#good realtors near me

[sherryjohnston]

Common Mistakes to Avoid When Buying Your First Home in Calgary, Alberta

Buying your first home is an exciting milestone, but it’s easy to make mistakes that could cost you time, money, and peace of mind. The Calgary real estate market, with its unique challenges and opportunities, requires careful planning and informed decision-making. Here’s a detailed guide to help you navigate the process and avoid common pitfalls.

1. Skipping Pre-Approval for a Mortgage

Why It’s a Mistake: Many first-time buyers dive into house hunting without securing mortgage pre-approval. This can lead to disappointment when you find your dream home but can't secure the financing.

How to Avoid It: Start by getting pre-approved for a mortgage. This not only helps you understand what you can afford but also strengthens your offer in a competitive market like Calgary's.

2. Not Considering Additional Costs

Why It’s a Mistake: Focusing only on the purchase price can lead to unexpected financial strain. First-time buyers often overlook closing costs, property taxes, home insurance, and maintenance expenses.

How to Avoid It: Budget for all potential costs. Work with a real estate agent or financial advisor to get a full picture of what homeownership will truly cost you.

3. Falling in Love with a Home Without Considering the Neighborhood

Why It’s a Mistake: The excitement of finding a beautiful home can sometimes overshadow the importance of location. A great house in a poorly suited neighborhood could lead to regret.

How to Avoid It: Research the neighborhood thoroughly. Consider factors like schools, commute times, crime rates, and future developments. Visit the area at different times of the day and week to get a feel for the community.

4. Overextending Financially

Why It’s a Mistake: It's easy to get carried away with a bigger, more luxurious home. However, overextending your finances can lead to stress and even financial trouble down the road.

How to Avoid It: Stick to your budget. Use your mortgage pre-approval as a guide and resist the temptation to stretch beyond your means. Remember, you’ll need a financial cushion for unexpected expenses.

5. Neglecting a Home Inspection

Why It’s a Mistake: Waiving the home inspection to speed up the buying process or to save a few hundred dollars can be a costly mistake. Hidden issues like structural damage, faulty wiring, or mold can lead to expensive repairs.

How to Avoid It: Always insist on a home inspection. It’s a small price to pay for peace of mind and could save you from buying a property with serious flaws.

6. Ignoring the Resale Value

Why It’s a Mistake: First-time buyers often focus on what they want right now, without considering how the property will appreciate or appeal to future buyers.

How to Avoid It: Think long-term. Choose a home that not only meets your current needs but also has features that will be attractive to future buyers, such as location, layout, and neighborhood amenities.

7. Not Working with a Real Estate Professional

Why It’s a Mistake: Some first-time buyers think they can save money by not hiring a real estate agent. However, the complexities of the Calgary market and the buying process can be overwhelming.

How to Avoid It: Work with a qualified real estate agent who knows the Calgary market. They can help you find the right home, negotiate the best price, and guide you through the entire process.

8. Making Emotional Decisions

Why It’s a Mistake: Buying a home is a significant emotional and financial commitment. Allowing emotions to dictate your decisions can lead to overpaying or choosing a home that doesn’t fit your needs.

How to Avoid It: Approach the process logically. Set clear criteria for what you need and want in a home, and stick to them. Take your time to evaluate each option objectively.

9. Rushing the Process

Why It’s a Mistake: The pressure to buy quickly, especially in a hot market, can lead to poor decisions. Rushing might mean missing out on better opportunities or overlooking potential issues.

How to Avoid It: Take your time. Ensure you’re making informed decisions at every step. Remember, it’s better to wait for the right home than to rush into a decision you’ll regret.

10. Underestimating the Importance of a Legal Review

Why It’s a Mistake: Skipping a legal review of the purchase agreement can lead to misunderstandings or missed contractual obligations.

How to Avoid It: Hire a real estate lawyer to review all contracts before you sign. They’ll help ensure that your interests are protected and that you fully understand the terms of the agreement.

Conclusion

Buying your first home in Calgary can be an incredibly rewarding experience if you avoid these common mistakes. By taking the time to plan, seeking professional advice, and making informed decisions, you’ll be well on your way to finding a home that suits your needs and your budget. Remember, this is likely one of the biggest investments you'll ever make, so approach it with care and caution.

For more expert advice and tips, be sure to consult with a local real estate professional who can guide you through the unique aspects of the Calgary market.

[isabelrodriguezexprealty]

Isabel Rodriguez is one of the best real estate agent in San Antonio TX, offering financial service, expert knowledge of the local market, and a commitment to her clients. Whether you're buying or selling, Isabel will help you navigate the process with ease and achieve your real estate goals.

[miss-dollette]

Makarov • Baby Daddy Headcanons

While Makarov is a psychopathic maniac without a care for anyone, he'd definitely never abandon his own. This man values loyalty above anything and will never forsake one of his own, especially his baby mama and his child.

A visit from Makarov would be rare, but when he visited, he always made sure to bring a gift for his baby, and sometimes, even for you. Nothing cheap, of course—a necklace worth thousands. See it as a reward for being an oh-so-good woman and bearing him a child.

Don't bother with work. Call in and never come back. Makarov has you covered for the rest of your life. He'd move you away from the dingy city and have you cozy with your baby in a house you'd never be able to pay off on your own. But you wouldn't need to worry about that - Makarov made sure to pay in cash to whatever sketchy realtor he knew would never reveal your location. If they did... let's just say they'd never sell another house again.

The new addition to the Makarov family would love their father. They'd cry all day in your arms, never stopping until their father's rough cheek scratched against their own, and he shushed them in his rough Russian manner.

The first time you handed over the tiny Makarov to their father would become a bittersweet memory.

"Make sure his/her neck is supported," you softly said while passing the baby into Makarov's arms, mindful of the delicate strength his/her little neck had yet to develop.

"Perfect," you said as Makarov gently held the baby in his arms, his neck crooked down as he watched his baby's eyelids flutter, their little pink cheeks, and tufts of hair on top their head. The baby tiny fist lifted into air, and Makarov placed his lips upon their tiny knuckles.

You leaned in and placed your lips on Vladimirs rough cheek.

He'd definitely pretend he wasn't obsessed with his newborn baby's scent. You'd walk into the nursery, and he'd shoot up from the crib and act like his nose wasn't all up in his baby's scalp.

He'd be fiercely protective of his family. No one, not even his closest allies, would know. Maybe Yuri, but he'd only tell him long after you gave birth.

If he had a son, he'd definitely plan to raise him in a macho-man way. Your son's fifth birthday gift would be a Russian prison knife from the Gulag. And no, he wouldn't care if you made a fuss about it being dangerous for a child.

"Now, why the hell would you give him that? What were you thinking?"

"He's nearly a grown man, and every grown man needs a knife."

"He's five!"

"I was gifted a rifle when I was five, so be grateful!"

Now, if he had a daughter, that would be a whole 'nother story. She would definitely be his little tsarina. All she would need to do is ask, and she'd have it in her little palm.

"She'll become a spoiled little brat if you keep spoiling her like that,"

"What, like you?"

"Not funny."

"Seems funny to me. Come, My Little Tsarina, let's go pick out one of your future cars."

He grew up poor and constantly surrounded by critters sneaking around in his home. He'd bring home stray cats to make sure no rats or mice would go near his baby.

Will sometimes sleep over. You'd both sleep in the same bed, and his razor-sharp training from when he was a soldier would come to good use. Any noise your baby made would wake him instantly.

He's paranoid as hell, so be ready for him to patrol the house multiple times a day. Your baby will grow up thinking it's normal for his father to have an automatic assault rifle in hand, walking around with murder in his eyes, ready to blow apart whoever dared target his family.

The baby would giggle every time their father passed by, and you'd watch boredly as he walked past. It got boring after the first ten times.

If there ever was a break in, God bless the idiot who did so. Not even his bones would be found.

Other than that, he's a cutie patootie when it comes to his baby. But like, a scary cutie patootie.

[updownlately]

stars through the window (they light up our disco)

