danny.

[18] Protector of Humans Everyone goes to meet the leader of the Human Rights Association, Sybil.

[19] Enlightenment Sybil gives everyone a much-needed crash course in humans and their relationship to giants.

[20] No Question Christopher and Danny share a moment the night before the rescue mission.

[21] Performance Christopher isn't eager for the first part of the mission: letting Danny go.

[22] Time Crunch Danny does her part in freeing the humans, though she finds an unexpected face in the process.

[23] The Safest Place to Be Christopher does his part on the outside as he intercepts the humans, and has to make some decisions.

[24] Stomach Pains The plan goes awry.

[25] Taste of Freedom After the ride back to the human city, Christopher is faced with a choice.

[26] Tongue Tied Before parting, everyone has something to say to each other.

[27] Sympathizer Danny gets her first glimpse of the human city and meets Sybil's husband John, though not everyone seems to be welcoming her warmly.

[28] Skeletons in the Closet Nathan asks Christopher some questions about his past.

[29] Independence Danny runs into the leader of the Human Independence Coalition, Nora.

[30] Things Left Unsaid The first weekend after coming to the human city, Danny reunites with a familiar friend.

[31] Reconciliation The morning after, Christopher raises some concerns, which are promptly addressed.

[32] Familiar Territory Christopher's first day on the job.

[33] Open Up Danny senses something wrong with Christopher.

[34] A Simple Request A few months later, when Christopher watches the house alone for the weekend, Danny decides to ask something of him.

[35] A Simple Request (2) A chemist gets a favor asked of her.

[36] Cutthroat A ghost from Christopher's past comes back to haunt him.

[37] Turning the Tables Christopher wakes up.

[38] Despite it All Christopher gets a chance to talk to everyone, including the one who despises him.

[39] Old Friend Christopher raises more concerns with Danny, and Nathan returns.

[40] New Beginnings (Epilogue) Christopher finds himself uncomfortable at the HRA's celebration, but finds that there are other little things to appreciate that day.

Rest Within Me A one-off story (1.6k words) involving some 2nd POV (gender neutral reader) romantic vore fluff with Christopher. Just for fun. You can't sleep, and you know there's only one place you can go.

More than Enough A one-off story (2.8k words) with more 2nd POV (gender neutral reader) vore fluff with Christopher. Good old-fashioned nonsexual intimacy, ambiguous for whether that's romantic or platonic this time.

Little One Another one-off story (2.5k words) with 2nd POV (gender neutral reader) safe, willing vore fluff with Sybil. You're a curious human who wants to know what it's like to be...well, you know.

Just a Minute A short little fluff piece with Sam (2nd POV, gender neutral reader). You test the giant's "self-control" by playing a little game with them before they eat you. They end up getting more embarrassed than you, funnily enough.

Christopher's First Time A look into the life of 15-year-old Christopher's first encounter with a human, Joey. About 4k words.

Snippets: The Supermarket

[whimsicallyenchantedrose]

Season 3 Rewatch Drabbles: 3x7 Dark Hollow--part 2

Summary:  A series of 100-500 word drabbles to accompany my    rewatch of season 3 of Once Upon a Time.  There will be a drabble–either a deleted scene, a “fix it” fic or a character musing for each episode of the season.  Focus will be on Emma, Henry, the Charmings and Killian–with an emphasis on Captain Swan’s epic love story.

Word Count: 827

Other Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (15) (16) (17) (18) (19) (20) (21) (22) (23) (24) (25) (26) (27) (28)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Note: I got an ao3 comment from Polkie2 on Chapter 7 of this fic that was as follows: “Oh, I would love a part 2 where he realized whose name she called when the shadows had him and Neal pushed up against the trees. Also realizing how panicked her voice was.”  After making the….possibly unwise…choice to share the comment on Discord, several of the enablers there demanded–not asked, literally demanded–that I agree to this request.  So here you go!  Your wish (or demand, as the case may be) is my command.

Killian tossed and turned a few hours later.  How he despised this bloody island at night!  Oh, to be sure, he despised it during the day as well, but the nights held a special kind of torture.

The nights were when the cries of the Lost Ones began.  Killian had never considered himself to be overly sentimental (although those who knew him tended to smirk whenever he mentioned that fact, damn them), and ordinarily, while he wouldn’t have enjoyed the crying of homesick children, anywhere but on Neverland, the sound would have been merely unpleasant.  Here…well, here, it seemed to reach right into his chest, to the deepest part of his being where he held close his worst memories of loss and abandonment.

He had to think of something else. Anything else.

And so he’d glanced around the clearing at their motley group lying here or there, wrapped in blankets.  The prince and princess lay sleeping peacefully, arms around each other.  Neal slept several paces away, his back turned to the group.  He’d clearly wished to join Swan under her blanket, much as the Charmings lay, but she’d gently but firmly insisted she needed her space.  A small smile graced Killian’s lips at the memory.

A smile, which quickly turned to a scowl as he realized the pettiness of the sentiment.  Hadn’t he just vowed to himself to dispense with this jealous nonsense?

Swan, herself, slept fitfully, tossing and turning as he had done, but he was pleased to see she at least slept.  She’d need the rest to prepare for their day ahead. The day when they executed their plan to storm Pan’s camp and rescue the lad.

What a day it had been!  Killian thought back over the events of the day, trying desperately not to get swept up in his own self-loathing over what Swan referred to as “the lighter incident”.  Aye, he’d acted like a child, but as she’d reminded him, what was important now was saving her son, and wallowing in self-hatred would do nothing to further that aim.

His mind flitted back to their time in Dark Hollow, to the moments immediately following the childish debacle.  The next few moments were a bit hazy, his memory capturing sensations more than crisp details.  The sudden cold as the shadows swooped in.  The icy, incorporeal fingers grabbing him, picking him up as though he were no heavier than one of the dead leaves that swirled around his feet.  The way his breath was knocked from him temporarily as his back slammed against the tree.  The red-hot agony as his tormenter began ripping his shadow from his body.  The agonized cry from Bae across the clearing as the same fate met him.

He’d shouted at Emma to leave, to save herself, just as he’d heard her own panicked scream.

Killian shuddered, hating the desperation in her voice.

But suddenly he realized…she hadn’t merely screamed.  She’d shouted a name.  His name.  She’d turned toward him as he was taken, cutlass out, fear on her face.  It wasn’t fear for herself; it was fear for him.

She’d channeled that emotion, used it to fuel her magic, used it to trap the shadow and save them all.  She was bloody magnificent.

A sudden warmth that had nothing to do with the oppressive humidity of the jungle washed over him.  In moments of crisis, in moments of great emotion, one tended to let their true feelings show, no matter how strong and fortified their walls, and it was clear she was not indifferent to him.  

Far from it.  That one, panicked shout of his name had spoken more to his place in her heart than a soliloquy could have.

She may not love him yet; he still couldn’t delude himself on that point, but she did care for him.  He was important to her, and it made all the difference in the world.

Killian settled himself in, wrapping his duster around him and closing his eyes as the warmth of that reality settled around him.

When I win your heart, Emma, and I will win it, it won’t be because of any trickery.  It’ll be because you want me.  

As the cries around him slowly melted away, he slipped into beautiful dreams of returning triumphant to Storybrooke, a successfully rescued Henry in tow, and of, as he’d promised her, the fun that was then to begin.

NEXT CHAPTER->

[84reedsy]

The Mentorship, Part 17

The Mentorship

Characters: Curt Hennig/FemOC , Scott Hall/FemOC

Part 17 of ? (Parts not chapters, parts length varies)

Warnings/Considerations: Smut, Age Gap, Power Dynamics, Dirty Talk, swearing

Word Count: 3336

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16

Taglist: @writeandsurvive @theweaselandthekilt (DM or comment to be added!)

Arriving in Orlando, Brinkley felt nerves starting to churn in her gut. She had been wrestling dark matches the last couple of days with other women, jobbing them with Curt at ringside in what felt like an odd reversal. But she was thankful for his supporting presence.

But now being in the city where she had a high profile match amongst 3 high-profile stars was starting to flare her anxiety. The live TV show on Thursday wasn’t even on her mind, though it was the last chance to really ramp up to the big match. 

Scott noticed, back to being just a passenger while Kevin drove. He sat in the back with her most of the trip,  trying first to talk her down, moving on to just trying to distract her. She swatted his hand away when he would get too bold, not nearly as comfortable with the idea of Kevin watching as she was with Curt. She blushed as she realized she probably wouldn’t stop Scott if Curt was driving. 

It wasn’t long ago that the idea of Curt left a bad taste in her mouth; she thought she’d never be attracted to him again. She was confused that her mind and her body seemed to be on such separate planes. 

She didn’t ask when others would be arriving, she didn’t want to say anything too leading. Scott and Curt might have been on better terms, but she knew Scott may be a little insecure over it.

She took a swim while the house was still somewhat empty, Kev keeping her company while he tanned on a poolside chair, nursing the first of likely many beers. She was sure he was asleep most of the time, but occasionally would say something as she’d pause her laps at each end. 

Feeling a little gassed, she paused swimming, hanging off the edge of the pool in front of his chair. 

“Kev, can I ask you something?” She asked, smoothing her wet hair back and clearing water from her eyes. 

“Sure, in fact, you just did,” He responded sardonically, “Don’t you fucking dare,” He warned, pointing a finger at her as she paused from splashing him. 

“Fine…can I ask you questions,” she pointedly emphasized the plural nature of the word. Kevin didn’t look at her, but smirked as he shrugged.

“Sure, why not,” He rested a bent arm behind his head.

“Did you ask Scott if you could fuck me?” She asked with a surprisingly casual nature. Kevin didn’t seem to react right away; she assumed that wasn’t a clear ‘no’.

“Why?” Was his simple response. She knew it was a very loaded single word.

“Just asking if you did,” She remained coy in return.

“I didn’t ask. It came up in conversation.” He clarified, but kept from taking ownership of any remark. 

“Were you the one that brought it up?” She said with a mild hint of accusation. 

“If it's a no, just say so,” He shrugged again. He didn’t plan on letting her get the upper hand to hold anything over his head. 

“Well, if you’re going to be like that about it,” She rolled her eyes, lifting herself out of the water, “Then fine, it's a no,” sticking her tongue out at him, “At least until you learn some manners,” She grabbed her towel from the next chair and wiped herself down as she made her way onto the back porch. She shook her head as she looked back at Kevin, still lounging in the chair. Sometimes he was very kind to her and others so cantankerous. She wondered if she had agreed if he’d have treated her any differently. 

Walking into the kitchen, she secured the towel around her waist just as she saw Curt sitting inside at the counter. She couldn’t help but smile at him. 

“Hey, did you just get here?” She looked around, seeing no one else, “And you’re just lurking around in the kitchen?”

“Just finishing this one off, figured I’d grab another, so I’d save some time,” He held up the beer he was working on. He noticed the uncertainty flash across her face as she glanced at the bottle, “I promise, you have nothing to worry about. You don’t have to trust me if you don’t want, but I’m taking it easy - no Jack tonight,” 

“Well, you can’t blame me for being cautious,” She leaned against the island countertop he was sitting at. Her two-piece wasn’t super revealing, but it didn’t leave much to the imagination either, “Who knows what I might do to set you off,” 

Curt looked at her as he took a drink. He knew she was being flirtatious and provocational. It wasn’t necessarily outside of her nature. She always had a charming allure about her, it was likely why she was doing so well in the business, backed up by her actual skill. 