| leah williamson x reader | fluff (just pure softness) | 1.5k | inspo: when you're home by tyler shaw. | a/n: this was supposed to be short and sweet, but it turns out despite my height, shortness is not a strength of mine. if you haven't heard the song before, definitely check it out, it's lovely! and if you have, see if you can count how many lyrics i sneaked in :)

~~~

Your insistence on getting an apartment with huge windows had frustrated Leah throughout your initial apartment hunt. You both were footballers with your lives constantly being the topic of interest of the media and the internet, no hint of privacy in the public world. Leah didn’t want to give them direct access to your most personal moments too. However, when it eventually became a heated topic that the two of you would butt heads on not only during any showing with your realtor, but over meals and downtime, Leah had decided that it wouldn’t be worth the risk of potentially losing you. Plus, she figured she could always purchase a nice set of black out curtains in order to keep away prying eyes. Letting you win, the decision to choose an apartment had become ever so slightly easier (the clear joy on your face had been a good reward too), the pair of you eventually deciding on one that fit all the requirements, a house that was ready to become a home.

And while she wouldn’t tell you this, in this moment, Leah was glad that she had gone along with your terms in that initial disagreement. The both of you were currently in said apartment, a soft playlist filling the room through the numerous hidden speakers in the living room as each of you quietly did your own thing. It was just a little after dinner that you had suggested turning off the lights in the apartment and playing some music to help the two of you relax. Between the flurry of games and practices you both had had, it was safe to say the downtime of the past day-off had been a blessing. 

While you and Leah played together for Arsenal, her duties as a key face of the Gunners’ women’s team and England often led to much of your time spent away from each other. Nights like these, where you got to spend the evening together, gently watching over London as the city began to head to bed, the two of you basking in the presence of each other, contentedly present, were some of your favourites. 

You were laying on the sofa reading, the light of the sunset shining through the near-completely glass wall illuminating your book, whilst Leah was sprawled on the arm chair next to you, the evident sounds of overplayed songs coming from her phone signifying her doom-scroll of TikTok.

It was when dusk started to turn into night, just under an hour later, that you gave up on trying to progress any further in your story, the waning light too faint to make out the words that littered the paper. Bored and missing your girlfriend, you padded over to Leah, gently taking her phone out of her hands and placing it on the coffee table that rested near you. 

“Leah…I’m bored. I was enjoying my book and then the light started fading,” you whined, settling yourself in her lap, arms coming around her neck, head on her shoulder.

Placing a delicate kiss on the exposed part of your neck, Leah pulled you closer, her hands finding home on your waist. 

“How dare the sun set and the day turn to night, hmm? It’s a shame we don’t have any means to light the inside of our home,” she joked, causing you to gently smack her shoulder from where you rested (not an easy feat, given the two of you were positioned lengthwise in the single seat).

“I’m bored. Entertain me,” you pleaded. “Please.”

Tucking her head your shoulder in response, Leah blindly reached for your phone from your pocket, turning up the volume of the music ever so slightly and changing the playlist from your current acoustic covers to one that she had made for the two of you once the device was in her hands.

“I have a few ideas on what we can do,” she smirked, pulling back and meeting your eyes.

Recognizing the glint in your girl’s eyes, you had just leaned in to kiss the blonde, lips merely centimetres away, when Leah deviously decided it was the perfect time to get up and prepare for her little activity. Her hands moved to your thighs to make sure you wouldn’t fall as she picked you up with herself, moving quicker than normal to tease you, your shrieks echoing in the room at the unexpected movement.

Carefully setting you on the floor, Leah made quick work of moving the coffee table to the side, creating room for a faux dance floor in the middle of your living room, as you looked on in confusion.

When Leah turned to you, hand outstretched in the space between you two, the streetlights illuminating her soft smile ever so angelically, you extended your own, intertwining the two, binding the skin of your hands.

You let the blonde pull you into her, stepping into her space, your bodies pressed close together. 

A bashful smile on her face, Leah took a moment to appreciate you, in awe of the way you so effortlessly stood in front of her, a golden glow on your face, no doubt due to the stars shining through the window. (She secretly hoped she’d get this view again, but in a different setting, where hopefully the pair of you would wear white, sunlight streaming down on you two).

Wrapping up her admiring, Leah took note of the perplexed look on your face, quickly choosing to put you out of your misery. 

“Let’s put on a show?” She asked shyly. “Dance with me?”

You couldn’t help but grin at the Englishwoman standing in front of you. It wasn’t rare that Leah let her soft, romantic side show, yet each time, it left you just as elated as the first time. The stone cold captain on the field seemed to turn to mush in your presence, your teammates never failing to remind you both of the way you had the midfielder wrapped around your pinkie.

“Lead the way m’lady,” you winked, smiling lightly to yourself, finally realising that Leah had put on the playlist of love songs she had made for you.

The pair of you slowly danced, swaying to the music as the stars outside faintly lit your disco. Words unsaid, Leah held on to you tighter, slowly guiding you through a waltz and spinning you so gracefully before tenderly pulling you back, impossibly closer to her.

You weren’t one to dance, often joking to yourself that you had two left feet and that any use of footwork was better left on the pitch for you. Yet, here you couldn’t help but follow Leah’s footsteps, trusting her to lead you both, trusting her trust in you. And when Leah looked into your eyes, asking for permission to dip you down, you could only whisper her name, nodding ever so slightly, confident that she’d catch you, knowing for certain that she wouldn’t let you fall, at the very least, not on your own, not by yourself. Whether it be four feet or three on the floor, you knew she’d be there for you, just like she had every step of the way since the start.

As song after song played, the two of you moved delicately around the makeshift stage, eyes and hands not once leaving the other. With each waltz after waltz, spin, and dip, you knew that if paradise was on Earth, it would be here, in your apartment, as the pair of you silently spoke your affection for the other with each second that passed.

And when tired feet led you to sit down, cuddled up on the couch, wrapped in your love for each other, FIFA illuminating the rest of the room, Leah knew that the windows that she hated in the apartment that she loved had grown on her. The way the passing rays lit up your face, bathing you in an ethereal glow was a heavenly sight to see, one that she wished on any and every shooting star that she’d get to see for the rest of her life.

Your shared apartment that had been gently crafted into a home, was nothing but a skeleton, a shell of a safe haven, if it didn’t have the two of you. The love shared between you two overflowing, seeping into the cracks, filling them with delight and affection. As long as it had you both, you knew that it would be all you’d ever need, and everything you’d ever want. The best thing in your lives had only started, a whole future waiting for you ahead. A future full of you two together, coupled with friends and family, and a sky full of love, where life couldn’t get much better than this dreamland turned reality, a present in the night that passed.

[fishcat480]

Go Timberwolves!

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

Pairing: Elijah Mikaelson x Plus size! cheerleader!reader

Description: You're a cheerleader and Elijah is in the stands. Your friend Jessica notices him first.

Warnings: none

____________________________________________________________

“Who is that?”

Jessica was looking over at the stands and toward a group of guys, all sitting next to each other. They looked hilariously out of place, all seemingly dressed for different events. The one with reddish hair and kiss-me lips was wearing a velvet jacket over a v-neck, three necklaces dangling over his heart. You’d seen him hanging around before, and recognized him as Rebekah’s brother Klaus. How many times had he been watching Caroline from the sidelines during a game or desperately offering to walk her to her car? Doubtful that Jessica didn’t know who that was, or that he was clearly obsessed with everyone’s favorite blonde.

Then there was the youngest of the three. He was dressed pretty normally for a high school football game in a t-shirt and jeans. He spoke animatedly to Klaus, who looked about as thrilled to listen as he would have been to get struck by lightning. His name was escaping your memory, but it was another K name, you were sure of it. Kyle! No…Kal?

All thoughts of K names were stripped from your thoughts the second your eyes landed on Jessica’s mystery man. 

His hair was dark, and his eyes were darker. His features were angular, practically Grecian. He was wearing a suit, which was ridiculous because who wore a suit in Mystic Falls unless they were a realtor or attending a Lockwood party? Somehow, though, he pulled it off so perfectly that there was no question that he should be wearing it. 

Never had you been so struck by a stranger. His eyes scanned over the crowd, and across the field, before landing squarely on you.

You blushed and turned away, heart thundering in your chest.

Elena and Bonnie had followed Jessica’s gaze too, and gave each other knowing looks. You were friendly with Elena but not close. You and Bonnie had been good friends since middle school, though, so you felt no shame sidling up to her and joining her conversation.

“Info on Jessica’s mystery man?” you asked, spreading your legs as you sat next to Bonnie, beginning to stretch. She laughed and gave you a stern look. “He’s Klaus’ older brother. No mystery.”

You bent forward, stretching out your back and Bonnie followed suit. “Off limits?” you ask, trying to seem curious but not invested. 

“Yes.” she said quickly. Elena smacked Bonnie’s thigh. 

“Elijah is not off limits.” she said. “He’s actually the only one out of the three of them I’d say is pretty on…limits…”

Elijah....you tried the name out in your head. Yes, you decided, that was a good name.

You all giggled. “I mean, Klaus is just too in love with Caroline.” you shrugged. “I wouldn’t dream of going anywhere near him.” 

You sat up and bent your neck to the side, eyeing the rest of the cheerleaders. “Hey, where is Caroline?”

“Tyler drama.” Bonnie said conspiratorially. She sat upright, finished with her stretching. “He’s leaving again.”

“Shit.” you said, finishing up yourself. “I don’t really know what she sees in him anyway. He’s always been kind of an asshole. And Klaus seems to really like her.”

“Well Klaus needs to earn her.” Elena said hastily, turning away slightly. You weren’t sure what that was supposed to mean, but if Bonnie’s similarly agitated face was any indication, there was something going on that you weren’t in on. It wasn’t really any of your business anyway, you conceded, so you didn’t harp on it. Boy drama was so not your thing.

There was a fanfare suddenly, as the marching band began playing the introduction music for the Timberwolves. Rebekah stood and called you and the other cheerleaders into formation. 

Once the players began coming out, you’d go right into the classic Timberwolves fighting cheer. 

Just as the first player was making his entrance, a blonde head appeared next to you, startling you. It was as if she'd appeared out of thin air.

“Caroline!” you said, throwing a hand on your chest. “You scared the shit out of me.”

She smiled nervously. “Did I?”

You just laughed and joined the rest of the girls in the Timberwolves fighting chant, shaking your pom-poms and kicking your legs up. 

The game didn’t start out super well for the Timberwolves, so you didn’t have a ton to do for awhile. You spoke to Caroline briefly about Tyler, but she didn’t want to say much, and she seemed genuinely upset about something. You weren’t close enough with her to give her emotional support, so you instead distracted her with a quick game of fuck, marry, kill between the three handsome Mikaelson boys. 

“Kill Kol, Marry Klaus, Fuck Elijah.” Caroline said confidently. Kol! That was his name.

She was speaking a bit loudly, like she wanted someone to hear her. Probably Jessica. 

You glanced up at the stands and noticed Klaus and Kol with their heads bent together. Elijah looked completely nonplussed. 

“What about you?” she asked. 

You glanced up at the brothers again. Elijah was looking in your direction now, almost as if he was listening to your conversation. He was probably just looking at the cheerleaders. He definitely wasn’t admiring you - you were the only girl on the squad who wore a uniform above a size large. 

Still, you couldn’t help but fantasize about the idea of the three of them. Kol wasn’t really your type, so he was an easy kill. Klaus was gorgeous, to be sure, but something about Elijah was still singing through your veins after laying eyes on him that first time. 

“Kill Kol, fuck Klaus, marry Elijah.”

Caroline gave you a wicked smile. “Elijah, huh?”

You shrugged. “He’s incredibly good looking.”

“Poor Kol.” Caroline said, her lip pouting. 

“Rejection builds character.”

You glanced up again, and Elijah looked as if he might be laughing - Klaus too. Kol had his arms crossed against his chest. Weird….

Rebekah shrieked all of a sudden, breaking you out of your thoughts, as the Timberwolves finally scored, and the squad got on their feet to cheer. 

The game ended with a Timberwolves win which you were thankful for - every win meant half price burgers at the grill. You and a few other girls planned to go there after, and you grabbed your stuff from the locker room, hoping to get to your car and beat them there - you were not going to be the fat girl in a mini skirt sliding into a booth full of people. 

Bonnie, Elena and Caroline were all leaving together, huddled in conversation. 

“Half price burgers, ladies?” you asked, walking backwards in front of them. “A Timberwolves win is a win for all of us.” you joked, quoting your incredibly cringy gym coach.

The girls laughed, but shook their heads. 

“Homework.”

“Boy drama.”

“Tired.”

They’d all spoken at the same time, and you gave them all an incredulous look. “Ladies, I’m heartbroken. Next time if you’re going to break my heart, do it one at a time.”

You gave them a winning smile, and they returned it easily, thankful you hadn’t been upset.

“Next time I’m making you guys go!” you called, still walking backwards as you exited the hallway out of the locker room. You backed into the double doors leading to the parking lot and called a goodbye to them, turning around.

And slamming right into someone.

“Oh!” you cried, toppling towards the asphalt. The ground never came, though, because a pair of hands was holding you steady, and lifted you slowly upwards until you were staring Elijah Mikaelson in the face.

“My apologies.”he said, in a voice that hit that your ears and sent shivers straight to the apex of your thighs. Your jaw dropped, suddenly faced with his nearness. 

“Not at all!” you cried. “I wasn’t looking.” 

Not too far away stood Kol and Klaus. The former was watching you and Elijah, looking like he was trying very hard not to laugh. Klaus, of course, had become distracted the moment Caroline had appeared. He was stalking towards her, and to your surprise, Caroline looked like she might be walking towards him too. Normally she brushed him off completely. 

You focused your attention back on Elijah. 

“Excellent job tonight.” he said, his eyes locked on yours. You felt flushed from the unbroken eye contact, but didn’t dare break it. 

“Thanks. It makes our job a bit easier when the team actually manages to score.”

He laughed, full and bright, and it made your heart soar to hear it. 

“I’m Y/N.” you said, introducing yourself. 

“Elijah. Mikaelson.”

“Nice to meet you Elijah.” 

You offered your hand and he took it firmly in yours, but rather than shake it, he brought it up to his lips and kissed the back of it. Ok, you were officially a puddle on the ground and people were going to have to step in you to get to their cars.

“Hi!” came a bubbly voice, and you glanced over seeing Jessica. Of course she was going to try and stake her claim. 

“I’m Jessica.” she said, sidling up next to you. “I saw you in the stands earlier. You’re a Mikaelson, aren’t you?”

Elijah nodded politely. “My reputation precedes me.”

Jessica smiled her flirty smile and pushed her chest out. “Rebekah and I are good friends. I make a point to know my friends’ families. It’s only good manners.”

You rolled your eyes involuntarily from behind Jessica, who had stepped into your space. When had she ever spent time with Rebekah outside of practice? She was clearly making her claim known, and you huffed, backing off. 

A guy like Elijah wouldn’t be interested in you, anyway. It would have been nice to at least been given a chance, though, before perfect little Jessica had to come in and do her thing. 

You sighed to yourself. That wasn’t nice. Jessica was your friend. It just sucked, sometimes, being the only bigger girl in a group of girls. Things were different for you. 

“Well, I’ll let you two get acquainted.” you said, and Jessica quickly told you not to wait up for her at the Grill. You smiled encouragingly at her, even though you would have rather eaten nails. Jessica did technically see Elijah first, though, so regardless, the rule of dibs was firmly in place. Elijah’s eyes met yours and he looked…disappointed? It was probably nothing. 

As you turned to go to your car, Matt Donovan brushed past you, walking fast. “Sorry, Y/N!” he called, power walking to his truck. You shook your head, laughing. You’d never seen Matt move that fast for anything, not even out on the field.

The other girls had made their way out now, and you caught up with them briefly to let them know you'd be going home instead of out. You weren't really in the mood for celebration any more. They gave you tight hugs and told you to call them in the morning, and you gave them all the finger just to get a laugh out of them.

Bonnie was leaning against her car when you made your way to yours. 

“Why’d you do that?” she asked, giving you a curious look.

“Why’d I do what?” you said, tossing your duffle into the backseat. 

“You just let Jessica take over. You were talking to Elijah first.”

“Yeah, but Jessica saw him first. Besides, I bumped into him. It’s not like we talked about anything profound.”

Bonnie sighed. “You wanted to talk to him though.”

You crossed your arms. “Yeah, so?”

“So!” she cried, placing her hands on your shoulders. “So you’re the funniest girl on the planet, and you're beautiful and talented and you deserve to be happy.”

You rolled your eyes. “Shut up.”

“It’s true! You’re amazing.”

“I know, I just wanted you to say more.”

Bonnie shoved at you playfully. “See? Your wit is unmatched.”

“And you’re kind.” you said seriously. “And a really, really good friend.”

Bonnie looked down, her mouth quirked to the side. “Thank you.”

A laugh echoed from across the parking lot, and you stared at Caroline and Klaus standing by Caroline’s car. They were standing close together and laughing, and Klaus’ finger was twirled around a strand of Caroline’s hair.

You hit Bonnie in the shoulder and pointed. 

“Ummmmmm?” You gave her an incredulous look.

“I know!” Bonnie said, coming to lean against your car. “She said she broke up with Tyler. She said she’s done with wishy-washy.”

You smiled happily as the two continued flirting. “I’ve been dying for them to get together.”

“No, literally!” She threw her hands up in the air. “The tension was incredibly cuttable.”

You snorted. “Like, thick enough I think I’d need a chainsaw.”

Bonnie hid her giggle behind her hand. You watched Klaus and Caroline as Bonnie began asking you if you were still going to the grill.  You wished you had a guy to flirt with against your car.

“I’m kind of hungry all of a -”

Bonnie’s voice trailed off, and you tore your eyes away from the happy couple to stare at your friend. 

“Bon?”

Her eyes were trained behind you, a small smile on her lips. You followed her eyes, and there was Elijah. His nearness startled you, and you jumped a foot in the air.

“My apologies.” he said, amusement in his eyes. 

“We have got to stop meeting like that.” you responded.

“I’ll see you tomorrow!” Bonnie called, already on the other side of her car and hopping in the front seat. You gave her an incredulous look. 

“Traitor!” you called, as she began to pull out. She looked completely self righteous as she pulled out of the parking lot, Britney blasting on her speakers.

“Well..” you breathed, turning back to Elijah. “Twice in one night? To what do I owe my great fortune?”

He shrugged. “I have a thing for cheerleaders.”

Your jaw dropped. “Wait, are you serious?”

He laughed. “No, not at all. But I saw you from the stands and wanted to get to know you better. So here I am.”

You couldn’t help the huge smile overtaking your face. Elijah Mikaelson wanted to get to know you? 

“What about Jessica?”

He shrugged. “She’s a nice girl. Not really my type.”

“And I am?”

He huffed. “Am I not making myself clear? Shall I fetch a plane and spell it out in the sky for you?”

I shook my head, faux serious. “It’s nighttime Elijah. I’d never be able to see that.”

He snorted - actually snorted. It was the most adorable thing you might have ever heard. 

“You’re a minx, and you know it. Now agree to go to dinner with me.”

“Half price burgers at the grill?”

He smiled wryly. “No, that won’t do. I’m a full price kind of guy. I need candles, roses, the whole chair pulling out thing. Carlo’s. Friday night. Eight o’ clock.”

Carlo’s was like, ridiculously nice. And expensive. “But that’s-”

“It’s what?” he challenged. “Because if you’re suggesting I can’t afford it…”

You shook your head. “No, of course not. I’m sure you can. But I can’t!”

Faster than you could even fathom, Elijah was backing you up into the side of your car, his hands locked on either side of you, face inches away from your own. His eyes were dark and bore into you, making your palms begin to sweat.

“I’m not in the habit of taking women out on dates and having them pay.” His breath fanned across your face. Your eyes flickered down to his lips, and you shivered. His presence was intoxicating. 

“Have I made myself clear?” he asked, and damn if that question didn’t excite you. You nodded, your breath hitching, and he leaned even closer to you for a moment before pushing himself away.

“Good!” he declared, and once he backed off, he took a moment to rake his gaze across your body. Your uniform did little for the imagination, and you were kind of thankful.

“See you soon, Y/N.” He called sweetly, shifting from domineering to polite so quick you had whiplash. You watched him go, a dopey smile on your face.

“Wait!” you called. “Do you want my phone number?”

He paused, then reached into his pocket for his phone. He typed for a moment, then locked the screen and placed it back in his pocket.

Your phone dinged.

Tell Bonnie I said thank you.

You smirked. Of course Bonnie had given him your number. You'd have to remember to get her a thank you gift.

As you started your car and got ready to go, movement from the car behind you caught your attention in your mirror. You struggled to see clearly what it was, but when you did, you were shocked.

There, in the pickup truck Rebekah Mikaelson had gifted him, was Matt Donovan making out with her brother Kol. 

You laughed all the way home, imagining the look on Rebekah’s face when she finds out.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

I have a light one that’s kind of dumb.

🐶🐱

AITA for wanting a dog even though my sister/housemate does not?

To start, nobody is allergic to dogs or has a fear of them, she just doesn’t want it.

(if ages and gender are important, we’re both f in our early 20s)

I grew up on a farm with lots of animals. There were always cows, I had goats, there were chickens, ducks, barn cats and of course, 1-3 livestock guard dogs at a time.

When I was 16, I had a senior spaniel who had to be put down due to heart problems. Ever since I have been asking if I can have another dog but my parents have said no.

Around a year ago now I sold my goats and moved out of my parents house into an apartment. The apartment didn’t allow any pet bigger than my little gecko.

Then, about January, my older sister started messaging me with images of houses on a realtor site. So we looked at houses. I agreed to buy a house with her 1) so she could move out of our parents house and 2) because being by myself in the apartment with no real friends wasn’t really that good for my mental health.

To her credit, she did get a kitten from our farm and let me keep it, although I didn’t really want a house cat. The main reason I wanted a dog was for the amount of exercise it would need, and I would have to take it for long walks. Not to mention litter boxes aren’t my favourite thing to deal with. Still, I am glad I have a little animal to cuddle.

Additionally, most of the times when I bring up wanting a dog or getting a dog, it’s either in a jokey matter or it’ll be in contrast to something (for example there was a shady guy hanging around our street the other night and we don’t have an actual alarm for our house, so I went “yknow if we had a yappy little chihuahua it would be an alarm enough” or something like that) to which she will reply something short and growly along the lines of “you’re never getting a dog in my house”

Her reasons she gives for not wanting a dog? Number one, it’s “her” house. (It’s in both of our names, I paid half the down deposit and I pay half the mortgage and bills, and I pay for the Wifi. I’m not paying her rent, we both own it) Number 2, her friend is allergic to horses. (A friend that never comes over to our house anyway, and I understand fur allergies are complicated but it’s a dog. We aren’t anywhere NEAR horses! We live in town!) (this one is also BS because sister wants to buy a farm and have Clydesdale horses) Number 3, it sheds. We have a cat. The cat sheds more than the breeds of dogs that I really like or want. One of my favourites are the Xolo dog. Which has no hair. At all. Number 4, the cat is scared of dogs. (She isn’t. She’s never seen one in her life. I can get her used to having a dog around easily, even if she starts afraid. I’ve done it before when our parents have gotten new dogs around new cats.)

I’m not going to go behind her back and bring home a dog (even though there have been opportunities to get a free puppy multiple time) but I’m not going to stop wanting to have a dog or wanting to get one or talking about what dogs I like.

Our grandparents are moving to town and selling their farm next year, which sister wants to buy with me. I told her I’d like to move out of town into a farm, but only if she let me get either a dog or a donkey to protect our property against coyotes. (Especially considering we both want chickens if we get a farm)

She got really pissy at me about that, and stormed off. AITA here? I think she’s being a little unreasonable. I’m not a bad pet owner at all, I work with my animals as much as possible. I had my billy goat following me around the farm without a lead before I sold the goats, for pineapple’s sakes!

What are these acronyms?

[inthedarkshadows000]

SneakPeak#106.......

From the story I might never write

How dare she. She has been ignoring me and eyeing my husband, Suguru, for the past forty three minutes and twenty two seconds. Yes. I counted. What else was I supposed to do while being ignored.

Suguru and I had decided to finally move out of our current apartment, with the girls, and shift to a bigger place. It was way to cramped for four people and now with both of earning, in jujutsu world, we had gathered more than enough to finish the down payment instantly.

So we contacted a realtor to show us some places according to our requirements. Mind you, the requirements DID NOT include a middle aged lady, with way too many operations on her face and boobs, who flirts with a taken man. Like bruh, I get my man looks like a god but back. The. Fuck. Off!

So here we were, him getting hit on by a plastic lady, with her nose a little too way off and her one boob smaller than the other.

All I want to do is come out and burn the bitch to crisps with my curse energy but no, apparently being jealous wasn't a good enough reason for murder nowadays, pfft, as if. What if my man needs me to save his honour, huh?

Suguru has been holding my hand and trying to include me in the conversation but that bitch had purposely and extremely unsubtly been leaving me out.

If I wasn't fuming right now, his situation would have made me laugh real hard. He seems so uncomfortable and aborable trying to maintain a safe distance from her. I'll protect you my pretty boy, don't you worry.

Now, only if my eyes could shoot lasers, it would have made things really easy. Like, oops my B. However, they still don't. Trust. I tried squinting. This was the cool power I was supposed to get with my curse shit but no! Nothing cool here.

Forget cool powers. Let me at the bitch bare hands and I'll have her in shreds before you can even finish saying laser. Yeah... my inner bitch was NOT happy.

On a second thought though, why waste power when words can harm more. I smirked internally, when I had an idea.