“Better not let Scott hear you talking to me like that,” He warned her in a low tone, but couldn’t hide the hint of mischief in his tone. If he didn’t know that she and Scott were exclusive, he’d be making up an excuse to get her into his room. He assumed the fact that he couldn’t have her now was making him feel more pent up than usual. 

“He never said I couldn’t talk to you,” She played back, “Just that I couldn’t-” Her inciting rhetoric was cut off by Curt pressing his index finger to her lips.

“Stop right there,” He warned her again, “You still need to learn not to show your hand even if you have all the cards.”

“Oh my god, haven’t heard that Hennig wisdom in a while,” She went to the refrigerator and grabbed herself and Curt a beer, “You should write a desk calendar with all these gems,” 

“You’re lucky you’re cute, because you can be a real asshole sometimes,” He teased her, popping the cap off of her beer for her, “Still getting used to it?” He laughed at her only slight grimace when she took a sip. 

“Yeah, I’m getting…better with it,” She knew she sounded less than confident, “And me? An asshole?” She mocked offense.

“You have your moments,” Scott said,  walking into the kitchen from behind her, announcing his arrival with a swift pop to her backside, he grabbed a beer, joining them at the counter, “If you're wanting to go practice,  you better get ready,” he checked his watch, “unless that's what you're working in.” Scott pulled off her towel as she failed to keep hold of it, “I wouldn't complain,”

“Damn you!” She tried to get it back,  his long arm keeping it from her reach, “at least I'm not the only asshole around here,” she finished her beer swiftly,  making her exit to get dressed. She could care less about the present company seeing her this way,  but she wasn't keen on the rest of the roster getting a good look.  

---------------------------

Brinkley stepped up her game in practice. She took more artful falls and sold moves better than she had in group training before. 

She struggled the most with keeping a straight face with Scott in the ring, though it was a possibility the announcers could use that during the match to sow discourse about whether or not she really wanted to win. They could potentially suggest she'd lost the match for her and Curt on purpose. They might allude to the possibility of her turning on Curt, giving the win to the Outsiders. 

Brinkley covered up her real opinion, shrugging her shoulders and being neutral. In fact, she hated the idea. It made sense, it was logical, it fit within standard kayfabe and would help give her her own identity instead of being attached as an afterthought to a male wrestler. But part of her couldn’t detach the real feeling of betrayal from it, even though Curt seemed to react positively to the idea. 

Her amiable nature made that the prevailing option as they all agreed. Brinkley ignored feeling sick to her stomach. Scott could sense her unease and it spread to him - wondering if she was really ready to leave Curt, even after all that had happened. He didn’t think he could handle losing her - but now he had to wonder if he ever really had her or if she’d only been on loan this whole time. 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Her quietness didn’t help ease Scott’s mind on the ride back to his house. But the number of cars parked indicated that quite a few people had already arrived - he wondered if he’d get a moment with her alone. Unlikely as he saw all the bodies that spilled out of the cars and the cases of beer and alcohol they had with him.  

He grabbed hold of her arm,  pulling her to him to whisper in her ear just as Curt pulled in behind them.

“Meet me in my room in 20,” He instructed,  not asking.  Brinkley had to wonder if he was upset, she couldn't think of anything she'd done that might.  All of her reservations had been in her own head and she knew better than to admit any lingering attraction to Curt.

She nodded to agree before waving and greeting Ray Traylor who was at Curt's car unloading beer. She grabbed one of the cases as she chatted up both men on the way into the house. 

Kevin noticed the dark look that flashed across Scott's face; he’d seen that look before. He’d seen the fallout from that look before. He’d been perfectly fine at the gym and on the ride back. He suspected it was something with Brinkley (mainly for the fact that when isn’t it a woman), but he’d not noticed anything particularly problematic that she’d done.

Maybe if he’d kept Scott distracted; they could avoid whatever potential meltdown was boiling below the surface. 

--------------------------

Brinkley loaded case after case into the refrigerator and then coolers of ice that were also brought. She knew there were a lot of people, but she didn’t understand how they could drink THIS much. She checked the time and it had been just over 30 minutes. She handed off the last case to Rick Steiner to manage; she heard them popping the tabs open instead of putting them on ice. Cans crushed nearly seconds later as she turned around to see them opening a second already.

“Good lord,” She laughed a little, shaking her head as she ran up the stairs, two at a time. The house was already filling with noise, the din only increasing as someone started playing music. She walked into Scott’s room, closing the door behind her, the sound muffled greatly. The room was dark, the blinds closed up tightly to block out the harsh Florida sun. 

“Scott?” She called out, her eyes still adjusting. She noticed him now, in a chair in the sitting area of the room. Shirtless in basketball shorts and his hair hanging down, Brinkley had to keep her tongue from hanging out of her mouth. She saw him set a half empty glass bottle on the table beside him. He was starting out heavy, “What are you doing here all alone in the dark?”

She walked up to him, ignoring the tension in the room that felt like static. 

“Waiting for you,” He looked at her with his dark eyes in an even darker stare, “Wondering if you would bother to show up,”

She slipped into his lap, the smell of whiskey was far more obvious. Though Scott had never struck her or put an unkind hand on her, she felt uneasy remembering the same smell on Curt’s breath and a similar dark look in his eyes. She noticed Scott’s face soften though as she nestled herself in his lap and against him. 

“Of course I’d show up! I was just trying to set up some sort of order down there, guess that’s a lost cause with this crew,” she motioned behind her, “Any time with you I can get, I’ll take,” She meant it, but knew buttering him up wouldn’t hurt. She gently walked her fingers over him, stroking his hairy chest slowly. 

“Do you know how hard it is?” He asked vaguely, his hand sliding from her knee up her thigh. 

“Hmmm…what exactly are we talking about?” She remained playfully coy.

“Training with you. How hard it is for me not to just throw you down and fuck you in the middle of the ring?” His hand slipped up to her hip, squeezing. 

Brinkley nearly panted, squirming in his lap. 

“In front of everyone?” She countered trying to prolong their repartee. 

“Everyone, no one. Doesn’t matter…” He felt her tense and heard her gasp as he lightly bit down on the side of her neck, “Because you’re mine,” He growled. 

“God, yes, Scott…I’m all yours,” She whimpered, not realizing she was digging her nails into his chest, but he didn’t stop her. 

“Oh yeah? Get down on your knees and prove it to me,” He grumbled in her ear, one hand lightly smacking her thigh. 

She felt her skin prickle as she slowly slid off of him, sinking to her knees between his splayed legs. She felt as if her senses were heightened and with them so were her nerves. She couldn’t pinpoint her unease, but she wanted to please him so much that she did as he asked. 

“Clothes off,” He slouched in the chair a little, licking his lips as he watched her undress. 

She leaned forward between his legs, kissing down his stomach slowly, occasionally pulling at a hair with her teeth, making him hiss slightly. Her hand rubbed him over his shorts, feeling him stiffen with each pass. She did feel relieved when his hands touched her gently, one reaching underneath her and toying with her breast. 

“Girl, you know just how to get me going, don’t you,” He mumbled, feeling himself pulse against her stroking palm. Whatever irrational anger he was feeling was dissipating and he felt more and more powerless. Desperate to maintain control, he reached under the elastic of his shorts and pulled his manhood out. His other hand gripped into her hair, directing his cock into her willing mouth. 

Brinkley was surprised by the abrupt motion, but was quick to acquiesce his demands. She teased him, resisting his urge to take him deep, her lips working around his tip. She kept her eyes on his and noticed the wanting, needy look on his face that she preferred. She let him push her farther down now, taking his cock roughly as he moved his hips. 

“Fuck…that’s it, baby, suck Daddy’s cock just like that…” His hand was still firmly gripping her hair, not allowing her to stall or come up for air until she finally pulled away, gasping. She looked at him, feeling unsure of why referring to himself that way affected her, “What? Don’t wanna call me Daddy?” He was almost condescending as he asked. 

“I will if you want me to,” She softly replied, wondering if his mood had anything to do with Curt. 

“Oh, I want you to…because I’m your Daddy now…not him,” Scott leaned forward, gripping her chin firmly in his hand. She could feel the pressure in her cheekbones as he held her forcibly in his gaze. She gulped, trying to ease her shaking breath. 

“Yes, Daddy,” She managed a breathless reply, not wanting to sound meek. 

“Mmmm, that’s good…I definitely like the sound of that,” He stood up, towering over her as he walked behind her. With an almost effortless strength, he picked her up and bent her over the arm of the chair. Before she could adjust her balance, he forced his saliva-glistening cock deeply into her. She cried out into the back cushion of the chair, desperately trying to acclimate to the bulging intrusion. 

“Daddy…” She said, her words stilted with the force of his thrust, “Not…so…h-hard,” She begged, breathing a sigh of relief as he slowed for a moment and she caught her breath, “You’re just so big, Daddy…” She followed up, looking back at him with the big, doe eyes she knew he couldn’t resist. 

His irritation subsided again, knowing he might have hurt her. He slowed, just like he promised he would. Annoyed as he might have been, he didn’t want to break her trust in him. 

“I’m sorry, baby,” He moved slower now, feeling her pussy slicken a little more as he moved in deliberate, full strokes, “Daddy got too excited,”

Brinkley could tell the name was really working him up. That idea alone turned her on. She braced herself against the other arm of the chair, feeling his gradually quickening his pace as her sex squeezed him. She came suddenly, without a chance to warn him, biting her lip to keep from screaming out profane obscenities for all the guests to hear. 

She felt herself being pulled backwards a little, his hand sliding around her neck and holding tightly. 

“You only cum for me…understand?” He leaned forward, nearly seething the words in her ear, “You belong to me,” 

She nodded, swallowing and gasping for the breath that his grip allowed her, “Yes, Daddy…” She squeaked out.

“Say it,” He seethed, burying himself deeper, his large hand gripping tighter. 

“I only cum for you Daddy,” She whimpered, “I belong to you,” She took a big breath as Scott’s hand dropped from around her neck, both hands now squeezing around her hips as he came, burying his cum deep inside of her sex. 

She took deep, steadying breaths as he rode out the aftershocks of his orgasm. She was a little surprised when she turned to sit on the edge of the chair arm and he didn’t move to embrace her like he normally would, instead only putting himself back into his shorts and grabbing the tshirt he’d laid on the bed. 

“Hop in the shower if you want. Come to the party when you’re ready,” He said, going into the bathroom to rinse the sweat from his face with cold water and towel it dry, “I’m gonna head down now,” He made a move toward her, but her hope was fleeting as he only grabbed the glass liquor bottle from the table beside her and made his way to the door. “Ok, shouldn’t be long,” She still offered a smiling face, but it fell quickly when he left. She felt used. In all the times she’d been with either of them, she’d never felt this way. Even with Curt, who was clearly using her - she never felt this discarded. 

Perhaps she was being too naive, assuming every time would be romantic and would have those lovely intimate moments afterwards. Maybe the two of them had coddled her too much up until this point. She would have understood all of that…if only she had known what she’d done wrong to upset him. 

She searched her mind as she stepped into the hot shower, wondering if she had inadvertently vocalized an objection to turning on Curt. Was it because she just shrugged at the suggestion instead of agreeing wholeheartedly? Was it because she helped carry in Ray’s beer and he thought it was Curt’s? She knew some of the thoughts were ridiculous, but she couldn’t find a reason why Scott would be upset with her. That only bothered her more. 

She suddenly did not feel much like being sociable or partying with everyone. God forbid she had a nice conversation with another man and a drunken Scott took it the wrong way. She took her time after the shower, combing her hair slowly, lotioning, and redressing. She even blow-dried her hair unlike usual. Anything to stall while she tried to think. She tried to tell herself she was just being a ridiculous, emotional girl - that Scott wasn’t upset and she was just overthinking everything. She hated the fact that she wished she could somehow talk to Curt about this. 

[covetyou]

20 questions for fic writers tag game

thanks for the tags bbs 💛 @mermaidgirl30 @whatsnewalycat @sp00kymulderr

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

23 - I cross post to ao3 just before I post anything on Tumblr, so almost everything goes there first. The only thing that isn't there is y2k and two dress up!Joel lore posts that are in fic form.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

117,356

3. What fandoms do you write for?

almost entirely Pedro - a little bit of general TLOU if we consider honey, you're familiar (tess x reader)

4. Top five fics by kudos

something wretched about this

sleepless

first steps

baubles

just a taste

on Tumblr sleepless is my top fic before the first chapter of something wretched about this - I don't keep track of it after those two!

5. do you respond to comments?

I do! I'm a bit behind right now because May/June have been kicking my ass in every way possible, but usually they get answered within a day or two.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't write much angst! Feelings™ in general is not my thing.

the howler monkey is maybe my angstiest fic, but it ends quite fluffy. same as some good friend.

none of them really end too angsty! I'm all about leaving things vaguely good at the end.

7. What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

the most typical happily ever after mush? jack of all trades and freeze-thaw. freeze-thaw's ending is quite cute now that I look back at it.

chaste also has a happy ending, just a very different one to a romantic feelings-y happy ending 💦 but you'll never see someone more thrilled than Dieter in that fic.

all of my fics do tbh, just not big I love you/happy families/grand gesture kind of happy endings.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

I've never even had a slightly mean comment tbh

9. Do you write smut?

predominantly! everything except for y2k (not on ao3!) and my Dieter's PA loose series is smut. Dieter's PA is super fun to write because it often toes the line between almost smut and not smut at all. there's a lot of nudity and references to past sexual events, and it's the perfect place to explore silliness with Dieter.

10. Craziest crossover?

it's gotta be my carnal-val series. it's a circus AU with P-Boys each playing a part - so far we have Dieter as a clown and Whiskey as a ringmaster. I have 4 WIPs currently on the go for it, so hopefully more will be soon.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

thank goodness no. not that I know it.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

nope

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no! I probably never will - I like to just finish and be done, and collaborating with a fic feels far more involved than my usual "fuck it, that'll do" process! I literally don't even get shit beta read.

14. All time favorite ship?

I genuinely do not have one 😁 I'm very easy to please and generally if you feed it to me I'll have a good time, so no favourite ship has ever really stuck. I generally don't care for romantic ships the same way most do.

15. What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I started a Marcus Pike fic over Christmas - I doubt that'll get finished. My OG plan for kinktober still needs to be officially scrapped (I wrote something wretched about this instead)

I also have a Dieter's PA WIP involving a coffee machine that 💀 I'm not sure anyone needs or wants to see.

not all WIPs deserve to see the light of day, and most of the fun is in the process of fucking around with characters for a little bit tbh

16. What are your writing strengths?

anything silly and slightly bizarre while somehow not being too out there. I think I'm decent at dialogue but honestly 🤷‍♀️ some days I'm shit

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

so many! I'm the vaguest amount of descriptive possible, with absolutely everything. not just because I write reader insert either 😅

18. Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

love reading it - will probably never include it in my own fics. I don't know another language well enough to do it alone and I don't want to bother anyone to ask for help. add that to my "fuck it, that'll do" thing and it's just not a recipe for doing another language justice 😁

19. First fandom you wrote in?

h*rry p. I wrote two oneshots as a teen. one involved people getting turned into chickens and pecking someone to death and in the other someone's little toe got stolen and eventually kept in a jar. so if you're wondering if I've always been like this, the answer is yes.

20. Favorite fic you've written?

I still really love best in show and some good friend. both were a little different to my usual way of doing things and I loved the result of both. I also really love the howler monkey - it opened up a lot more depth that I have planned for Dieter's PA, and I'm really excited about it

I have no clue who has and hasn't done this, but consider yourself tagged if you'd like to do it but also @strang3lov3 @beefrobeefcal @bitchesuntitled @corazondebeskar-reads toobif you're ao3 girlies.

[emonydeborah]

20 questions for fic writers

thanks for the tag, @curator-on-ao3 :)

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 43

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 289,964

3. What fandoms do you write for? Whatever catches my fancy. Star Trek: Strange New Worlds has the most fics (8), but my most recent fic was for Black Widow.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Family First- a Coco fic, the first multichap I ever finished, I think. An AU where Victoria stole the guitar when she was a child and she and Elena got stuck in the Land of the Dead.

Sick of Waiting for a Miracle- angsty Encanto! My take of Mirabel growing resentful instead of desperate, and the family falling apart a lot harder. Happy ending though because I am who I am.

Patching Up- post-Incredibles 2 fic of Bob and Helen patching each other up (hence the name). Short fluff I am astonished was my third most kudos-ed fic.

From the Hands of the Weak- Black Widow AU where Alexei and Melina take Natasha and Yelena and run.

Tia Victoria one-shots- Listen. My Coco phase was strong. And I did not have standards yet, so I posted whatever came into my mind. Most of these are about her tragic death. Unfinished, or it would have made "angstiest"

5. Do you respond to comments? Yes! I love responding to comments, especially to follow up on whatever the commenter found interesting.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? I had to go back through my AO3 because no matter how much I put my little guys through, I usually like a happy ending. Technically it would be 5 Times Una Talked Chris Into a Breakup and 1 Time She Didn't. But that's part of a series that had a happy ending, so. I am redeemed.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? I'll go with The World That Lives In You. I always write with a happy ending in mind, even if I don't finish it, but I picked this one because it ends with a domestic little scene of a traumatized family being cute and well-adjusted together.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not that I have seen.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Nope.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I have, not a lot though. I have a little series where I put the Incredibles in the Harry Potter universe. The Incredibles were Aurors and you can't change my mind was a fun time when I was very into Incredibles 2.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen? Once, allegedly by accident.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? I don't think so.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? No, aside from spitballing ideas with @justreckin.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? Don't do this to me.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? When I first started writing and posting fic, I had an enormous DS9 fic all planned out. It was going to span 20+ years, introduce so many OCs, and center around Kira Nerys, my OBSESSION for a long time. I posted maybe 4 chapters. RIP.

16. What are your writing strengths? Dialogue and cute little moments.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? I get bogged down in details and lose sight of the long game. OR if my intention is to make a little moment stretch, it lasts two sentences. There is no in between.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I will do one or two words at a time, maybe a sentence if I can pull it directly from the source material and I know what it means and the context.

19. First fandom you wrote for? NCIS.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written? oof oof oof. Great question. I have plenty that I go back and read just for fun. The one I'm proudest of right now is Discipline, Diligence, and Learning to Fly. My favorites to read are And the Time Eve Collected Human Beings Like Shiny Rocks and Keep Us Connected.

I'm late to the trend so I think everyone has been tagged. Anyone who wants to, and @fiadorable, @justreckin, @sun-lit-roses and @raddocwrites if you'd like! (unless you’ve already done it and don’t want to again 😂)

[etsuven]

Kunikuzushi, the eldest child of the matriarchal kingdom ran by his mother, has come of age to be married off. Feeling trapped by the stuffiness of the castle and the strict routine he had known since birth, he decides to use this opportunity to finally gain the freedom he so longingly dreamt of through the confines of his room. Everything was planned out, even down to the little details. What wasn't part of his plan, however; was falling in love. - Newfound Freedom: Chapter 1/Prologue <next chapter> word count: ~800+ - note: not the best start to a new series, and this prologue probably isn't the most captivating thing, but i hope it seems interesting so far! i've had something like this in mind for a while, (aka i've been planning it for at least a few weeks or so) and since i've been obsessed with scaramouche as of late, i decided to place him in the story! please stick around for the next chapter where things are sure to get more interesting! (this chapter was written on 12/15/22. it took me a while to post because i had a severe writers block + i wanted to write 3 chapters just to give you guys SOMETHING)

Kunikuzushi.

The first son of the Empress of Inazuma, Ei.

A boy forever destined to be in the shadow of his younger sister.

It was an awful fate, really. As the first child of the Empress, he was never worshiped and prioritized as much as the women who constantly surrounded him. The kingdom was typically ran by women, so it was only fitting that the right to the throne would skip him—instead moving to the person who was born after him.

He didn't really have a problem with it when he was younger. Why should he? Little him felt it was too much responsibility, so he was more than happy to pass everything onto the youngest in the family. But as he got older, he began to feel... Jealous. Seeing his younger sister get doted on constantly while he only got crumbs.

Yes, he sounded like a brat, but who wouldn't feel this way?

Like any normal person when faced with the fact that they aren't favored by those around him, he was angry. Why should he be pushed aside for the sake of his sister? Wasn't he good enough? He was often reprimanded for asking those questions.

'You should know why already.' He was told. 'Inazuman royalty is matriarchal in nature. It is tradition for the women to be throned before men.' Kunikuzushi knew deep in his mind that that was the case, but he still couldn't push away the borderline hatred he held towards his younger sister, Rai.

His relationship with the girl wasn't the best, to say the least. He despised her almost robotic nature, how she seemed so prim and proper- it was aggravating. The girl was heavily favored by the Inazuman citizens, each one praising her actions, no matter how miniscule they were.

Rai often trained with their mother, studying her fighting style and practicing it to perfection. The two of them took advantage of the electric magic of their kingdom, something Kunikuzushi had yet to master due to only being self taught.

His mother's consultant, Yae Miko, also possessed the same electro magic as his family and the many other women in the nations around them (save for a few men.) He wasn't the closest to Miko, only seeing her as someone who wanted to impress the person he called his mother. Although he had to admit, she was quite good at her job, often times managing things when his mother wasn't around to do so herself.

Now, back to his mother...

Children naturally want to be close to their parents, but Kunikuzushi didn't get the attention he so longed for from his mother. Anything he did was never acknowledged by the Empress. Academic achievements, training accomplishments, simple milestones. Things that were typically praised were never even noticed by her. Either that, or she simply just didn't care.

The boy craved his mother's words of praise, but over time he learned to not expect it. He would train and study like he was constantly told to, of course, but he told himself that he would no longer dare seek validation from the woman.

Years passed since this revelation, and Kunikuzushi grew into a stunning young man. Paired with his physique from training and gorgeous features, he became the object of affection of many citizens in Inazuma, and even the other members of royalty from nearby countries.

Though they could never truly pursue him, as he was already engaged. From the moment he became a teenager, he was set to be married off to someone from a nearby country. A strange thing to be for someone so young, but it was normal for those of royal blood.

It was a weird feeling—knowing that you were set to be engaged to and eventually wed someone you didn't even know. Since the both of you were so busy with your own problems, you never actually got the chance to really meet and get to know each other. Not that he wanted to get to know you. Based on your reputation, he was sure that you were the stuck up type.

Although an arranged marriage wasn't the most ideal thing in Kunikuzushi's mind, he still found a way to use it to his advantage. It wasn't a secret to anyone who could read body language that he was longing for something more- something new. The repetitiveness of his daily life was finally getting to him.