We were currently in the common area near the dining table. Suguru had his one hand on the table while his other hand circled my waist, the plastic lady in front of us. It wasn't a second after my idea, that I saw her hand go right on top of his free hand and squeeze, he pulled his hand back quickly.

Oh no, you don't! That's it!

"Alright, I have a real quick question." I say while moving between them and leaning on the table.

Ru looks relieved, probably to have a barrier in between and the bitch looks annoyed. Like I care.

I put on my most innocent smile and look at him. "Could you please clear a doubt for me, husband?" I emphasised the last word just put of spite.

"Of course love. What is it?" He quirks a brow and moves his hand to tug gently at the ends of my hair, twirling it around his finger.

"I just wanted to clear out if you have an interest, any interest at all, in Miss. -" I turned towards her making sure my hair hit her in the face, "- wait what was your name?"

Before she could answer I turned back, hitting her again with the hair, and pointed towards her, waiving my palm carelessly, and continued, "Anyway. Her "

"No, I don't love. Why would you ask?" He knew exactly why I would ask. The twinkle in his violet eyes and his horrible attempt at hiding his smile said enough. He played along anyway because let's be real, Suguru Geto loved being petty, even more so than me.

"I just wanted to clear out the fact, so she doesn't waste her time as well as ours, with her futile attempts of trying to woo you. Not to mention, I would hate for her to lose such an important deal, now wouldn't I?" I gave her a pointed look and turned back around. Yes, another hair attack!

I purposely put my left hand, which had the engagement ring on it , over his wrist which now shifted to my cheek.

"Of course, we would, love." he bit his inner cheek to keep himself from laughing, yet his shoulders shook with merth. His beautiful lips pulled in a smirk.

After giving a quick kiss to my forehead and the knuckles of my left hand, he pulled me around so that my back was to his front and we faced the bitch. He put his chin on shoulder, his smirk still evident.

The bitch had gone red. Serves her right.

"You sly, little vixen." Suguru whispered in my ear and tugged the lobe gently with his teeth. I just shrugged still maintaining my innocent smile.

"Just trying to save your sexy ass, like always. I'll take the payment in hair wash, so better be ready to finally drop your hair routine, princess."

[slutouttanowhere]

Pairing: Randy Orton x Mavis Pete x LA Knight

A/N: The superstars’ names may fluctuate between their real name and their on screen names, it depends on what feels natural to me as I write it. So for context purposes LA Knight will be referred to by his real name Shaun Ricker. I didn’t even plan on finishing this, but admits all the Wrestlemania drama I needed something to take my mind off it. Also it’s 3am right now of me posting this. Likes, comments and Reblogs are welcome and appreciated.

⏯️ Chapter 1

Tiny tag: @cardierreh15 is included because she’s the voice of reason even when she gets on my mf nerves

Chapter 2

“Girl you are you gonna fuck him?” Cardíerre’s voice shouted over the phone. Cardíerre wasn’t in the business, but we’ve been friends since college. She’s never too far away since her realtor business is set up in Florida.

“Of course, she isn’t, because she’s scared.” Bianca cut me off before I even had a chance to say anything, I let out a breath of frustration as I tried to get my lashes to stick properly. Bianca, and Trinity, who happened to be in the same city tonight, sat on my hotel bed “helping” me get ready. Cardíerre bubbled up with laughter on her side of the phone, I paused my eyeliner to keep myself from trolling my eyes and ended up messing up.

“She’s not gonna sleep with him because maybe she likes him, y’all know how Mavis is with people she cares about.” Trinity chimed in, a smirk stretched across her mouth, it was a joke, and I knew my girls didn’t take my “mishaps” personally, I still felt bad though. I tend to give more time to business partners than actual family, it was easier to deal with people who didn’t have expectations of you. With people I knew personally, it felt like I was forced to be vulnerable.

“I’m…working on that,” I mumbled, Bianca lightly slapped my butt with her braid causing me to yelp in shock. I whipped around, my eyes widened, and to my shock, it was Trinity who held the weapon in hand.

“Girl calm down, we all know you’re emotionally inept,” Cardíerre said pitifully, I could feel her rolling her eyes from her end of the phone. I could hear waves crashing in the background, no doubt she was on the beach as usual. She’s practically a mermaid with all the time she spends, in or near the water.

Turning back to the mirror, picking up my edge brush, and hair gel, I began to slick my baby hairs down. “Anyways, I don’t know what you guys are trippin’ for, we’re just gonna get some food, and have a little drink. That’s it. We’re chillin’, AP paired us together so if we're gonna be in sync on TV, we should at least get to know each other better off-screen right? What’s the harm in that?” The girls went quiet, I could see Bianca and Trinity’s facial expressions in the reflection of the mirror.

“Cap! You’ve been tryna wear this man’s skin since I met you, and I don’t even watch wrestling. Getting to know him is only gonna make it easier for you to develop a crush. What if he doesn’t turn out to be who you think he is? Then you’re gonna get your feelings hurt, but you’ll have nobody to blame but yourself bookie.” Cardíerre said candidly, that she was right, I couldn’t help but feel optimistic about being able to control myself.

“Guys, relax, I promise we’re keeping our new friendship strictly professional. It’s not gonna be another Nic Nemeth situation.” I tried to reassure them, but the course of groans and protest told me they didn’t believe that either. Not one of my best moments, lusting after a man who had only gotten with me for clout. That whole thing was a media dumpster fire that Hunter gave us both an earful for. I haven’t talked to him since then, word on the street is, that he’s supposed to be leaving for TNA…good riddance.

“It’s not like Shaun is any better of a choice,” Bianca muttered, she never liked the idea of us together in any capacity. She didn’t bring up her disdain for him often, but whenever the chance arose to shit on LA Knight during girl talk, best believe she was right there having the most to say.

“Ugh, here she goes.” I groan, and Trinity chuckles, my disdain for trash talk about any of my hoes is well-known amongst us. The last thing I want is for my delusions to be ruined. “Leave my lovers out of this please,” I whine, while I appreciate the concern, I am an adult, and I’d rather my friends not baby me.

“Sorry to cut it short girls, but my dick appointment is calling. Talk to y’all later, and Mavis be good!” Cardíerre shouted over the phone, I smacked my lips and folded my arms over my chest.

“No promises.” I tease playfully before hanging up my phone. I checked the time on my watch; even though it wasn’t dark out, it was getting to be pretty late in the evening.

Trinity huffs out a breath of air, “Actually, that’s our cue as well, I owe Bianca dinner.” They decide to drop the topic thankfully for me, she rolls off the bed, Bianca following her lead. Before they left, they enveloped me in a tight, much-needed hug. I squeezed Trinity extra tight for good measure, she’s doing huge things in TNA right now. She has easily become one of my idols, “love you girlie, and don’t let all this attention go to your head.”

“Yeah, focus, I can’t be the only EST around here, I need some competition.” Bianca taunts me in a melodic voice, dancing her way to the door, and swinging her braid. Trinity blew me a kiss before they both left out the door, sighing contentedly I took a seat on the edge of the bed. I made sure to look through my purse to check that I had everything, and then a knock on the door caught my attention.

“Who could that be?” Opening the door, on the other end is Randy. His lips parted to speak, but when he looked up from the floor, he was taken aback when he saw me. I felt naked under his intense gaze, I could feel my face heat up, and the butterflies began to swarm. ‘Professional Mavis, you promised you’d be professional’ I try to remind myself, though it was hard to follow my moral compass when Randy Orton was looking like he wasn't to swallow you whole.

“I thought we were gonna meet up.” I leave him standing at the door to retrieve my phone, and purse from the bed. When I turn back, I catch him staring at my ass just like I did before. He grins sheepishly, scratching the back of his head, his eyes sweeping the ground.

“You never texted me the place, and I have no absolutely nothing about the area. I figure we could ride together, you could tell me a bit about your hometown, and of course food.” He leans against the door frame, his eyes scanning my face, and up to my hair. Curiosity in his eyes. “I don't mean for this to come out rudely, but are you wearing makeup?” I did not expect him to ask me that at all, now walking side by side down the hall, I try to collect myself.

“Technically yes,” I answer shortly, the elevator doors open, and he lets me step on first. His arms fold across his chest, Randy is always observing me, and at first, I liked it. That was before we were forced together by Adam, his watchful gaze wasn’t anything more than that, but I felt vulnerable. The illusion I work hard to keep going doesn’t even exist to him, takes the fun out of things for me. It feels like I’m no longer in control, but rather the other way around.

“Technically?” He asks, the humidity of the summertime air smacks us in the face, a stark contrast from the cool chill hotel. I can already feel myself growing agitated from the heat, but try to fight it off.

“Well yeah, the eyeliner is makeup, but that’s just about it. I wasn’t in the mood for a full face today. It’s nice for TV, but other than that, nah nah.” I explain quickly, I’ve never had a guy show interest in, what I thought was frivolous, things about me before. I part my lips to tell the valet to bring my car around, but for the third time tonight, Randy sidesteps me, telling them to bring his car instead.

“What, you don’t trust me to drive?” I’m ready to argue if he chose to put up a fight, but I’m met with the opposite reaction when he turns to me as the Cadillac truck pulls to a stop in front of us. A smirk curling on his lips, he opens the passenger door for me and offers a hand.

“Don’t take it personally, old habits die hard and all that. Besides, you wouldn’t rather me act like old me would you?” His tone is playfully suggestive, with a hint of arrogance in his words, and for a second I feel a drop of regret. His eyes soften, and his hand extends further to take mine. A spark of electricity shocks us both as our hands touch, and before I realize it, I’m already taking his hand. I catch a glimpse of Trinity and Bianca over Randy’s shoulder when I duck my head into the SUV. They make mocking kissing faces at me from afar, I roll my lips trying to hide my smile.

“Idiots,” I mumble to myself, my phone buzzes, and at first, I think it’s one of the girls. It’s a text from Stephen, I smile thinking about our friendship. He’s the sweetest guy I know, I just want to put him in my pocket and keep him to myself.

Steph🧡🔥: hey, still wanna mess around in the gym tomorrow?

I couldn’t help but let out a giggle, I could hear his accent through the text. Forgetting all about where I am, and who I’m with, I quickly reply.

Petey💰💜: I’ll mess around with you anytime 😈😌

“Which boyfriend is this?” Randy’s voice made me jolt as I was not expecting him to speak up just now I wasn’t sure if he was even talking at all. My phone buzzes again, my eyes flicker to the screen for a second before I turn my attention back to him.

“First of all, I don’t have a boyfriend, and secondly mind your business.” I flick my hair over my shoulder playfully, his eyes are on the road, but his lips twitch. A poor attempt to fight back a smile.

“So then it’s not Shaun.” He tries to deduce, I know Shaun and I had a little moment in front of Randy tonight, however, I interact with a lot of people backstage. My phone goes off again, I swipe the screen, and have to hold my breath from the message I just read from Stephen.

“Hmm, jealous, are we?”

“What? How am I jealous of him?”

“Because.” I pause quickly texting Stephen back.

Steph🧡🔥: watch it now darlin’, I may not be from Texas, but I know how to use rope.

Steph🧡🔥: are ya satisfied now? your bad behavior is rubbing off on me

Petey💰💜: LMAO Ok Cowboy! Rope me up then! 🤪

Petey💰💜: yeah I’ll show up tomorrow brb love ya

“I talk to so many people, I’m a socialite, and you chose Shaun. See what you must understand Randall.” I hold my pinky out, he glances at me, and he chortles at my antics.

“I’m a P I M P, and I always keep it player.” I smile brightly, my tongue poking out.

“Alright, all jokes aside though. Don’t let all the attention go to your head, and before you fuss at me about it, I’m just looking out for you. I know those guys, more so than you do. As I’ve observed, I see how easily it can be for someone to become attracted to you. You’re talented, smart, beautiful. You got it all kid, and some people genuinely want to be around you, some people just want to suck you dry.” Randy says honestly, I didn’t know how to respond to that, and I don’t think I should have. I’m both flustered and touched by his words.

“Huh, that’s the second time someone told me that today…” Randy didn't respond to me, but rather let me sit with my thoughts. We sat in a sort of comfortable silence, just trying to take in that wealth of wisdom he just dropped on me. I didn’t feel the need to fill the void for once, and he didn’t force it either. We finally made it to the restaurant, thankfully for us, it wasn’t too full, but it was a Monday after all. I called beforehand, and requested a spot near the back be reserved for us. When we reached our table, Randy pulled out my chair for me, and pushed me in gently. After the waitress took our drink orders, they retreated leaving us to get settled, and look through the menu.

“So, how did you get into wrestling?” He asked, a genuine expression of interest on his face, he leaned back into his seat. Instantly a grin broke out across my lips, my face felt heated as I reminisced on my teen days, and who specifically inspired my wrestling career.

“Boy I hoped you wouldn’t ask me that, but I practically manifested this foolishly not thinking it would actually happen.” I paused for a moment to glance at him, he seemed to be confused by my words, so I took a moment to formulate a coherent sentence.

“You Randy, you were one of my biggest influences as a fan. I grew up watching you punt kick almost every person on the roster, and RKO’ing every single retiree that had dreams of another run.” I laughed seeing the shocked look on his face turn to a humorous expression at the mention of his infamous ‘Legend Killer’ persona.

“Wait a minute, how old are you?” He asked, he watched me wearily, and I nearly choked on my spit.