The young prince quickly realized that his arranged marriage to you could be his way out of Inazuma. The tradition of his kingdom called for him to travel to your kingdom once the two of you were wed, and he realized one night that he could use that opportunity to slowly distance himself from you and run away.

While he did feel a bit bad for planning to do something like that to you, the temptation of freedom after so many years of silently asking for it was too much to handle. But it was too late to go back on everything now—The 'perfect' plan was already made, and it was only a matter of time before it would finally come to fruition.

[ninehouses-if]

Hi! I loved you demo, the story sound very interesting! If you don't mind, I have a few a lot questions:

1 So the dad rules the sixth house or supervises all of them?

2 Now that the brother became the scion he is the one to "rule" the sixth house right?

3 The fact that dad chose the brother instead of MC wouldn't create a diplomatic issue with S's family (since he engaged their middle child to their oldest one on the premise that MC would become heir)? Especially since he publically reconized MC work and accomplishments, and then chose the older brother, giving the idea that this was all planned.

4 Since MC can help, "sabotage", or plainly washing their hands off, of their brother scion-situation does it means that the scion position can be "regained" by MC?

5 Would that be possible in a "legal" way and not as a "coup"?

6 Will we know more about the reasons of dad's decision? I get he is the one to make the decisions, but the way he did, was really shitty.

7 Did he espected MC to go along with it without complain? Did he contemplate that he could have destroyed his own family, and create a succession war, with his decision? A part from the political implications he sure isn't winning as father of the year. At least he could have told MC and brother about it, unless he didn't trust MC, and he wanted to put MC into a corner making them powerless, so to not undermine the brother-scion position.

8 I suppose it's spoiler-y but I'll try anyway 🤣 did he consider the possible advantage he was giving to the collateral family into challenging the line of succession?

9 Will we learn more about brother curse?

10 MC's mom is a character that we will see? All the sibling have the same mother?

11 if it's not a spoiler can you tell us a bit about the little sistes and the stepmom?

12 Does the brother know how/is able, to do the scion's duty that MC performed until now?

13 Now MC will have to take up the duties performed until now from the brother (or other duties, even only be married off, to another influential family), or they can say fu*k dad, I'm going to be a princex and do nothing but laze around (do what they want unreleated to the royal duties like the younger sister)? 🤣

14 does the dad expect that S now will marry the brother? Wouldn't the fact that MC and S liked/loved each other (I know it's not the case at the moment, but dad dosen't know that) matter to dad, or better it's irrelevant respect of the allyency between S's family and the Scion, so between S and brother?Do S's family expect the same?

15 do the people know about brother's curse? If not, would that be dangerous if made public?

Sorry for the many questions, a lot I'm sure are a spoiler at least partially, but your story got me so hooked that I couldn't resist asking! Feel free to ignore everything you don't feel like answering, I will be happy with anything you want to share! ❤️

I’m so glad you are hooked! There is no need to apologize for asking many questions. I loved getting them. ❤️ I will answer what I consider not to be spoiler-y

1. The dad rules only the Sixth House. Each house has its own ruler who reports to the Royal House.

2. Yes, the person who is given the scion title will eventually rule the Sixth House.

3. S's family reactions are Spoiler-y. This will be discussed further in the upcoming chapters.

4. As MC mentioned when talking to Milan after the fact they are still in the line of succession. They weren’t kicked out so theoretically they could try to "regain" the Scion title.

5. Yes, the "regaining" could be done legally. It wouldn’t be an option you can take. The story will focus on how you handle/react when life goes in a way you never expected. You can’t go back to the way things were.

6. Yes, the reason why the dad did what he did will be coming up in Chapter One.

7. Everyone agrees that what the dad did is shitty, or at the very least the way he did it was. All members of any of the House Families are expected to present a united front. Behind closed doors might be a different story but to the public everything must be seen as going just right. “Saving Face” is a big thing. For those reasons, Dad expected MC, and the rest of his family, to go along with it.

8. I’m not sure what collateral family you mean? Milan’s family? If so, no. MC’s brother is a perfectly acceptable Scion. It’s a dick move, but not enough to have the Milans challenge anything.

9. Yes, you will learn more about the brother’s curse.

10. MC’s mom is dead. MC and Elder Brother are her children. Little Sister is the child of the stepmother.

11. It’s not really spoiler-y, but you will learn more about Little Sister and Stepmother in the upcoming chapter. I will make an info post them.

12. Elder Brother knows the basics, but Dad is still around to show him the detailed ropes. You can help if that is what you want.

13. Elder Brother didn’t have many set duties. He kind of just did his own thing. Even if he had duties no one will side-eye MC too hard if they say F*ck It!  *Que Crazy Rich Asians Montage*

14. The situation with S and the engagement is Spoiler-y. It will come up.

15. Elder Brother's curse is Spoiler-y. It will come up.

Thanks for being so invested. It makes me happy to know people are enjoying the story. ❤️

[skepsiss]

Help me decide what to write!

I feel like I've been neglecting my own little series to work on challenges, Bangs, and the likes! I think I want to work on some of my own stories, but it really helps to motivate me when I know what stories people want to read the most.

Under the cut are the series descriptions and what I have semi-planned for the next part of that series. (And links if you want to read them).

Through Leagues and Miles Pt1 // Eddie and Steve meet up again after 7 years. They're proper adults now and Eddie is living his dream of being a rockstar, while Steve has just started to go back to school to become a teacher. They were only supposed to be meeting up for a reunion with The Party, but one thing leads to another, and well... maybe acting on that crush from 7 years ago is worth it. Part 2 of "Through Leagues and Miles." Essentially this would be the aftermath of the party, Steve and Eddie starting to be regularly intimate with one another.

His People Chapter 1: His People // This story is more about Eddie than anything. Exploring the idea of Eddie coming back very "monstrous" from the Upside Down, and he doesn't have a lot of memories on how to be human. He does learn quickly though that the people around him do love him no matter what. This was written for Eddie Month with the Oct 13 prompt "Monster."

Chapter 2: Like. Lust. Love. // Eddie relearns what attraction is, and acts on the memories he has of himself and Steve... or what he thinks are his memories of him and Steve.... (angst, drama)

Chapter 3 of "His People." Picking up right after Chapter 2 to see how Steve and Eddie handle Eddie kissing Steve unprompted.

Tooth and Nail Pt1 Pt2 Pt3 Pt4 // Uuhh, it's kinda sad guys. Prompt was to write something where Eddie is the one that is in denial about his queer-ness and Steve is the one who makes him question his sexual identity. Full request here. This is hurt comfort and miscommunication riddled; read some realness and slowburn towards romance. Part 4 onward is pining time with Eddie trying to figure out his feeling Part 5 of "Tooth and Nail." Eddie and Steve have patched things up, but Eddie hasn't given too much consideration to why he kissed Steve specifically. This isn't just Eddie panicking about being queer, but questioning his actual interest in Steve.

Long Road Ahead Pt1  Pt1.2   Pt2    Pt3 Pt4 Pt5 // A Five part (maybe six?) series about Steve and Eddie getting together. Steve really struggles with the possibility of him being queer and doesn't know how to deal with it. Each part alternates between Eddie's POV and Steve's POV; lots of yearning, miscommunication, a pining with a happy end. Part 6 of "Long Road Ahead." Wasn't planning on doing a part six, but a few people have voiced that they want to know what the aftermath of Part 5 looks like. Soooo, maybe an epilogue of sorts.

The Last Strange Thing [Monster reference guide] [The art for the fic!] Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 [FINISHED] // Welcome to the apocalypse. The demo-infection has taken hold of the world, and humans are a rare thing these days. Still, people hang on to civilization in pockets across North America and beyond. Hawkins is one such place.  Steve Harrington is a scout who runs missions for Hawkins, and on one of those missions, he becomes separated from his scouting partner, Robin. He has to find his way across Indianapolis in an infected world, meeting one very important individual on the way, Eddie. The two of them must trust one another in order to journey across Indiana, while perhaps finding something softer to nurture with one another along the way.

Epilogue for "The Last Strange Thing." Mentioned this on the fic description that I might do an epilogue, and it would essentially just be 18+ them being horny and in a relationship now. Lol.

[newgenog]

REVENGE

Notes: This is part one of chapter four. If you're just stumbling across this, and haven't already done so, please stop and start by reading part one of chapter one.

This #Batwoman AU is based on the ABC tv series #Revenge. Our favorite hero tried her hand at vengeance and got pretty far. I'm writing this #fanfic to explore the complexity of someone like her not changing her course, and how it would impact everything about her and everyone that matters to her. BUT, she's not powered or caped, just focused on her mission with bottomless resources.

So look, I'm not going to lie. These chapters are only getting longer. There's a lot to cover. Therefore, this one will be shared in 5 parts instead of 4. Meet me here on Tumblr each Friday for parts 1-4, and then we'll finish it up with the whole chapter on Ao3 for part 5.

Let's get into it!

CHAPTER FOUR - DUPLICITY (Part One)

Ryan goes after the psychologist who evaluated her after her mom’s death, and determined that she should serve out her time in a youth correctional facility.

JULY 1ST, 12:15 PM

Dr. Rhyme: “Robyn, would you say you’re happy being alone?”

Ryan fights back an offended scowl at the question and grins instead. While she’s talking to a psychologist whose job it is to seem sympathetic and invested in her clients’ wellness, Ryan finds her question audacious.

Ryan: “I’m used to it.”

Dr. Rhyme: “That’s not what I asked you, though. I asked if you were happy.”

Ryan: “I guess I’m not really sure how to answer that question.”

Dr. Rhyme: “Why don’t you try answering honestly, with whatever comes to mind?”

The truth never did Ryan any favors before, but sure, the more she could ground her responses in facts, the better.

Ryan: “It’s safer this way.”

Dr. Rhyme: “Safer for who?”

Everyone…

Ryan: “Everyone who was ever supposed to take care of me is gone.”

Dr. Rhyme: “Is that what you're looking for, now: someone to take care of you?”

Ryan: “I don’t need anyone...”

Dr. Rhyme: “Fair enough. So why are you really here then, Robyn?”

That question would be answered soon enough.

~~~~~

3 DAYS EARLIER, AFTER THE SIONIS PRESS CONFERENCE, THE HOLD UP

Ryan Wilder doesn’t panic. She plans. She improvises. She always keeps her head.

Each time she’s had to pivot due to something unexpected, it’s been purely tactical. She’s been taught to keep her emotions in check, so she's thoughtful, never reactive. Her simmering rage keeps her internal pilot light smoldering, and that's the only feeling she permits. Like an engine, if struck at the right angle, she could consume anything around her in flames, but with the right circumstances and maintenance, she can run for a long time this way.

Angelique working in the restaurant bar beneath her home is a can of aerosol that has the potential to spread her fire. For most, expecting yourself to anticipate any and everything that could happen so you're prepared for all possible outcomes would seem unreasonable. For Ryan, it's a mandate.

She turns, abruptly. She should have never come down here. And, way too in her head, she runs smack into Sophie, who reacts by wrapping her arms around her to prevent her from falling backwards. Ryan looks up and is as unready for the smirk on Sophie's lips as she was to see Angelique again.

Sophie: "Don't tell me you're already leaving."

Her voice is low because it can be, given that Ryan is pressed against her. Ryan swallows hard. It's becoming more difficult to fight off her panic. For every single reason, she needs to escape. She's worked too hard to reclaim her power to lose it all over these women, but there's no sign of power in her tone when she responds.

Ryan: "I've gotta go."

Somewhat confused, Sophie drops her arms, and Ryan steps back without another word or glance, so she can leave before things get worse.

13 YEARS AGO, GOTHAM CITY HIGH SCHOOL

Ryan is walking with her head down, because she’s reading her favorite comic, Ghost Kid. The comic is laying open on top of the stack of books she’ll need for her next set of classes, which are serving as a table. She’s doing a pretty good job of navigating the hallways filled with students without looking ahead of her, because this is something she has practice with and does on a regular basis. She moves through the crowds as though she’s noncorporeal, much like her favorite comic character.

Ryan stops outside of her classroom, and rests her back against one of the lockers, waiting until closer to the bell to enter, so she can avoid the classroom ruckus. Unfortunately, she’s chosen the locker of an older student with a full face of makeup, a low cleavage spaghetti strapped top, and a rule-breaking denim skirt, who needs to get the locker open. Instead of simply asking Ryan if she can get by, the blonde girl places her acrylic bubblegum pink nailed hand on top of Ryan’s comic and books, and pushes them downward so that they fall to the ground. Ryan looks up, taken aback and perplexed.

Blonde Girl: “This is a fresh-nerd free zone. So you’re going to have to find an elsewhere to be before your dweebiness seeps into my locker.”

Ryan doesn’t respond. She just kneels down to collect her books. A brunette who seems to share the blonde's sense of fashion and attitude walks over, smugly.

Brunette Girl: “God, could she be any slower? The boys aren’t going to wait all day for us.”

The blonde girl audibly sighs, and kicks one of Ryan's books further away, so Ryan can move from in front of her locker to chase the book. Before Ryan can decide how she wants to react, she hears the voice of a girl she has the next class with: Angelique.

Angelique: “Bitch, if you kick anything else of hers, I’m going to put my foot in your ass.”

Blonde Girl: “Who the fuck are you calling a bitch?”

Angelique: “You’re right. There are two bitches standing here, so let me clarify. I’m talking to you, BITCH!”

The blonde girl turns to hand her purse to her brunette friend, and before she can turn back around to face Angelique again, Ryan has jumped up and started pushing Angelique into the classroom, and the bell rings. Other students start rushing in behind them, before the teacher can close the door. Anyone who’s not inside once the door is closed is considered late for class.

It’s Biology class, so the students sit two to a table. Ryan and Angelique share a table toward the back, as far from the door as possible, and their usual table mates have no choice but to sit with each other once they realize all other seats are taken. Angelique is cracking her knuckles and staring at the door, clearly ready to go back out there and finish what she started. Ryan wraps a hand around her arm, hoping it’ll keep her seated. At the feel of Ryan’s touch, Angelique quickly shifts in her stool to face Ryan.

Ryan: “Thank you, but chill. Seriously, it’s cool.”

Angelique: “Nothing about that was cool.”

Ryan: “It’s not worth you getting kicked out, though. You know, in the end, she’ll be fine…”

Angelique: “Somebody needs to make her un-fine so she’ll stop doing shit like that. You didn’t deserve that.”

Ryan smiles at Angelique, appreciating her protectiveness. They didn’t even really know each other. Her smile breaks Angelique’s anger, and then their teacher begins addressing the class. Ryan drops her hand, feeling like Angelique has decided to stay put, and looks forward to give at least some of her attention to the lesson that’s being introduced. She can feel that Angelique hasn’t chosen to do the same.

~~~~~

JUNE 28TH, 6:00PM, KANE MANSION

Catherine: "What the hell just happened?"

Tyler sits in front of Jacob's desk as they both watch the news reports on his laptop following Roman Sionis’s renouncement from joining the mayoral race, and the leaked footage of his daughter’s crimes that came immediately afterwards. He is still desperately trying to connect dots from Sionis's history, to understand what enemies could have the motive, access, and resources to instigate such an elaborate attack. Both men turned their attention to Catherine when she abruptly barged into Jacob's office, after having wishing all of their perplexed guests a good evening.

Jacob: "You tell me. I knew you were cut throat, but you've had all of us fooled, pretending to care about Roman."

Tyler quickly looks back at Jacob. He had no idea Catherine was on the list of potential suspects.

Catherine: "How dare you call me an actor when you gallivanted with my closest friend all throughout our home and God knows where else."

Jacob: "And for that, you're willing to throw everything we've worked for away - this entire family's reputation?!"

Catherine: "ME! The fact that I still allow you within 20 feet of this family should tell you what I'm willing to do to protect it. That I tolerate you at all…"

Jacob: "You expect me to believe you had nothing to do with those videos being leaked to the press?"

Catherine: "Jacob Kane, what on this forsaken Earth are you talking about?"

Jacob: "...those emails were sent from inside The Crows."

Catherine: "And you'd rather accuse your vendetta seeking wife than admit to yourself that your shop is in worse shape than your home, and one of your underpaid rentacops cops has turned on you. So you're an adulterer and a narcissist. Gotham City's very own Man of the Year."

That was her final word. She turned away from them and stormed out as quickly as she entered, and Kate (who had been standing in the doorway about to enter, herself) had to shuffle out of the way to avoid a collision. She’d been approaching, equally curious about why Sionis had changed his mind…Her father's attention was already returned to Tyler.

Jacob: “She’s right about one thing. I can’t have anyone at The Crows undermining me. I don’t know who we can trust, and I need to get to the bottom of this immediately. Go get Moore, and don’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Whatever the price, whatever she needs, we’ll do it. But I know she’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Kate: “No, you can’t do that.”

Tyler: “Sir, I agree that seems unnecessary. I can handle it.”

Jacob: “Clearly you can’t. And why can’t I, Kate?”

Kate: “Sophie’s family is going through a lot right now. She’s taken on enough, already.”

Jacob: “What gives you jurisdiction over her life? Who exactly are you to her? And, don’t you have a company of your own to run? Why don’t you let Moore decide what’s best for her family, and you can prioritize yours for a change?”

It was a low blow, because her father knew that pointing out Kate had no influence over Sophie would sting.

Kate: “How have I done anything but prioritize this family? I was here tonight when I didn't even agree that Roman should have been running for Mayor. I did that for you…”

Jacob: “We all have obligations to maintain our lives. We play our roles, and most importantly stay in our lanes. You’re stepping outside of yours right now.”

Kate: “Dad, I’m not a child. I might live here, because I want to stay close to my sisters, but that doesn’t give you the right to control me.”

Jacob: “But you can control your ex girlfriend.”

The cold glare Kate gave her father should have frozen the entire room.

Jacob: “Tyler, go now. We don’t have any more time to waste. Get her terms, and we’ll meet them, but I need her on this.”

~~~~~

Tyler arrives at The Hold Up about an hour later. He heads straight to the bar, and requests a scotch from the new bartender, along with Sophie Moore’s presence. She approaches from the kitchen, and looks over him as soon as she sees him, stopping to stare before finally proceeding forward.

Sophie: “Tyler, right?”

Tyler: “Right.”

Sophie: “Got a suggestion for the menu or something?”

This was her wishing aloud, because dealing with anyone associated with a Kane was never that simple.

Tyler: “Actually, it’s not your restaurant management skills I’m here to talk about.”

Sophie pierces her lips. She can’t decide if this is news she wants or not. She had a feeling that The Crows wouldn’t wait forever, but also, she thought she’d have a little more time. It would have been nice to not have everything coming at her at once, but life would always life, at least hers would.

Sophie: “So Jacob Kane sent you. I guess that makes sense.”

Tyler: “Apparently, you’re the only one he can trust to uncover a recent cyber attack on The Crows, and he seems to think you’ll do a better job than I’ve done so far.”

Sophie: “I’d be flattered, but you’re obviously not thrilled about this.”

Tyler: “I was handling it, but I follow the chain of command. So, what’s it going to take to get you to say yes.”

Sophie isn’t sure how many more times she can tell Jacob Kane to wait before he’s no longer willing to.

Sophie: “Nothing has changed since I last asked for more time. In fact, things have actually gotten more complicated.”

Tyler: “So I heard…”

Sophie: “Huh?”

How could this Tyler guy know anything about her life when she only barely knows of him at all.

Tyler: “Kate told us not to bother you with this.”

Of course. Who else would mention Sophie to a relative stranger but Kate?

Sophie: “She did what?!”

Tyler can tell he’s struck the right nerve. He can work with this.

Tyler: “She seems to think you can’t handle this…”

Sure, that probably wasn’t exactly how Kate meant it, but words are always up for interpretation. Sophie smothers her agitation. She doesn’t want to let being challenged push her into doing something that she’ll regret, but she really hates people doubting her.

Sophie: “No one speaks for me but me.”

Tyler: “Alright then, why don't you have a drink with me so I can tell you what's going on, and we can discuss your terms?”

Her mom walks up behind her. There was no way to keep Diane away from the only other thing besides her girls that meant something to her. So, they agreed to a reduced schedule with more breaks, and a physical activity and nutrition plan to help with what her medications are trying to offset.

Diane: “Yes, go have a drink with this attractive young man.”

Sophie: “Mom, please!”

Sophie pulls her mom away from Tyler so she can at least pretend they have some privacy.

Diane: “I’ll hear nothing of it. Both Angelique and Jordan are here to oversee things so that I won’t have to work too hard. You can take an evening to yourself.”

Sophie rolls her eyes, and then responds in a hushed tone, hoping her mom will follow suit.

Sophie: “Sure, let’s pretend anyone else is in charge when you’re around. Oh, and like Angelique is the most trustworthy person ever! I still can’t believe you hired her without talking to me first.”

Diane: “You said I needed help…”

Sophie: “From me! That’s why I’m here, Mom!”

Diane: “And you’re well on your way to ending up just like me with the way you work. We could both use a little more time away from this bar… Besides, everyone deserves a second chance. Let’s see how the girl does.”

Sophie rolls her eyes again, this time because she knows her mom’s right, about all of it, and she kind of hates that. Tyler interjects, making it clear he could hear everything her mom said.

Tyler: “Sounds like you’re running out of arguments, Moore. I'm going to guess you weren't the go-to for interrogations at the DOD.”

Diane: “Go! I’ll be fine.”

Sophie stops debating because she's outnumbered, and walks towards the back of the bar, so she can go into the office and collect what she needs to leave with Tyler.

~~~~~

To be continued...

As always:

All #Batwoman things I do now are in the name of #SaveBatwoman. Go follow all the social handles and support the cause.

For the month of April 2023, we're writing 30 new Batwoman FanFics in 30 days in support of the Save Batwoman campaign. Each day has a prompt. If you want to sign up to write a oneshot of your own, you can choose a date and prompt by going to this link: https://calendly.com/savebatwoman/savebatwoman-fanfic-schedule?month=2023-04.

See you next week!

[bonesandthebees]

10: Wilbur does not want to see other people, Tommy claims he figure that was the case, but I have a feeling that he, too, does not want to go to the big breakfast room again after the disaster of chapter 9.

11: Tommy wants to stay with Wilbur so he doesn’t go insane, and probably to have the privacy to ask some questions that have been bugging him.

12: Tommy doesn’t count as other people, which means he can stay. This one is actually very important because it shows how close Tommy and Wilbur are now. How comfortable they feel with each other despite everything. Also, yeay for healthy distractions.

13: why are all the Deathlings so tired? Phil was tired, presumably because he had door duty all night. Tubbo was tired. Now Techno is tired and Tommy is also tired. Techno might also be because of keeping watch. Do they have a schedule for that? Is it just Phil and Techno doing it? Or are they staying up trying to figure out what to do with Wilbur? And then Tommy is probably having nightmares or staying up worrying about how to fix Wilbur. I have a feeling that it’s nightmares. I also have a feeling he’s having nightmares about Wilbur almost killing him given how he reacts to waking up next to Wilbur, but I’ll get to that.