“How young do you think I am? Jesus Randy I’m 27.” We simultaneously let out a spout of laughter, his face turning a soft tint of pink, and his hand pressed to his chest.

“Hey now, I’m 40 so, that's a pretty decent age gap Mavis, and in my defense you look like you’re in your early twenties to me.” He argued halfhearted, just then the waiter came with our drinks, and placed them down in front of us. Our laughter had died down as he both took a breath to order, but once the waiter left, we were back in the flow of conversation.

“Like I was saying, I wasn’t always a fan. I didn't catch on to it till I got a little older, and I was already in sports in school…” I had started to talk about all the extracurriculars that led me to this point, it hadn't dawned on me how much I was talking till I suddenly snapped out of it, and realized how quiet Randy was. “And I’m talking to a whole lot about nothing…sorry.” I mumbled, I wanted to go find a whole, and crawl in it.

“No, don’t feel embarrassed, this is the whole point of us hanging out so we can get to know each other better. It’s refreshing to hear such genuine passion, and being comfortable enough with me to share that with me. And trust me Mavis, I was hanging on to your every word.” He spoke honestly, like he always does, but for some reason when it’s directed towards me I fumble every time.

Like an idiot I said, “Yeah, cause I already know pretty much everything about you.” Which earned a guffaw from Randy. It made my heart feel good knowing I can get someone who I deemed to be so cool, to laugh so effortlessly. My lips curled into a smile, my heart damn near pounding in my ears, but I maintain my composure. His arm resting on the table, if I flexed my fingers outward, our hands would be touching. Instead of caving to my intrusive thoughts, I pulled my hand back smoothly, and instead flicked my hair over my shoulder. Randy clocked my every move, before I allowed myself to overthink I cleared my throat.

“So tell me everything then.” He cut me off before I got the chance to say anything, which stumped me. His timing is too good, and I hate it.

“Wait, what do you mean? Tell you about what?” I asked dumbfounded, my brain malfunctioned as of thirty seconds ago, and I’m not used to that happening. Usually I’m the one having people flustered, and tripping over themselves.

“Well I’m not gonna find out the most interesting things about you on the internet, so you tell me instead. Rant, and ramble as much as you want, I won't interrupt I promise.” A tiny smile curled up at the corners of his mouth, and honestly I wanted to cry. I felt like it was such a stupid thing to get emotional over, but who would have thought that I’d be having dinner with one of my idols, and they actually offer to hear me talk about my stupid life?

“Ha, not really sure where to start.” I looked up at him for help, and thankfully he understood my silent plea for direction.

He placed a hand on his chin, stroking it slowly in thought. He didn't have any beard hair, but just trimmed down mustache, which somehow made him even more handsome.“How about anime? I know you like Pokemon, anything else you’re into?” I perched up at the mention of anime, it took nothing for me to start going on, and on about it. Every now and again Randy would chime in, but not saying too much that it would derail me. After a while I forgot who I was sitting across from, and was able to completely let go for once. For once I didnt feel on edge, or the need to mask. There’s really only one other person that makes me feel like that, Shaun was one of those guys you wouldn't expect to be as sweet as he is until you got to know him. Honestly I wasn’t supposed to get to know him, but it kind of just happened one night. We clicked so well, we had an instant connection, and I just felt I had to keep him close, unlike a lot of guys I had romantic situations with. I felt bad for ditching him for Randy today, in the heat of the moment I let everything go to my head, and dismissed him like he was nothing. Suddenly feeling deflated, I take a sip of my drink, and nibble on another salmon roll. My food had barely been touched because I was talking so much.

“Uh oh, what’s wrong?” Randy’s voice brought me out of my meditation, the sound drowns back into my ears, and the ache in my lungs told me I had been holding my breath too long. I wasn't keen on talking about my romantic life with anyone but my girlfriends, so I opted for a dismissive smile.

“I’m fine, just tired. Actually I promised Stephen I would come to the gym with him for his Youtube channel.” I mumbled the last part, losing my voice towards the end. I peaked up at Randy from my plate where I poked at my food with my chopsticks. I could tell by the apprehension in his eyes that he saw right through me, and that bullshit lie, he didn't call me out on it this time. Instead he nodded his head, then signaled for the waiter. While we waited for the receipt to come back, we sat in silence, and I was grateful for that. My social battery is all tapped out for the night, and I fear I might let something slip that I shouldn't because of it.

We walked with our arms interlinked, the city was buzzing with people coming, and going. It being later in the night, the bars are really starting to fill up with people, and if I’m being honest I missed being a regular civilian on the street. “Feels like a fever dream sometimes.” I said after Randy got into the driver's seat, my head leaned against the cool glass window. My eyes strain upwards to look at all the bright business signs, I get choked up thinking about my life before wrestling, and everything that’s happened up till that point.

“Miss it huh?” He asked, his voice sounded further away despite that he’s merely inches from me. I could see the GM building in the distance, the top of the skyscraper lit up with its signature Detroit blue, and there was something about it that didn't seem real. Maybe it was my perspective, and where I am right now in life. Maybe it’s because I always thought I’d be stuck here forever.

“Is it possible to love, and hate something at the same time?” I peered over at him from the driver's seat, and I was internally going feral. He leaned back in his seat, one hand on the wheel, and the other on his chin. His infamous skull tattoo sleeve looked sleek under the shine of the city lights. His muscles toned, and defined.

It was a long pause before he spoke. “There’s a thin line between the two, gotta be careful because if you're relating something you hate with something you love…do you really even love it? Do you really even hate it?” His words sparked a sudden joy in me, I rolled down the window, and stuck my head out.

“I love you Detroit!” I shouted as the wind tousled my coils around, a few cars honked, and even pedestrians shouted back praises of love. I let the wind continue to caress me as we drove through the streets, I whipped my hair out of my face, and caught a glimpse of the way Randy had looked at me. Desire flickered in his eyes, but by the time I fully turned to look at him, it was gone. As we approached the hotel, melancholy settled into my chest. I know we can just see each other again during the week, but I didn't want the night to end. But, by the time he got out of the car, then came around to open my door I had sucked it up. I grab onto his shoulder for support, as I try not to fall on my face from nearly tripping over my dress. I didn't realize our close proximity til I looked up, if I went up on my tip toes, I would be able to touch his lips. They looked so soft now that I'm looking at him up close.

His lips stretched into a teasing smirk, “Careful Mavis, might make your boyfriends jealous.” I blinked, and whatever spell he had me in had been dispelled. I rolled my eyes pushing him inside, walking into the hotel without him. He finally caught up to me by the time I made it to the elevators, from my peripheral I watched as he stood there with his hands in his pockets. A grin on his lips.

“C’mon, I was just messing around.” He pleaded as we stepped on the elevator, thankful that it was deserted. Instead of acknowledging him I pressed my lips together, and scrolled through my phone instead. I had more than a few notifications, but I didn't bother looking at them at the moment, I just wanted something to distract me.

“Are you seriously giving me the silent treatment after the night we just had?” Randy, now fully turning to me, I was willing to make a comment, but then he said, “Boy are you a rollercoaster of emotion.” He chuckled lightly, officially fed up I whip around to him, the elevator coming to a stop, and without hesitation I cut into him.

“If there’s anything else you’d like to insult me about before I leave please let me know.” I don't even think I was seeing straight, I had a history with his insinuations, and though he may have had pure intentions, it’s still a sore spot for me.

Randy looked shocked by my sudden shift in mood, and tone. His hands held up in defense, for once I had him stumped, and right before the elevator doors closed again, I reached my arm out to stop them. Without a word I walked off, and left him there being that his room is the floor above mine. I angrily swiped my key card, and threw off my shoes, shimmy out of my dress, and threw myself on to the bed. About an hour later, there’s a knock on my door, I groaned, and put a robe on. I looked through the peephole, I exhaled tiredly, but opened the door anyway.

“Couldn’t sleep?” Shuan stood on the opposite of the door, ramen noodle pjs, and a plain navy blue t-shirt. Exhaustion etched onto his face, I stepped to the side, and let him in. Gingerly kissed me on the cheek as he passed me on the way in, and made a beeline for the bed. I let out a soft giggle, then go into the bathroom to slip on an oversized sleep shirt. I grabbed my bonnet from the night stand, and carefully stuffed my hair underneath. Shaun had taken his shirt off, and tossed it to the ground.

“Scoot.” I crawled onto the bed, I tried to roll him over, but he wouldn’t budge. My grunt turned into laughter as I realized how ridiculous he looked laying there like a chalk outline. Eventually he did turn over on his side to face me after a minute, his baby blue eyes looking prettier than ever when he’s half awake. We both lied in bed staring at each other, both wide awake, and weary at the same time. He turned over on his back, then pulled me in so I could lay my head on his chest, and I didn't argue. The sensation of skin on skin contact, and the sound of his steady heartbeat is enough to lull me to sleep.

[missybee-writes]

Shadow in the Dark: Chapter Four - Code Name, Farrah Fawcett

Genre: Sci-fi; Romance; Horror

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

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Summary

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

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

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

Chapter one: Cursed

Chapter two: Munson Magic

Chapter three: Fearless

Ao3 link

---

“Never?” Dustin asked, his muffled squeal cutting through the quiet atmosphere in the study desk buried in the corner of the library, behind the physics and math section. “Not even once, not at all?”

Rose shrank away from the harsh stare of the librarian, whispering over the pages of the book. “Nope. Never heard of him.”

“Al Yankovic,” Dustin said, like he was talking about the President or the bloody Queen. “Weird Al. My Bologna, Another One Rides the Bus....Eat It? Seriously ? I thought you had MTV.”

“Sorry,” Rose said apologetically. “Is he funny?”

Dustin took off his cap and ran his hand through his curly hair; a memory from Monday made her own head tingle in sympathy the near scalping by Eddie, his rings intruding on what might have been a very romantic moment. Focus, McAllister.

“Uh, does a black hole emit Hawking radiation?” Dustin asked, completely confident in his own knowledge on the subject.

“Yes?” Rose bit her lip, trying to recall. “I take chem and biology though, not physics.”

Dustin’s mouth gaped open, braces glistening in the overhead fluorescent lights. He was weirdly charming. Something about him reminded her of Eddie. “Well, you should listen to his songs. His videos are hilarious too. Me and the guys, we laughed so hard when we heard I Love Rocky Road, it’s the best. Lucas pretends he’s too cool for it, but I see him trying to hold back his laughter. He can’t fool me.”

“Dustin,” she asked tentatively, chewing on the end of her pencil. “How did you get into D&D?”

His eyes brightened at her genuine interest and wondered how many people truly got to know the quirky kid, beyond his immediate friendship group. “Will and MIke were huge on it. They were best friends with Lucas since the first year of kindergarten, but I didn’t move to Hawkins until fourth grade. It was kinda hard for me to make friends. Zach was bullying me a lot, and he...” he trailed off, his mouth pressed in a thin line, crossing his arms across his chest defensively. “He, uh, kicked the crap outta me in the boys bathrooms, so I was upset, and Will came up to me and asked me if I wanted to be a magical spellcaster, and kick the ass of an ogre. And it was kind of awesome , and then we became friends.”

“I can’t even imagine the other guys without you,” she said, nudging his shoulder. “You’re like the heart of the group, and the brain too. Possibly the guts and the spine, and the funny bone. You’re all the good bits. But don’t tell them I said that.”

Dustin ducked his head and almost blushed, smiling like a goon. “I don’t know.”

“Well it looks like it to me,” Rose reassured him. 

He scoffed and waved away her compliment, with a weird little squeal that she found incredibly endearing. 

She was surprised to hear Dustin was the newest in the little friendship group. Where he went, Mike usually followed, and whilst Lucas seemed to be torn between Hellfire and basketball, he had an easy familiarity around the other two that spoke of long years of friendship and growing up with an unshakeable bond. Rose was fascinated by the way they understood each other's jokes and communicated without words. Envy burned in the back of her throat, for she saw in the freshmen boys what she had always longed for; someone who had seen you at your very best and worst, and who stood by you anyway.

It might be too late for Rose, but on the bright side, she wasn’t exactly alone, either. Dustin had been so thrilled at the prospect of helping her build a character that she couldn’t refuse his help, particularly when she knew so little about Dungeons and Dragons and the mechanics of the game. He was giving up his Friday lunch to help her.

Beyond that, the Hellfire guys said hello to her in the hallway, and welcomed her to the group. Tuesday and Thursday of this first full week at school had seen her at Hellfire’s lunch table; the first day, she was the complete focus of the lunch hour, much to her embarrassment. They peppered her with questions and stared at her until Eddie had to call them to order, requesting they back off and leave the lady alone. By Thursday, after she spent Wednesday hanging out with Robin, the Hellfire boys seemed to regard her as a permanent fixture, a piece of the furniture when she sat down at the table. Except for the pestering about her character, and harassing Eddie about tonight's campaign, of course. 