14: I still love how Wilbur gets mainly bread rolls because that’s something he eats with pleasure. Normally it’s because Tommy noticed and grabbed them, but it’s fun that it carries over with the room service. In reality it’s probably just Tommy telling Techno what to get and Techno doing it but still.

15: all the Deathlings pretending nothing happened and nothing is wrong. This is their standard strategy isn’t it? They are all traumatised and now well at dealing with emotions. It makes me wonder how they deal with near death experiences and losing limbs and such. Though that all seems to be part of their culture and that tattoos are definitely a coping and processing thing. Having a possibly suicidal and definitely traumatic prisoner you kidnapped without a plan and now don’t know what to do with is very different.

16: Techno checking in and Wilbur and Wilbur once again not getting why the people who kidnapped him seem to care about his well-being. The kidnapping wasn’t really about him and they didn’t actually have any malicious intentions towards him, but looking at how Wilbur’s last kidnapping went you can really blame him. Actually, maybe the reason why Wilbur continuously expects them to hurt him is because he was hurt when he was taken to become the Pythia. That time he wasn’t a prisoner, but he still got hurt. So being a prisoner has to be worse. But somehow it isn’t. And that confuses him. And I have mad myself sad once again.

I am glad that Techno is showing more interest on how Wilbur is doing instead of just letting Tommy deal with it. They might still be getting briefed by Tommy, but considering how much the kid keeps to himself, direct interaction is better. Also, if Techno cares then Phil does too, which means there’s too more people who could start helping fix Wilbur because Tommy should not be doing this on his own. (and he is kinda gatekeeping Wilbur right now).

(3/?)

-🌲

oh yeah tommy definitely doesn't wanna see the others after the day before either. both of them want to be antisocial and tbh after that mess they're definitely allowed to

tommy doesn't count as other people!! they getting more comfortable around each other!! wilbur genuinely likes spending time with tommy even if he's stubborn and won't say it outright

phil and techno are really the only two who keep watch when wilbur and tommy are in wilbur's cell. the two of them switch off, hence why phil and techno are very tired. tommy is tired for a myriad of reasons mostly pertaining to stressing about how to keep wilbur alive but also nightmares about nearly dying. it's a whole lot of stress.

it was kind of an accident at first but now i've just made it a thing that glass!wilbur really likes bread rolls

i mean traumatic experiences the deathlings themselves go through isn't handled with the same avoidance everything with wilbur is. that's mainly because the deathlings are all close to each other and, y'know, on the same side. so they can talk to each other about stuff. none of them really know how to handle what's going on with the pythia hence why they avoid it. that's not to say the deathlings are great at talking about their feelings though because they're not. a lot of stuff still definitely gets brushed under the rug

wilbur has so many conflicting ideas about how things should be vs how they actually are. that's partly due to his own bias about the deathlings, but also like you pointed out it's a contrast to the first time he was taken as well. he expects things to get so much worse and he's confused why it's not :(

yeah techno and phil are starting to pick up on just how much tommy is keeping from them. not in a secretive way necessarily, but they're noticing how gatekeepy tommy is about the pythia, so the two of them are realizing they're going to need to step in especially since the pythia's problems are becoming VERY obvious to the rest of the group

[charlesjosephwrites]

Character Out of Context Tag

Thanks for the tag @fearofahumanplanet!

Rules: Include one character quote — of your choosing ⁠— from each chapter of your WIP (or as many chapters as you'd like). Give absolutely no context, save for what's between two parts of an interrupted sentence, should that occur. You may mention who said it. Have fun, no pressure!

This'll be for my wip The Magician and Ms. Psychic! April has a tendency to say stuff that sounds weird even in context, so this should be fun lmao.

Tagging: @writingpotato07, @eli-writes-sometimes, @did-i-do-this-write, and anyone else who sees this and wants to jump in. As always, no pressure, though!

CH 1 - “I’m not the one who needs to go shove a microwave up their ass.”

CH 2 - “Hey.” I didn’t even bother to look at who was calling before I answered. “I’m gonna remove your kneecaps.”

CH 3 - “I mean, if you wanted to turn it into a fight to the death we could decide that way instead.”

CH 4 - “You better shut up right fucking now, or else I’m gonna replace all of your bones with pool noodles.”

CH 5 - “Maybe after I’ve taken over the city I’ll come back and rip out all of your kidneys."

CH 6 - “You can keep your bones.”

CH 7 - "What makes you think you can just swoop in here with your horrible fashion choices and ruin all my plans?"

CH 8 - Coming from literally anyone else, I would’ve responded to that question with a nice simple “fuck off” or maybe a “touch me and I’m gonna crush your spine into a fine powder and make you snort it,” but for some reason I couldn’t find it in me.

CH 9 - “I’m not the one dressed like an emo circus clown.”

CH 10 - “Seriously, if you’re going to fuck with all my plans, then at least have the decency to color-coordinate with me so we look good when people see us on the internet.”

CH 11 - "You’re allowed not to like stuff. If anyone has a problem with that I’ll boil their bones to make soup.”

CH 12 - “You look like a printer just threw up on you.”

CH 13 - “Go shove your face in a waffle iron.”

CH 14 - "You knew I was too gay for this, didn't you?"

CH 15 - “I mean, obviously I’m here to kidnap you again."

CH 16 - I stared at the oven door for a long moment, but nothing cool happened.

CH 17 - “Well, thank you, Barney. You can keep your spine.”

CH 18 - "You better start apologizing right the fuck now or else I’m gonna string up the bones in your feet and wear them as a necklace.”

CH 19 - “Bold of you to assume that my gay ass can think around a pretty lady.”

CH 20 - “I have never wanted to remove someone’s skeleton so bad.”

CH 21 - “I’m kidnapping you. You’re supposed to be scared. Not whatever” — I made a vague gesture in his direction with both hands — “this is.”

[lovestuckyhatemarvel]

CHAPTER 5. THE FLAYED. Sorry I just think that’s super dramatic.

1.) Why is that elevator so fast? The kids could have gotten this place shut down so fast just by going to OSHA.

2.) Erica and Dustin are worsties.

3.) They are so far underground. The logistics of getting that elevator built must have been a nightmare.

4.) The evil Russians can’t build elevators but they sure are good at building secret bases under houses.

5.) The subtitles have betrayed me and no longer translate Russian for me. Probably because Joyce and Hopper don’t speak Russian. So like it makes sense but I can still be annoyed because I’m nosy.

6.) Policeman have rules? Man, you really aren’t from around here, my dude.

7.) STOP SHOOTING A MACHINE GUN IN A CLOSED AREA, DIPSHIT.

8.) Joyce is bad at throwing but that Russian is worse at shooting. HOW MANY ROUNDS DID YOU SHOOT WITHOUT HITTING ANYTHING? And people say stormtroopers are bad, but they at least canonically weren’t actually trying to stop them. Pretty sure that dude actually was supposed to be stopping them.

9.) Nancy called Jonathan at 6 am to vague about Will being in danger, something no rational person would do, but it was done to be dramatic so they could cut to other characters.

10.) JOYCE AND HOPPER BICKERING IS SO BORING. SO FUCKING BORING.

11.) I love Max being sassy to Mike. Also excited for this to go from 4 groups to 3 groups.

12.) I missed part of Robin and Erica being sassy to each other because I was giving smooches to my cat on his widdle head. And now he’s cuddling with me. That’s not an update about the show but I feel it’s important.

13.) Steve stops the elevator door with a truly impressive move.

14.) Dustin got called roast beef.

15.) I don’t care about evil Russian guy who looks like if you ordered Arnold Scwarzenegger from Wish.

16.) OHH MY GODDDDDDDD. WHY DID THE DUFFERS HAVE JOYCE AND HOPPER BE SO INSUFFERABLE AROUND EACH OTHER THIS SEASON?

17.) I forgot that they carjack a guy named Todd and it is the Toddfather car.

18.) Steve figures out the potential upside down connection about the same time that Dustin does.

19.) I love that El just breaks into so many places.

20.) Their plan is to use an 80 year old woman like a tracking dog.

21.) I forgot they take Alexei to Murray.

22.) I love Joyce.

23.) I love Robin believing Erica about the comma room immediately while Dustin is like ‘that could be anything’.

24.) It is very funny that the only time Steve wins a fight is against a Russian soldier while in an adorable sailor outfit.

25.) Robin discovers the portal.

26.) I hate that they have Jonathan say he was 100% wrong. He kind of wasn’t wrong. The real enemy is capitalism, btw. The patriarchy too. That being said, “I’m a woman and I want to do this so you’re not allowed to be mad about losing a job you desperately need because your financial situation is completely different than mine” is not a feminist take, actually. Like Nancy has her own phone in her room. She has her own TV. Her mom is a stay at home mom. She doesn’t have to worry about how she’s going to pay for college or if she has connections for a job because she has both. She can even blow off a job in the summer before her her senior year because it’s not that important. Jonathan doesn’t have any of those luxuries.

Like yes, Nancy was right about this case and she was right to pursue it, but Jonathan wasn’t wrong to want to drop a case that looked like nonsense to keep a job he needed. Or at least not rock the boat with it. It was also just kind of naive that Nancy thought that there was an amount that would make a bunch of sexist men who saw her as a couple years away from being worth fucking to see her as a professional. There literally wasn’t. They didn’t ask for proof, they asked for her to shut he fuck up and get them coffee.

27.) I love Lucas being the one to notice a moment to actually talk to El. Dustin may think he’s the smartest child out of the boys, but it’s actually Lucas.

28.) I forgot that they get chased.

29.) The flirting going back and forth between carnage in the hospital while Nancy and Jonathan run for their lives is something.

30.) so many people get choked this season.

31.) Jonathan gets his ass beat this season.

32.) For every time that ugly man disrespects Nancy Drew, he owes me 20 dollars, so he owes me a lot.

33.) I think they just killed like 1/5 of the papers staff at least. Do either of them get to have a moment to reckon with the fact that they killed two human beings?

34.) The bodies melted into bad CGI that is STILL DISGUSTING.

35.) Have you heard of a meet cute and a meet ugly? Now in season 3 episode 5, you can see a meet disgusting where two blobs come together to form into a mini mind flayer.

[pinkrelish]

𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

bestfriend!eddie x fem!reader

✶One missed call. No new messages.✶

NSFW — angst, drug/alcohol mention/use, 18+ overall for smut

chapter: 9/15 [wc: 4.8k]

↳ part 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08 / 09 / 10 / 11

AO3

Chapter 9: A Slow Rejection

——January 1, 1986——

[One missed call. One new message.]

“Hey! It’s getting pretty late, so I thought you’d be back by now.. Call me when you get this, so I know you made it okay.”

——January 3, 1986——

[One missed call. One new message.]

“Are you back to working on Fridays? Wayne let me know you made it home safe. Uh.. Miss you and stuff. Call when you can.”

——January 12, 1986——

[Two missed calls. Two new messages.]

“Been missing you, again.. Been so long, I’m starting to forget what your voice sounds like. Ha, I know, I’m being dramatic, but yeah.. It’s really not fair Wayne’s gotten all your calls, while I pick up the ones from bill collectors. I’m sure he’s a real riot, too. Telling the same story about how he tore his thumbnail clean off in that accident at the plant, but need I remind you, I’m the one you’re supposed to be.. Oh, fuck–shit–!”

“Man, sorry about that. You ever manage to burn pasta? Anyway. What was I saying? Right! We should try scheduling calls again, so we stop missing each other. Well, I guess we’d have to talk in the first place, but you know what I mean. Hope to catch you soon, so we can work something out.”

——January 24, 1986——

[Three missed calls. Three new messages.]

“I know you’re out of town for a meet, but Goddamn, I hope you don’t mind me ranting–because–holy shit, I just dropped the biggest plot twist on the club tonight. They totally didn’t see it coming, and shit, I’ve been planning it from the start. I’ve got even more twists later in the campaign, but this one was so good.. Hey, If I fill this whole cassette, I’m sorry, babe, I’m just excited–”

——January 27, 1986——

Every part of you ached. Wincing at the smallest tasks like lacing up your boots, and zipping your winter coat. Lower back pleading with you to stop bending over to pick up your purse. Arms shaking under the strain of textbooks. Eyes burning from lack of sleep. Head spinning. Water. Food. You needed both, had time for neither. Instead, you grabbed your waitress uniform, loaded your other shoulder with your gym bag, and walked the three flights of stairs down to the parking lot.

“God fucking damnit.”

You dragged the door closed from the white abyss, and stomped up three flights of stairs, rage simmering to a boil as you remembered you left the ice scraper and shovel behind.

But as soon as you entered the hallway, you sprinted. You could hear your phone ringing.

“Hello?” you answered, disguising the nauseating hope in your voice under a layer of genuine curiosity at who would be calling at dawn, and a touch of fear in case it was bad news.

It was never bad news when it came to him.

“Hey!” The pure relief in Eddie’s exhale wrapped you in a warm hug, placed a chaste kiss on your chapped cheeks. “I finally caught you.”

Finally. God.. finally you could reconnect with him after he swept you off your feet on New Year’s Eve.

You imbued your gratefulness into your voice, trusting he’d understand the magnitude of comfort he brought you, “Shouldn’t you be getting ready for school too, Munson?”

“I’m going, I’m going,” he promised with that little laugh of his, surely grinning ear to ear, pacing around his kitchen, probably annoying Wayne. “I just had a feeling I should try calling in the morning, and hey, it worked out. Do you have time to talk?” He knew the answer as soon as he asked, hearing the pause.

“I’m sorry.” Another pause. He didn’t interrupt. “My car’s buried under snow, and I’m running late as is.”

“It snowed there?”

“Mhm..” Certainly did, and if you didn’t get a move on, your coach was going to chew you out. But the temptation to keep sharing this blip in time was too enticing. Pretending things were better. “If you were here, would you shovel the snow for me? Scrape the ice off my windows?”

Eddie’s boyish, smitten murmur tingled across your skin. “Of course I would, baby,” he spoke in a lower range, in a whisper from where his heart resided. “Wouldn’t even have to ask. I’d take care of it.”

You knew he would. He was reliable like that.

“I’d have breakfast made, too,” he said. “Probably something frozen, but! Not to brag or anything, I know the exact amount of time to microwave a burrito so the inside is cooked, but the outside isn’t soggy, nor stale.” His warmth coaxed you into joining him in laughing, but it was repressed. Hollow. Delaying the inevitable. You both knew what was coming.

Aware he was burning the spare minutes you could afford, he asked the question you dreaded answering, “Do you have time to talk later?”

Oh, Eddie. Silencing your apology before it upset him more, you explained, “I have work later. What about Wednesday?”

“I have a date booked with Jeff’s mom. They moved into a new house over the weekend, and need help fixing faulty electrical stuff in their bathrooms. His dad is out of town in Indy. How about Thursday?”

“I’m usually in the gym until 11, and I have an exam to study for the next day.. I’m really busy during the Spring semester, with competing and stuff, on top of school bullshit–exams, papers, projects, whatever–and waitressing.”

“Mm..”

“Yeah..”

“Yeah.”

Ugly silence.

He said, “Well, I’ll let you go. We can work something out some other time.”

“Of course,” you promised. “Some other time.”

——February 8, 1986——

[No missed calls. One old message.]

“Uh.. I had to convince your roommate not to answer the phone, so I could leave this, and uh.. Now I feel super cheesy, but I wanted you to have a message waiting for you when you got back from New York–and–here it is, I guess. Jessica, are you listening to this? Whatever, I wanted to say I missed you, and hope you won all golds. I know you did, because you’re the best, but I wanted to wish you all the luck in the world, regardless if you needed it or not. Think of it like you opened a chest and found a Stone of Good Luck. +1 to all your rolls.. or tumbles, I guess.. Jesus Christ, I swear I’m done being weird. Call me when you’re back. Okay, bye.”

——February 9, 1986——

You called. No answer.

——February 10, 1986——

You listened to the fourth ring on the other end, and hung up. Defeat welcomed you like an old friend. Draped its blanket over your shoulders, squeezed you tighter than the lump in your throat, and reminded you to grab your new grips for the uneven bars on your way out of your dorm. It’s not like you had time to talk, anyway. You just wanted to try.

————

Eddie sprinted from his van. He heard it, he heard it, he heard it. Trailer door was locked. Wayne wasn’t home. God. Fucking. Loose doorknob he’d meant to fix yesterday knocking his keys from his shaky hands. Hehearditheheardit. Scraping his nails on the steps. Couldn’t find the right key. No, not the gold one, the bronze. Fucking hell. The ringing stopped. Maybe he could still–

He got the door open and dialed your number faster than his tunnel vision could discern. “Pick up, pick up, pick up.”

Ringing, ringing.

It rang. It rang.

It clicked over to voicemail.

——February 12, 1986——

You took matters into your own hands.

——February 15, 1986——

“There’s a letter from your girlfriend waiting for you on your nightstand,” Wayne told him.

Eddie reminded him with a dull glare, “Not my girlfriend.” To which his uncle’s grin grew, watching his nephew fidget under the scrutiny of his curious gaze.

“It was delivered yesterday. What exactly do you call someone who sends you a Valentine’s card?”

Paling, then flushing at the suggestion, Eddie’s tongue stumbled over a half-assed response about the date being a coincidence, and disengaged from the odd twinkle in Wayne’s eye, hurrying down the hall to his room. Closing the door behind him, and locking it just in case.

The density of the card was substantial in his palm. He wanted to take his time, but his eagerness got the better of him. He ripped into the envelope and pulled out the thin letter stuffed with goodies. Beige cardstock. Crinkled along the top.

He meant to read the note first, but when he unfolded it, an abundance of riches slid to the floor, onto his dirty Reeboks. “What the..” With shame, he gathered the money first. It was no secret Wayne was throwing away the bills before Eddie could see the bright red stamps of FINAL NOTICE on them. Any time the lights went out, they would share a look from across the trailer, or a sigh if it was at night, until they flickered on due to a random outage. Things were rarely permanently cut, they made sure of that–with longer shifts at the plant, and Eddie selling weed, amps, acts of service, whatever he didn’t need–but there was always the looming threat. A voice in the back of his head when he needed to buy milk, and it had gone up another 4 cents. Morals; that’s what those voices were. Allusions of rules set by the wealthy. He bought the things he cared about, and stole the rest.

But with what you gave him..

“Damn,” he whispered, counting. Recounting. The weight of the money was comfort stacked in his dirty hands. A warm greeting after a long, cold day of working on his pregnant neighbor’s car for next to nothing. Granting him, and Wayne, the luxury of rest. It was enough to pay what they owed. Maybe more.

“Luckiest man on Earth,” he said, in reference to his sweet girl. “And you sent me..” He picked up the Polaroids and matched them to the paragraphs in the letter. One of you on a podium when you won first place overall; the picture was taken from the sidelines, far away. Another one of you competing on beam. Cute. Nice back shot of you in a leotard, too. Then..

You were at the edge of a pier overlooking the Statue of Liberty. Another girl was beside you, arms hooked around each other’s waist, having the other hand raised in the air as if you were holding the torch. The pose helped open your jean jacket, and beneath that, he saw peeking between the buttons, his Hellfire shirt.

“Sweetest girl.” He shook the picture steadily, like a nod. Gradually doing it more vigorously, until he was outright slapping it across his other fingers. “Goddamn, baby. You make me so proud.” Wearing his Dungeons and Dragons shirt out in public.

You would be a keeper, if you were his.

���—February 17, 1986——

He meant to write back.

——February 22, 1986——

[One missed call. One new message.]

“.. I know it’s been a while, I’m sorry I haven’t called. Things got busy over here. Seems like when one thing goes wrong, more piles on. Did finish my book report for class, though, so you can be proud of me for that.. Yeah, miss you. Hope you’re doing okay. I don’t know if you’ve been calling and we’ve both been missing them, but Wayne hasn’t heard from you, either. You’re competing out of town today, aren’t you? Uhm.. Call when you can. And thank you for sending us money. Bye.”

——February 26, 1986——

You meant to call back.

——March 1, 1986——

Nothing really happened to trigger it, he was just sad.

Eddie sat at the kitchen table. Small and cramped with magazines and mail. He picked at a scab on his knuckle, twisted the black ring around his finger. Was tired, hungry. Quiet, and reserved from his usual personality, using all his energy yesterday to entertain Hellfire. Wayne would be back soon, he knew. The grocery store closed in 30 minutes. He just needed to occupy himself until then, but couldn’t find anything to do. New Metallica album in two days. He could listen to his bootlegs and finesse a song. But.. None of it sounded intriguing right now. Instead, his mind filled in the blanks. What were you doing on a Saturday night? Were you in your dorm? Out with friends? Working? Training? On a date–?

No. He stopped himself from fleshing out that last thought.

Tucking himself into the corner, huddling until his shoulders sagged, and drawing a knee to his chest, he grabbed the phone from above his head and dialed.

It didn’t matter if you couldn’t talk for long, he just wanted to hear your voice. Your voice would make things better. Shake him out of this cycle. These unfair consequences of being the one who could leave remnants of his heart for you to listen to at your leisure, but wasn’t afforded the same luxury. Unless you were both available, he didn’t get to hear you speak. Just ringing, ringing, ringing. Suffering ringing.

Wrapping his arm around his leg in a hug, he rested his temple on the stained wallpaper, and rocked his head back and forth, grinding his forehead into the wall. Ringing. Ringing. The same position he took when he was a boy, on the rare–very rare–occasion his mother called on his birthday, or Christmas. Mostly Christmas, that was easier for her to remember. And he sat in this exact arrangement, curled up as small as he can be, wishing the person on the other end of the line loved him.

“Just thinking of you,” he said, after swallowing the thick spit in his mouth foretelling the water in his eyes. “Miss you. Call me when you get this.” He hung up.

——March 5, 1986——

You wanted to call, but last week’s graded essay was burned onto the back of your eyelids. So much red ink.

Under the buzzing fluorescent lights of the library, you squeezed in the last of your allotted time before they closed, and forced your cramped hand to write, making it to your dorm in time to pass out.

[No missed calls. No new messages.]

——March 8, 1986——

He meant to start his letter to you. Really.

——March 10, 1986——

The quarter-sized blister on your palm you attained due to your own negligence around the flat top griddle at work burst on your fourth pull up. Fluid snaked down your forearm, cutting a stark line through the chalk. Coach would be livid if he knew you had a job. No distractions, he said. Not for champions like you.

[No missed calls. No new messages.]