And Robin too, she was becoming a friend. She was going through a difficult time, clearly affected by the fire that killed so many people over the summer, finding it difficult to engage with her old friends after being right there during the tragedy. Rose could understand to some degree, she found it hard to carry on with old friendships after her illness. In a way, they could start fresh, a friendship with no before mall fire or before her surgery clouding the view of who they were right now.

Then there was their dungeon master, the leader, the glue of the club. The reason for her heart skipping a beat as she arrived at school each morning, searching for a telltale Chevy van or a big mane of frizzy hair, leather and denim. Her eyes scanning the parking lot, the hallway, or anywhere at all, really. The reason she lay listening to metal songs deep into the night, curled up in the window seat of her attic, examining every interaction, every glance and touch over the last week, trying to kid herself that it was just a new friendship, not getting her hopes up in case it was some kind of mistake, or he acted like this around every girl at school. But if she had any hope of concentrating she had to nip any thoughts of Eddie in the bud.

She turned to the sheets of paper on the study desk, her pencil twirling idly and drawing out a little flower-shaped spiral in the corner of the page. A character sheet, a chance to impress Hellfire tonight, and not appear like a silly, frivolous new girl with no clue what she was doing.

“Dustin,” Rose sighed. “I feel like i’m missing so much of Ceverra’s backstory. Yes, I was a noblewoman studying arcane magics at the Citadel, but what made me turn to necromancy?”

“Curiosity?”

“Maybe,” she hummed. “But the arc and the character have to be entwined, one feeds the other. You don’t just wake up one day and decide to raise the dead, you have to have a horrific reason...there has to be foreshadowing in her story. Maybe once we realise her backstory, we’ll work out why she’s here.”

“There’s an element of randomness to D&D play,” Dustin warned. “No one can predict the dice.”

“I still think she should have a good motivation. Something I can pull out when we get to the final villain in the campaign. A clue in her past, something hidden there all along that explains why she raises the dead.”

Dustin flipped through the pages of his Dungeon Master’s manual, one he explained belonged to his friend Will, who had just moved to California. He’d left behind his D&D books so they could play together when he came home for the holidays. The pages were weathered and dogeared, like they’d been used and loved for years. It brought a smile to Rose’s face; she too preferred her books that way. Lived in.

“Maybe we can find a magical reason, something happened to you as you studied to be a cleric,” Dustin rambled, concentrating on the pages.

“No,” Rose said. “It had to be a human reason, something tragic. I think...I think she lost her family. They were drained of life by a cult of warlocks or something, whilst she was away at the Citadel, and when she returned she found them all dead. She wasn’t there to protect her mother and father, and a sibling, a little sister maybe, so she turned to the dark arts. But it's doomed, because if she succeeds in raising her family, she will have become the thing they hate. In raising them, she kills herself, the Ceverra they loved. She turns to her old companions from the Citadel, including your bard and Jeff’s spellcaster, to aid her in finding an artefact she needs to raise her family. And gets drawn into whatever Eddie’s campaign is, before she can cross over that line and become a soulless lich. A last chance for redemption before she goes full chaotic-evil.”

“Shit,” Dustin snapped up. “That’s good. I think it works. Deeply personal motive, check. Dark magics, check. Reason for your joining the party, check. I think we have it, Lady Ceverra. We just need to determine how to spread your 27 ability points. You want three high abilities, three low. For a cleric, I recommend focusing on Wisdom and Intelligence. Plus, it kinda suits you!”

“I trust you, Dustin. Wisdom and Intelligence it is.”

He handed Rose the open book, and she searched the page, fingers tracing the scoring system; she made some notes and began to add some scores to her sheet. After ten minutes of diligent work, she handed him the character sheet; it felt like returning homework, except she suddenly cared for Dustin’s opinion more than any teacher, desperate for some kind of approval. She knew the kid was a genius, she knew he was Eddie’s protege, and somehow Robin knew him. All her favourite people seemed to regard Dustin highly. 

He leaned back in the chair, his Hellfire shirt barely visible under a brightly striped baseball-style short sleeved shirt, covered in some kind of novelty mathematical equation - probably a real one knowing Dustin - with a green Camp Nowhere badge newly sewn into the hem. It almost reminded Rose of Eddie’s battle vest, and she smiled like an idiot. Dustin idolised Eddie, she could see it in the way he deferred to the leader of their group, and copied some of his mannerisms subconsciously. 

“Okay, okay,” Dustin said positively, scanning the sheet. “The stats pass muster. I think this is gonna work. And the backstory kicks ass, like, you should be a writer.”

Rose felt herself smiling, and babbled dismissively. “Oh, I don’t know. I would like to study English Literature at university though. Maybe not cut out to be a full-blown author though...”

“That is so cool,” he said, head propped up on his elbow. “I’ve always been more of a math and science kind of man, but you’re a whole different kind of smart. Where do you wanna go to college?”

“I don’t know,” Rose faltered, making a strangled noise in her throat. She’d been so focused on achieving one single full year of school, one year with friends and normal teen experiences, that she’d put off thoughts of university. “I suppose i’d always imagined going back home, probably to London. Beyond that, i’ve not thought about it.”

“Well, you have plenty of time,” Dustin said comfortingly. “Probably two whole months, right? That’s if the application process is the same as here.”

Rose swallowed down her terror and turned back to the character sheet, where a large gap was left at the top. “Gareth is going to draw my character in art class today. He thinks the teacher won’t mind because he’s finished his assignment already. That way, it's ready for Hellfire tonight.”

Dustin looked at the sheet, with her neat, calligraphic script, his direction and shaping, and a space for Gareth’s impressive drawings. “You’re really going all out on this, huh. Eddie is going to lose his shit tonight, he’ll love it.”

“I hope so,” she said, trying to contain a gleeful grin. Since Monday’s beautiful, disastrous near-kiss, she hadn’t been fully alone with him. The closest was those two whole lunch hours at the Hellfire table, Eddie saving a seat next to him and pulling it out like a true gentleman, each of them sneaking dreamy-eyed glances at the other, careful not to be caught staring for too long. It was like a game of tag, a thrill of electricity each time they made eye contact.

White noise crackled in the quiet of the library, a muffled sound of something electronic, like white noise from a radio. Then out of the noise came a single word.

“Dustin?”

Rose went still, trying to locate the noise, but Dustin exploded into action,ducking under the table to get to his backpack, knocking over all his stuff in the process.

“ Is this thing even on? God, this is so stupid. Dustin, if you’re hearing this, it’s Steve. We have a code red. I repeat, a code red.”

“Shit,” Dustin hissed, fumbling about with his bag. He’d dropped to all fours on the beige floral carpet of the library, eyes sweeping the room for anyone watching: all clear, the place was quiet at the end of lunch, no one in their right mind would sacrifice their free period for more time around books. Except Rose and Dustin, clearly.

He retrieved a brick-sized hunk of plastic and metal from his bag, a walkie-talkie, pulling out a foot-long metal antenna from the top.

Dustin pressed down the walkie’s button, putting the mouthpiece close to his face. “This is Gold Leader. State your code red. And by the way, I told you, code names only . Also, you should bear in mind i’m in earshot of a civilian. Over.”

The combination of Dustin’s deadly serious demeanour, and his position on his knees by the library table clutching a walkie-talkie was so funny, she could almost laugh. But she really, really wanted to hear what he was saying, so leaned forward over the pencils and D&D handbooks, quiet as a mouse and straining to hear.

“Come on, not the code name. Seriously?”

“I’m deadly serious. And we spoke about this, you have to end with over . Over.”

The crackling went on for a couple of seconds, before a defeated voice came out again. “This is Farrah Fawcett, reporting a code red. There, you happy? Uh, over, or whatever.”

“I acknowledge your call sign, Farrah Fawcett. What is your code red? Does it involve any encrypted messages in other languages? Over.”

Encrypted messages? Rose was clueless, but already hooked. 

“No, Dus- I mean, Gold Leader. So Keith is busting my ass again. He says if I can’t work out which section of the video store to shelve This is Spinal Tap, i’m fired. He is so unreasonable! Over.”

Dustin growled. “We talked about this Farah Fawcett, this is not a code red. A code red is a life-threatening emergency. Or at least something that involves being so grounded that I won’t see daylight until i’m in college. Please keep this channel of communication open for genuine emergencies. Over and out.”

“Dustin, he’s gonna fire me! My dad is going to kick me out of the pool house, and then i’ll have to move in with my Aunt Josephine in Cincinnati. Is that code red enough for you, huh? No more rides to the arcade, no more free popcorn or videos, no more babysitting duties. Do you want me to suffer? Do you want Robin to suffer?”

Dustin made eye contact with Rose and shook his head, like he was forty, not fourteen, and the weight of the world was on his shoulders. “Okay, message received. What was the name of the tape again?”

“Thank god. It’s called This is Spinal Tap, which is some British rock band, apparently. Cover’s got these guys with huge hair and guitars on it. I don’t know if I should put it in the documentary section, or the music section. He’s back in two minutes, so I need an answer, like, now. Over.”

“Oh shit,” Dustin said, his finger still pressed on the walkie. “My mom won’t let me see those kind of movies, Steve. But it's not like a music video, it's a documentary, right? Over.”

“You’re not filling me with confidence, Gold Leader. Should I go with Documentary?”

Rose scooted further over the table, into Dustin’s view. “Dustin, I know this one. I know it!”

“Wait, who is that?” The mysterious Farrah Fawcett - slash Steve - asked quickly.

“I’m with a girl, I mean a lady . Hold on a second Steve. Over,” Dustin looked up at Rose, eyes hopeful. He let go of the walkie and spoke privately to her for a second. “What should it be?”

“A lady? Hey, Robin doesn’t count you know. It’s Nancy isn’t it. Or maybe not, it’s Homecoming and she’s gonna be slammed with the committee today. Come on, Dustin, who is it? Is she pretty?”

Rose ignored the voice, thinking back to Monday. “It’s one of Eddie’s favourite movies. It’s a documentary, but a fake one. There’s no such band as Spinal Tap. Eddie said it was so funny he nearly pissed himself!”

“Huh,” Dustin replied, taking off his cap and mopping his brow. “He told you that? Jesus, that’s kind of personal. So it’s a comedy then?”

“Definitely,” Rose nodded wildly.

“Okay, but if you’re wrong, Steve and Robin are never gonna let me hear the end of it.”

She sat back, completely confused. Robin? What did Robin have to do with this?

Dustin turned back to the walkie. “I’ve conferred with my study buddy Lady Thorn, and can confirm the tape should be shelved in comedy. I repeat, comedy . Over.”

The static crackled. “Really? It doesn’t look funny. ”

“Just do it, Steve. I’ve gotta go, I think we’re attracting attention from hostile actors. This is Gold Leader, over and out.” He switched off the talkie, and sagged with relief, collapsing the antenna with a slap of his hand and stuffing it back in the backpack.

Rose sat back on the chair, mouth agape. “Hostile actors?”

“The librarian is giving me the side-eye,” Dustin explained, pointing subtly toward the desk, at the far end of the stacks. “I think she’s gonna kick us out.”

“Ms Miller likes me,” Rose assured him, returning to a whisper, just in case. “She’s obsessed with romantic English Literature, and I gave her my copy of an Elizabeth Gaskell book she’d never read before. She thought Mr Rochester was the pinnacle of a brooding gentleman? Oh ho, she’s yet to meet Mr Thornton. She’ll be swooning for days. No way she’ll kick us out.”

Dustin was bright-eyed as a puppy. “You really are a nerd, aren’t you.”

Rose snorted. “I thought that was clear already. Wait, you’re not getting away that easily. Who on earth was that? Is he your older brother?”

“Steve?” Dustin’s voice was so far it went into the stratosphere. He slapped his knee, laughing. “I'm so going to tell him you thought we were brothers. You know, we do both have fantastic hair. Maybe long lost cousins or something. No, Steve is a...friend, slash babysitter? It’s hard to capture with words. There’s nobody like him.”

“And you just go around with a walkie talkie, on the off chance you want to speak to this babysitter slash friend,” Rose said, suspicion creeping into her voice. 

“Sure. People do that, all the time. It’s really common in Indiana. Who needs a payphone when you’ve got a personal walkie? That’s free! Cause then you don’t need a whole stack of quarters,” Dustin shrugged his arms. “What? It’s practical!”

His voice went higher with each statement, until Rose knew he was covering something up. What an odd kid. 

“Right,” Rose narrowed her eyes. “If I didn’t have to get to class, I'd have a few more questions for you. But it's your lucky day.”

They got up from the study desk at the back of the library and slung on their bags, Rose carefully stowing away the character sheet between the pages of her math textbook as they swung open the library door, entering the hallway with its aura of enforced cheer, balloons and all sorts of glitter-laden signs announcing Homecoming! as if anyone in this school could forget it. Everyone congregated in the hallways, gossip and buzz in overdrive, like they could already taste the sugary-sweet tropical punch, feel the air thick with Aqua Net and cheap cologne, and  hear Indiana’s most middling DJ blaring out school-approved pop and light rock, a tepid beat that would fill the auditorium in just a few hours time.

They turned a corner and were met head on with a wobbling tower of boxes, shiny silver streamers spilling out the top.

”Excuse me, coming through,” a voice called out, muffled behind the decorations. 

“Hey Nance, hold on a minute,” Dustin leapt forward and took the top one, pulling it away and revealing a very frazzled Nancy Wheeler with bloodshot eyes and a don't-cross-me kind of glare.

Rose felt guilty for standing unencumbered whilst they carried heavy loads of decorations, so she followed them, running forward and opening the double doors to let them into the auditorium.

“Thank you guys,” Nancy said breathlessly, stacking them on a table and directing Dustin to do the same. “I would have collapsed in the hallway without you. Wait, Rose? I haven’t seen you since last Friday, I was going to check up on your first week but you’ve been a hard woman to find. I checked the cafeteria but you weren’t there.”

“That’s nice of you. I was a little busy today, Dustin was helping with a project in the library.”

Nancy’s face screwed up. “Dustin? Well he is a great tutor, he was always the best at math and science, better than Mike, but don’t tell him that.”

Dustin looked smug. “Mike’s known since the seventh grade, that secret is out. But it wasn’t math or science, it was something a little more fantastical , if you get my drift.”

Nancy looked between them, realisation coming to her at last. “Oh my god, did he rope you into Dungeons and Dragons? Just remember those sessions go on for hours . Sometimes the whole day. And I would get so tired my eyes would blur, and I couldn't even see the dice anymore.”

“Amateur,” Dustin said under his breath. “And it was not I that did the roping. It was Eddie.”

“Munson?” She asked, confused. “Isn’t he a little...aggressive?”

“Not at all,” Rose said immediately. “Not even a little bit.”

She could only picture Eddie smiling; slow, creeping smiles that turned up his lips and lit up his onyx eyes; wide, manic grins that cried out joy and enthusiasm; and those smiles that were infectious, laughing wholeheartedly at Dustin or Gareth’s antics. The way he held her hand in the woods, gripping it like she could possibly let him go. The way he cradled her cheek, like she was made of fragile glass. How in the nine hells of Asmodeus could Eddie Munson be called aggressive? Okay, if you were shallow you might see the hair and the jacket and the wild charisma, but when did clothes become more important than who was under them?

“Okay,” Nancy replied eventually, a thoughtful quirk to her head. “You guys can go now, thanks for the help. I’ve roped in Fred to help with the last of the decorations. He’s not on the homecoming committee, but he’s volunteered to help anyway.”

Rose and Dustin said goodbye and headed out the door; the kid waited until the door closed firmly behind them before leaning into Rose, making sure no one was in earshot before speaking low into her ear.

“Fred Benson is not helping out of charity. He’s totally in love with Nance,” Dustin dished the dirt. “He follows her around like a little puppy dog, it’s kinda sappy.”

“Which one is Fred?” She whispered back, wary of insulting any of the guys in the hallway.

“Glasses, blonde hair, has a scar on his face. He’s in the school paper with Nancy.”

“And Nancy doesn’t like him back?”

Dustin chuckled. “Seriously, if you want gossip you should hang around more girls...not including Robin. It’s complicated. Fred is in love with Nancy, but her boyfriend Jonathan - Will the Wise’s older brother - just moved to California so they’re long distance now. But Nancy’s ex Steve still has a torch for her.”

Rose gasped. “Walkie-talkie Steve?”

“Yeah!” He squealed gleefully. “They dated in Nancy’s sophomore and Junior year, but broke up because she fell for Jonathan. It was a whole thing.”

“Wow,” Rose tried to keep up. “So half the school’s in love with Nancy Wheeler. Noted.”

Dustin’s skin flushed. “I may have liked her for a little while, but that was just a silly kid thing. And it was B.S.” Dustin saw her confusion and made a wild little gesture. “ Before Suzie , of course. You’re right though, half the school is in love with Nancy. And the other half is in love with Chrissy Cunningham.”

Chrissy...Rose had biology and English with the cheerleader, whose forlorn aura and sweet smile made her stand out against the bolder, more brash girls who hung about in those cliques, circling about the basketball players. Her anxiety flared again, the sudden memory of Andy and some unnamed meathead insulting her on her first day, calling her kinda fat , in comparison to Nancy the broom handle . It was insulting to both of them, to women in general, and it brought out the self-doubt she’d tried so hard to bury. 

Don’t do it, Rose, don’t do it .

“So,” she said, pretending to be casual. “Which half are the Hellfire guys in?”

“Ew, gross,” Dustin said immediately. “Some of us are basically related to Nancy, or at least it feels like it now we’ve grown out of any middle school crushes.”

One thing Rose had determined over the last week, and was fairly certain of, was that Gareth, Jeff and Chris knew something was up between her and Eddie. Gareth’s smirk was too smug, his eyes too watchful when she sat next to Eddie in the cafeteria. Mike and Lucas she could see were observant too, but Dustin? Dustin seemed to have no idea. Or if he did, he was an incredible actor.

She fidgeted nervously with the end of her French braid - which was totally a coincidence, not that she could be more easily held or kissed or whatever by a certain metalhead covered in snaggy silver jewellery - feeling like a complete idiot. “And the older guys?”

“They don’t like Nancy, I know that. I’ve definitely seen them looking at the cheerleaders. Eddie and Gareth had this whole thing about who was hotter, Trisha Miller or Chrissy Cunningham. Gareth said Trisha because of, well,” he shot an embarrassed look at her, “She fills out the front of her uniform, if you know what I mean. That was his whole argument: boobs. But Eddie said Chrissy had the delicate aura of an elf princess, which is far more gentlemanly. He’s so freakin’ cool. Don’t tell him I said that. I don’t wanna sound like a pleb.”

Rose’s answering nod was weak. “Got it. Not a plebeian. Just a regular old equite, a knight of the Republic, maybe even a senator. I could see you as a tribune of the people. Or a philosopher.”

“Oh my God you are such a nerd, Hellfire is lucky to have you. You know, I think Eddie likes having a girl in hellfire. But not like a girl , if you get what i’m saying. Not like that,” he gave her a signature gap-toothed grin. “You’re just like one of the guys!”

---

The brief space between her last two classes found her scuffing her feet on the floor of the hall, trudging to her locker without the infectious enthusiasm for Hellfire that she had earlier.

She stowed her books and the character sheet for later. Gareth’s drawing of the lady necromancer and cleric adorned the top of the page, an elegant figure in light leather armour and a cape, wearing a bone charm around her neck. Perhaps he’d focused too much on the boobs, it was looking a little...voluptuous. And the armour wasn’t really functional, far more decorative. Just like those stupid uniforms, come to think of it. Damn cheerleaders, with their nonexistent little skirts and bouncy ponytails, and -

“Whatcha doing, McAllister?” Robin’s head was right behind her locker door, popping up like a poltergeist in a haunted house.

“Jesus,” Rose clutched her chest. “Announce yourself next time. You’ll be the death of me.”

Robin gave her a toothy grimace. “Sorry. Come to think of it, that’s not the first time someone’s said that to me.”

“I’m getting you a bell.”

“Are we talking like a necklace with a cute little charm, or a full-on cat’s collar here? Cause i’m not sure I can be contained, you know? I once got locked in a gas station bathroom and I broke out in hives. The mere thought of being stuck in an elevator makes me wanna puke. Oh god, what if the lights cut out while I'm in there...”

Rose clicked her fingers in front of her friend’s zoned-out face. “Wake up, Buckley. You’re not in an elevator, or a coffin, or a locker, or anything confined. You’re spiralling.”

“Hey! Claustrophobia is no joking matter,” Robin fired back. She watched Rose heft her books into her satchel and slammed the locker door emphatically. “What did the locker do to you?”

“Nothing,” she said quickly. “Except for reminding me of my existential dread, social awkwardness, and the fact that i’ll die alone surrounded by a thousand cats.”

Robin’s nose scrunched up. “Do you even have a cat?”

The two of them fell in step, traversing the busy hallways to get to O’Donnell’s last period English class. 

“No, “ Rose said. “But I assume the cats will be attracted by my sad, spinster aura, and flock to the house in droves when I end up pathetic and alone. Maybe i’ll emit a strong catnip odour. It will just be me, a gigantic gothic murder mansion, and an army of cats. Come to think of it, I did see a mouse in the pantry last week chewing on a box of Ritz crackers. I screamed and smashed my favourite Bagpuss mug, and i’ll never find another one of those over here. Perhaps the cat army could come in handy.”

“See?” Robin casually slung her arm around Rose’s shoulder as they walked. “Look at you, thinking positively. But seriously though, why would you end up alone and miserable? You have your family. And me too, I'm your friend?”

Rose beamed. “Of course you are.”

“And the Hellfire guys.”

Her mouth twitched. “Hmm."

Robin stopped in her tracks, almost destabilising them, retracting her arm from Rose’s shoulder. “It’s those assholes, isn’t it. Have they said something weird or insulting? Done something utterly stupid?”

“It’s really nothing,” Rose said dismissively, folding her arms defensively.

Robin had none of it. Her blue eyes narrowed until they were dark and stormy. “I knew it. Something is going on. They’re teenage boys, they don’t have the self awareness to know how irredeemably, stupidly immature they sound. Whatever it is, i’ll knock some sense into them. But I should mention that i’m a pacifist at heart and I don’t even know how to throw a punch,” Robin pondered something, pointing her finger when an idea came to her. “I could ask Steve! Actually, he’s kind of a punchbag, i’m not sure he could survive another blow to the head. The man’s gonna end up with amnesia or something. So not Steve. Aha! I know a scathing, very intimidating middle schooler that we could rope in for Hellfire-defeating duties.”

“Robin, i’m not sending in a child to fight my battles,” Rose insisted. “Wait, its not even a battle! There is no battle, i’m just feeling..off.”

Robin groaned and looked at her long and hard. “Hey, are you busy this weekend?”

She shrugged. “Hellfire is tonight. We have to finish by six, or the Homecoming committee will turn us out of the drama room.”

“I don’t think many people have the right school spirit for Homecoming this year. I know Linda’s going, which makes me doubly glad i’m not. But what are you doing tomorrow?” Robin asked hopefully.

“I have three hundred years of American history to memorise before Ms Baldwin’s history assignment. But I can do that anytime.”

“Okay,” Robin grinned. “I have to work Saturday until six, but do you wanna watch a movie after? We can choose something the Hellfire guys will hate, something sophisticated, something...intellectual.”

A warm feeling spread in Rose’s chest, and she toyed with the strap of her bag, trying not to sound too desperate. “I would like that.”

Robin slapped her own forehead. “Agh, but my parents have this thing, this dinner party with my Dad’s old college friends. It’ll be three hours of smalltalk, devilled eggs, thousand island dip, and charades. And sherry, who drinks sherry? There’ll probably be reels of photographs from Mimsy’s trip to Nantucket. A fate worse than death.”

“We could...we could do it at my place?” Rose said, feeling emboldened by Robin’s willingness to suggest a weekend hangout, something beyond prescriptive school time. “My mum and Jerry will be there, but they are quiet, and I have the third floor all to myself. It would be like they weren’t even there. You could even sleep over, if you wanted to. I know the house is a bit...dilapidated. But there are only four windows still boarded up, the rest have all been replaced. And no more leaks!”

She felt stupid even asking; she was eighteen, not eight. Do young adults even do sleepovers?

“A movie night in a dilapidated murder mansion? Are you kidding? It’s so whimsical!” Robin was excited, hands gesticulating at a hundred miles an hour. “If you stop by Family Video before we close, we can have our pick of movies, courtesy of a very special employee-perk a.k.a what Keith doesn’t know, won’t kill him. Plus you can meet Steve.”

Rose cocked her head to one side, thinking through the mutual friend everybody seemed to have. “I don’t understand how everyone knows this Steve.”

Robin grew shifty, fidgeting and looking anywhere but Rose’s eyes. “Just, normal places. Work, school. You know, where everybody meets everybody. Oh, and if he hits on you, just let him down gently. He’s had a bad year in the romance department.”

“So Dustin tells me,” Rose said. She zoned out as Robin nattered about Steve’s failed dates and some kind of scoreboard, because she spotted Eddie’s unmistakeable figure coming down the hallway, toward Mrs O’Donnell’s classroom door. 

Where others walked, Eddie swaggered. He was all gangly limbs, swerving around the corner as came into the corridor, almost knocking over other students, brushing off their angry looks or jeers with a middle finger or a scary face. But today, he actually had a book. Hell, he had two books in his hand, tucked against his battle vest. Rose had gathered from their few shared classes and the brief, staggeringly honest exchange in the woods on Monday that Eddie was not exactly committed to academics. He tried, he showed up most of the time, but he was often fidgety, overwhelmed or completely buried in his own head rather than the lesson. Yet she knew he read fantasy extensively and designed complex D&D campaigns that required a serious degree of storytelling. 

Eddie hadn’t seen her yet. He hovered by the door, face falling as he looked inside. He’d paused on the threshold of the classroom like he might still make a run for it. She should wave, she should run up and say hello...maybe they could sit together. Who was she kidding, she was definitely sitting next to him if the seat was still free, just like on Monday.

But now, thanks to Dustin bloody Henderson, every bit of her recent burst of confidence was put into doubt. What if he was looking for a cheerleader? Did he search for Chrissy Cunningham in the crowd, with her gentle Elvish princess aura or whatever else Dustin had repeated to her? 

Rose looked down at herself, her Live Aid t-shirt, acid wash jeans, and Doc Martens, and felt incredibly underdressed. Well, at least she’d blend in with the Hellfire boys tonight; it might not be an official Hellfire shirt, but it had a similar vibe. It certainly felt more her than the awful pink high-collared cardigan she’d thrown over a dress last Friday on her first day, in a desperate attempt to cover her surgical scar.