——March 15, 1986——

Wayne took one look at him and sighed. He pulled Eddie’s wobbly desk chair up beside the bed, and sat facing him, lighting a cigarette. The heavy wooden box beside his nephew’s feet told him everything he needed to know.

Eddie held out his hand for Wayne’s lighter and lit the end of a joint.

“So,” his uncle started, drawing his eyes from the decades of memories stacked neatly in the keepsake box taken from the top shelf of the closet, to the Polaroids tacked onto the wall above his bed, to the worn black journals spread around the boy who laid there with his eyes on the ceiling, moping. “What’s gotten to ya, now?”

“Same old,” Eddie answered. Nonchalant, he took a drag on the joint pinched between his thumb and index, and rested his wrist on his forehead. Wayne waited patiently. And as usual, Eddie caved under the silence. “Unless she’s purposefully calling when we’re busy, she’s just.. not calling at all, and I don’t know what pisses me off more.” He shook his head. Long shakes, rolling cheek to cheek on his limp pillows. Eyes drifting closed. “I think I fucked up.”

Wayne leaned back in the chair and crossed his legs, preparing himself for a long conversation. “Why do you think that, son?”

The corner of his mouth twitched at the memory. “I promised her we’d be together forever, and she said ‘okay.’ That’s all. ‘Okay.’” He started to mock himself, “I want to be with you forever,” and shifted his pitch higher, “Okay!” Eddie stopped his theatrics, and sank to his mattress. “Jesus.”

“You seemed really happy the next morning when I came home.. Are you sure you’re not reading too much into her reaction? Maybe she was surprised, is all I’m sayin’.” Eddie didn’t give so much of an eyeroll, as it was him sliding his gaze away from Wayne, disinterested in analyzing what he’d been poring over for the past few months in solitude; as the phone calls decreased, and his loneliness worsened. “Why don’t you tell me exactly what it is you said?”

At an impasse, they inhaled their vices at the same time, and tapped them into the ashtray on Eddie’s nightstand in sync.

“Fine,” Eddie heeded, “But it’s not like I remember it verbatim.” Wayne spun his hand in encouragement to try. “It was something along the lines of.. I don’t know, man. She has these amazing opportunities lined up for her, and I told her after I graduate, I’m gonna work odd jobs, so wherever she goes, I can go with her, so we can.. you know, be together. Forever. I explicitly stated ‘forever.’ I’ll follow her forever, so we never have to be alone.”

Wayne spoke with the cigarette between his lips, “Sounds sorta stalker-like.”

“Thanks.”

“I’m just givin’ ya a hard time,” he said, after a slight laugh, and a coughing fit. His nephew seemed less amused, rubbing the back of his thumb across his forehead in a self-soothing gesture. “Was there anything else?”

Eddie burned through another fraction of his joint as he recalled that night. “She sucks at taking care of herself, so I said she needed her best friend there to look after her. Meaning me, obviously. Y’know, help keep her car functioning, make sure she gets rest so her injuries heal, cook for her because she doesn’t eat when she’s stressed. Stuff like that. I just want to be there for her, and.. Why’re you looking at me like that?”

Cigarette paused half-way to his mouth, Wayne debated with himself over which style of guidance he should take. For as long as he’d known him, Eddie was stubborn. Liked to figure things out for himself. But this? This was a little much for Wayne to sit back and watch.

“You told her that.. platonically?” he asked, a touch of astoundment at his nephew’s stupidity in his inflection.

“Yes.”

Jesus, kid. Get a clue. “And did it ever occur to you..” he drawled, waving his cigarette, “to tell her how you really felt, so you wouldn’t have to go through this? So you’d have a definite answer, whether she rejected you or not, and we could avoid all this back and forth worryin’?”

Eddie begged him to understand, “You know I can’t just.. say that to her. I mean, I said everything but that and all she could say was ‘okay.’ What if I actually told her? Made some grand confession at midnight, and kissed her? Christ, at least she still sort of talks to me.” He cut his arm across his chest. Quick, hard, and final. “No. No way am I doing that.”

Calming himself down, the joint between his fingers burned to a nub, and he spoke through the haze. “We’re finally friends again. I’m not going to jeopardize what we have by talking about my feelings.”

“Well, you’ve already lost her once, and you’re worried it’s happening again.. So, why not risk it?”

“Because now I know what it feels like for her to be a stranger.”

~~~

More words were exchanged, and many of them circled around the same subject without a resolution, but Wayne made sure to end the night on a positive note before he left for work.

He leaned over and dusted the ash from Eddie’s hair, pushing the fringe out of his face for a sincere, long moment of eye contact. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“I hope she calls. I’m sorry, son.”

——March 16, 1986——

The red lights on your alarm clock blared 2:35AM. You rolled over, adjusted the foam cups of your headphones onto your ears, brought the quilt to your chin, and rewound the tape to play it from the beginning.

“Crashed at Rick’s last night.. Sorry if you called.”

Then, a slurred message an hour later. “M-Mm.. Miss you.. I.. Hm? I.. Damn.” A drink spilled. Music played in the background. Something recognizable in the depths of your subconscious, but too quiet to place. Eddie inhaled deep, held his breath, and resumed with a steady cadence, “Wish you were here.”

——March 19, 1986——

Black. Black. Black. Searing white.

You came to holding onto a rope, and someone’s hand gripping your shoulder, acting as your sole buoy in the sea of your dizzy spell.

“Are you okay? Don’t answer that.” Katherine’s voice cut like a snake’s tongue. She lowered you to the spring floor next to the foam pit, and released a string of infuriated whispers about miracles, and you not falling from higher up. They came muffled against the high-pitched whine in your ears, and the pounding heart beats racing blood to your face.

She had a first aid kit with her. “Hello? Do you not feel that?” You looked at your hands. A cold flash of sweat prickled your skin. Nausea rose. The bleeding wasn’t bad, but it did leave a streaking trail on the last few feet of knotted rope dangling beside you.

At least Coach was in his office while the rest of you did your conditioning, so he didn’t see.

You rubbed your knuckles into your brow bone. “I think those caffeine pills caught up with me,” you muttered. Kat sucked her teeth, and handed you what you needed to patch up your torn calluses.

“I wish you’d stop taking those and give yourself a break. Rest isn’t a punishment.”

You may not have known her long, but she was the first friend you made, and her disappointed voice struck you in a way your Coach’s didn’t. Kat understood. She had a similar upbringing to you, and could relate. She also worked at the diner, and you helped cover for each other when other girls asked why you couldn’t make it to their bonding nights out.

And being vulnerable with her meant she knew intimate details of your life no one else did, and you were beginning to regret it.

Not really. But it sucked when she knew she was right.

“I can’t take a break now,” you mumbled, surveying the rest of the gym to make sure your conversation was private. “I’ve gotta study for next week. Gotta go to work. Gotta make money. Gotta–gotta–” You moved your hands erratically, drying the sharp sting of rubbing alcohol on your palms. “Gotta live up to everyone’s expectations.”

“Why not at least cut your hours at work? I know you don’t need the money that bad right now.”

“No.. But he does.”

The exasperated sigh Kat released grazed your cheek. She placed the first aid kit in her lap, and shifted closer to you. The side of her thigh squished against yours, and you wondered if anyone else on Earth would have stopped breathing at the small sign of affection. If anyone else’s eyes welled with tears at what others took for granted.

Kat’s tone went gentle, “You’re killing yourself over a guy who will never commit. You deserve better than that. Why not try going out with Roger again? You already know he likes you.” She bumped your shoulder and tipped her head at the group of sweaty guys standing under the rings. Most notably the stand-out amongst the men’s team jumping and grasping the apparatus, hoisting himself up for minute-long holds in poses that had your abs burning in empathy.

Roger was nice. His smile was nice. His short, sandy blonde hair was nice. Your date with him at the Italian restaurant in town was nice. He paid for the meal, which was nice. His eyes crinkled when he laughed at your bad jokes in a nice way. He made it a point to walk you to your dorm at night, like a nice man. He spoke to you nicely. He hugged you tight, and long. And when you made your intentions clear, he accepted you didn’t want a kiss, and left like a gentleman, without complaint. Nice. He was nice.

“You didn’t hear the way Eddie said–” the most romantic thing anyone had ever promised you.

“He called you his best friend.” She took over bandaging for you, turning her body to block the others from seeing the tears run down your cheeks. “He doesn’t love you like you want, and you’re starting to worry me. Well.. You’ve been worrying me. You need to take care of yourself, first. Coach might turn a blind eye because you’re still able to compete, but I see the way the stress has been eating away at you.” An opportune moment for your stomach to growl. “And I love you, and I want better for you than some guy who’s not into you, taking advantage of your kindness.”

“Eddie’s not like that. He’s different..” you offered meekly. “You don’t know him like I do.”

“Just.. consider going out with Roger again. Pay attention to the date. How he treats you, what he says. Maybe compare him to Eddie, and see what I mean.”

Done patching you up, Kat tossed the first aid kit to the side while you chalked your hands over the bowl, not caring the white powder clung to the wet smears on your face. She opened her mouth when you grabbed the rope again, fists on her hips not unlike a mother who actually cared for her children.

“You’re going to get hurt,” she said.

You put your weight on the rope. Your open flesh wrung against the fiber, padded by a few layers of athletic tape rapidly losing their adhesive from the blooming blood soaking through. The pain stung deep. Not enough for you to quit. You could persevere. Climb up to the rafters of the gym, and back down again without rest two more times, as Coach instructed. You could remain calm. Focus on the task, finish it, and still read your textbook until the crack of dawn, and go in for a quick morning shift at the diner before your afternoon class. You could do it all. You could. You could do it all if it meant securing a future for you, and for Eddie.

You replied, “Maybe I will.. But it’ll be worth it.”

Kat waited until you were half-way up to question, “Will it?”

——March 21, 1986——

If Eddie answered, you wouldn’t go out with Roger. That was the deal.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” you whispered with your head resting against the doorway to the back of the diner. The two line cooks gave you sympathetic looks. “Pick up,” you pleaded with a bite of anger.

You hung up.

Dialed again.

“Come on, Eddie..”

When he didn’t answer, you let Kat embrace you in the walk-in cooler, blotting your tears on her brown uniform shirt, and she listened to you sob about how not only had the phone calls stopped, Eddie had stopped calling you by pet names long before that.

————

Roger was soft. His grin was soft. His hair was soft, brushing across your forehead. The callus on his thumb was smooth, soft as he traced your bottom lip. The back of his fingers were soft as he caressed them over your cheek. His lips were soft, too. Placing them gently on the corner of yours after you turned away at the last second.

His voice was soft. “You don’t like me, do you?”

“I’m sorry..” You struggled to say more. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he said, and left. Softly spoken through the rejection, and accepting it like the nice man he was, not coercing you into more.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized, long after Roger walked away. You went inside your dorm, and did the thing you always did, pressing the blinking light on your answering machine, noticing the cassette through the plastic window hadn’t moved.

[One missed call. No new messages.]

Oh.

He’d never not left a message before..

——March 22, 1986——

You awoke with a start. “Wha–?” Your bloodshot eyes refused to open under the disturbing amount of daylight streaming through your window. What was that noise? Was the phone ringing? 

The phone was most definitely ringing.

Answering under the grog of not knowing when you went to sleep, nor what day it was, you said the first thing that came to mind, “Eddie?” You winced, and jerked the phone away, taking a moment to place the loud, exuberant–panicked–voice on the other side. “..Dustin?”

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