She was miles deep in desperate thoughts about her own imperfections compared to the gaggle of cheerleaders that hovered nearby, all seeming to take her English class, when Eddie looked up. Their eyes met across the hall, a single sizzling, sparking second of contact that almost affected her as physically, as the near-kiss, even though they were twenty feet apart. 

Eddie’s brash, confident personal bled out of him until he was like jelly, leaning against the doorframe for support, eyes bright and hopeful. God, she’d missed that dopey smile. It was no more than 24 hours since they last spoke, but in a single week of acquaintance a day was a long time. Too long. She hugged her copy of Poe to her chest, not sure if she should wave. Is waving too much? Too boring? 

Rose’s arm twitched before her brain engaged; her imagination ran away with her and she did a weird little curtsey, actually dipping at the knee and nodding her head; to Eddie’s absolute, crazy-grinned delight. He did a full-on bow in response, bending at the waist, arm spreading wide.

Her view of Eddie’s theatrics were cut off as Robin stepped into her field of view dramatically, her freckled face only inches away.

“Oh, i’m sorry,” Robin’s voice was teasing, vibrating with restrained energy. “Am I interrupting something here?”

Rose snapped back to her friend. “What?”

“Don’t you give me that , it’s me that’s asking ‘what’...as in what the hell did I just witness?”

Nerves hit her in the stomach, like she’d been caught with her hand in the biscuit jar. Just as she opened her mouth and ready to babble some meaningless excuse or denial, the shrill bell rang out just above their heads, Rose flinching and clutching onto her books.

Rose drew as tall as she could - still several inches shorter than Robin - and tried to look dignified and imperious. “I have no idea what you are talking about. A girl can curtsey if she likes, nothing wrong with it. In fact-”

Robin’s gasp was loud and drawn out. “Oh my god. You like him.”

Heart racing, palm-sweating. Rose didn’t like that feeling, it reminded her too much of being ill, and damn did all this fancying him push her close to that heart-fluttering feeling. She walked toward O’Donnell’s room, where Eddie had gone inside with all the rest of the waiting seniors. “I like all the Hellfire guys,” she whispered to Robin. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Robin looked like a ripe tomato, red, cheeks about to burst. She was about to say something when Rose ducked into the class, using Mrs O’Donnell and her class as a shield, knowing they couldn’t talk freely beneath her bespectacled, scathing gaze.

She let out a deeply held breath, relieved and nervous when she saw Eddie in his usual spot at the back, winking at her and nodding toward the empty seat by his side. 

She could feel Robin’s eyes upon her back as she fled to the back of the classroom and took the empty spot.

“Milady,” Eddie greeted, mischief in his eyes. “I had to fend off an army of orcs to keep the spot free, so you’d better take it.”

“Orcs?” Rose raised a brow.

He shrugged and pointed with his skull-ringed finger toward the front of the room. Gareth was sat between two of the mathletes from the terribly named science geek lunch table, brooding, arms crossed over his chest and shooting Eddie dirty looks. 

She grimaced. “Oh no. I don’t want to piss off Gareth. He might stab me in the back during the campaign later. And i’m not sure if I mean literally, or in the imaginary landscape of the Icewind Dale. I could move, if it will make him feel better.”

Eddie leaned over, and put his hand on her desk table. “Gareth the Great will survive. In fact, he might just concentrate more up there without me distracting him. I’m basically inflating his grade from a C minus to a B.”

“So generous of you,” Rose smiled, staring at his hand, just a finger’s width from hers. “So now it’s my turn to be distracted? Didn’t think about my grades, did you?”

When she turned to face the front, Robin was sitting four desks away,  neck craned comically, keeping an eye on their interaction. 

Eddie didn’t seem to notice, his voice low as he replied. “What’s the worst I could do, drag you down from A plus plus to a measly A single plus? I get the feeling that you know more about this literary shit than Mrs O’Donnell ever has, and you’re just sitting amongst us mere mortals to pass the time.”

“We actually have a double plus at home, it’s called an A star, but...it’s silly really,” A shaky laugh came from Rose’s throat, one she silenced quickly when the teacher’s chair scraped against the floor and O’Donnell stood, surveying the students with a predatory gleam.

“You’re all looking forward to Homecoming tonight, aren’t you,” O’Donnell said gleefully. “Dreaming of corsages and slow dances. But before you scurry home and put on your fancy frocks and bow ties, you owe me something. Assignments.”

Andy the meathead slunk deeper into his chair, with a low, desperate groan.

“Yes, Andrew.” O’Donnell pointed at him. “I will be paying particular attention to your grade this semester. Come on now, everyone pass your assignments forward. Don’t forget, this will count as ten percent of your final grade.”

A whole room shuffled and produced stacks of papers from the inside of their books or their bags on the floor. Rose pulled out a ten page behemoth she had penned at home in the window seat of her attic room.

Eddie plucked out two creased pages from the inside of his jacket, and eyed hers with a nervous smile. “Jeez, did you write a novel or something? How long did that take you?”

Rose bit her bottom lip, feeling her face warm up. “Not that long. But the power cut on Wednesday night really helped, there was nothing to do but read by candlelight in my room.”

He nodded vigorously, passing their essays to the guy in front. “Cool, uh, cool image. Big creepy mansion, candlelight, rooms, bedrooms with...beds. Very gothic.”

“I suppose,” she said weakly. Better than admitting she had nothing else to do on a weeknight than delve into literary analysis in her bedroom, watched over by her wall of handsome musicians and actors pulled from the glossy pages of magazines.

“Wait,” Eddie burst out, head cocked to one side. “What power cut?”

“Thank you class,” O’Donnell interrupted them. “Barring Andrew, of course. If you can’t produce an essay by Monday you’ll be marked as a zero. Which somehow means, Mr Munson, that you handed in an essay on time. I think this has to be a first. I take it this one is yours?”

Mrs O’Donnell held aloft Eddie’s two-pager and she could see it was headed with an eye-catching drawing of a beating heart, anatomically correct...just like the one she’d sketched on his desk last week.

“That’s right, Mrs O,” Eddie said with a smug grin. “But be gentle with my heart, I don’t know if it can take another F.”

The teacher held it with two fingers, slightly away from her body like it might be covered in something unpleasant. “It’s certainly...something. I’m surprised you stopped staring at the cheerleaders long enough to read a single word of Edgar Allen Poe. Let’s hope you can keep it up.”

Oh shit. Rose wasn’t sure which hurt more, the entire class making disgusted noises and turning in their direction, or the sudden realisation that Chrissy Cunningham was three seats in front of Eddie, directly in his field of view. Chrissy was the only one that hadn’t turned around, like she was in her own world, picking at the beds of her reddened, bitten nails. Coincidence or not, it was enough to drain the confidence from her yet again.

“Fucking freak,” Jason Carver muttered under his breath. Rose didn’t miss that he looked between her and Eddie, seemingly just noticing the proximity of the freak to the new girl, his brain slowly ticking and putting together an association of some kind. Not that she cared for the opinion of a such a crowd-peddling narcissist, 

O’Donnell gathered the papers and swung right into the lesson, giving them three poems to read in silence whilst she marked the assignments at the desk, sipping from a mug of steaming black coffee. The woman looked up and snuck a glimpse at Eddie and her, and Rose just knew it. The woman had it out for him, big time.

Rose kept her head down, reading the page a dozen times and not taking in a single line of poetry. Sure, Eddie had flirted with her. Even she was clued up enough to recognise that. But was that because she was just there, literally walking into his domain last week in Hellfire? Was she a consolation prize? 

A grating, irritating noise sounded to her left. She snuck a glance past her makeshift shield a.k.a. notebook, and Eddie was downcast, pencil tapping incessantly on his book, completely wired and ignoring the book altogether. It was worrying, like he was disassociated from the classroom, not able to concentrate on the work, about to snap at any second.

Something clicked within her; he looked like she had felt, stuck in a bright, sterile hospital ward, tethered to bleeping monitors by wired electrodes stuck to her chest, worried sick every second that this was how she would die. That panic threatened her now, an urgent need to flee, her breathing coming hard. If this was how Eddie reacted to a classroom, no wonder his grades had suffered. No wonder he’d repeated senior year not once, but twice now. Rose was kind of in awe that someone would put themselves in that situation willingly, over and over again. She didn’t think she could.

Fuck O’Donnell, fuck the Jason Carvers and the Andys of the world, those that made Hawkins High a real hell for Eddie and those who were different. Rose made a silent vow to herself that she’d help Eddie get through this class, no matter what. Romantic weirdness aside, that smug bitch O’Donnell was not getting one over on them. Not on her watch.

An hour of silent reading later they were turned out of the classroom, collecting their assignments on the way out. Gareth had passed her something covertly and headed early to the drama room, to meet Chris and Jeff before the session began. And as Eddie hadn’t yet left his desk, Rose said a quick goodbye to a very perplexed Robin. Her friend was obviously about to explode with questions, but had to leave as the mysterious walkie-talkie Steve was giving her a ride to her Friday night shift at Family Video.

Eddie was last out of the class, face buried in his assignment. He saw her waiting, flipping over the page and pointing to a big, red D overlapping the sketch of the heart.

“It’s not much,” he said, squirming from her gaze. “But all I need is a D in Mrs O’Donnell’s, and then I should have enough credits to graduate. So it's better than an F.”

“That’s fantastic. Ten percent of the class, already locked down. Ninety to go,” she prattled nervously. “You felt compelled to actually read the story then? It’s as exciting as Tolkien.”

His confident grin returned slowly. “What can I say, I’ve developed a sudden interest in beating hearts and haunted houses. Both very metal. But what did you get, an A or an A plus? Oooh, don’t say a B, you couldn’t live with the shame.”

Rose stepped closer. “Oh, that assignment? Yes, it was an A plus, though she left a note complaining about the length and some of the source material being outside of the curriculum. But actually, i’ve been waiting to hand in my real assignment all day.”

He looked perplexed, brows furrowing, big doe-eyes looking around like he might find the answer in the corner of the room. “Uh...what?”

She produced a sheet of paper from behind her back, holding it up; her newly illustrated character sheet, Lady Ceverra beautifully drawn in monochrome by Gareth during his Art class, except for the red of her hair beneath a dark hooded cloak. It looked like something from a comic book, but less childish, more gothic. 

Eddie’s eyes widened until they almost popped from his head, scanning the drawing, surrounded by her calligraphic script with her character’s name, boxes full of stats, and alignment. “McAllister, what the hell? You did this since last Friday?”

His hand reached out to take the sheet but she pulled it back, planting a hand on his chest to keep his greedy hands away. “It’s a surprise. No reading it before the campaign, dungeon master. You’ll have to discover who Lady Ceverra is as we go through whatever you have planned for us tonight.”

She could feel the rumbling in his chest as he laughed. Somehow her hand had slipped past the layers of open denim and leather, resting over his Hellfire shirt, warm and solid chest right beneath her palm.

“Gimme,” he said, trying to snake his arms past her. “I see some seriously badass leather armour, and suspiciously low cut...did Gareth draw it for you?” He did a dramatic gasp. “Have you been meeting all the guys behind my back, McAllister?”

Rose’s lips twitched upwards. “Only Gareth. And Dustin; that’s why he was missing from lunch today.”

“That little shit. I thought he had the stomach flu. Give it, I wanna see!”

Rose twisted away, keeping the paper away from his grasping hands, surrounded by a curtain of his hair. “No, you’ll have to wait! Be patient!”

She broke away, dodging from him and stepping backward, running down the now-empty corridor with Eddie in pursuit, the place echoing with footsteps and their laughter. She felt like a kid again, being chased in the playground in a game of tag, without a care in the world. She rounded a corner and ducked into an alcove, letting Eddie run past. He kept going to the drama room, arms flailing, wobbling about like a goofball. He has such a stupid run that she couldn’t make it to the drama room door without a breathless cackle coming from her throat, alerting Eddie to her presence as he was about to burst through the door.

“What the hell?” He said, whipping around. “Your stealth must be off the charts.”

She raised the character sheet. “Try Wisdom and Intelligence.”

He bounded over to her like an over-eager puppy, chains clanking on his jeans, hair swishing manically around his face. “Oh please, Lady Ceverra. This humble bard only wishes to learn more about you.”

Her laughter slowed down, became more of a low hum in her throat, finding herself with her back pressed against a locker and Eddie bracing his arm just inches from her head, not caging her in completely but overwhelming her senses.

She held up the paper, obscuring the lower half of her face with it. “Is it proper for the Dungeon Master to read a character sheet before a session?”

Eddie’s eyes were wicked in the gloomy hall, with half the lights turned off already. “I don’t know about proper. More, uh...insatiable curiosity, I guess. I just can’t help it. Not when it comes to you, Rosie. Will you show me who you are?”

This was more than D&D, the seriousness of his tone was clear. And the way he was ignoring the sheet, looking right into her eyes. Her hand dropped and limbs had turned to warm jelly, surrounded by Eddie, still not getting enough , her fingers and lips tingling with the need to touch, to do something phys-

“Oh shit, you two disappear for a minute and you’re getting all pon farr on the lockers,” a very pissed off Jeff said, emerging from the drama room. “Hey, that’s my locker!”

“Goddamn it Jeff,” Eddie gave Rose an apologetic look and pulled away from the locker reluctantly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Enough with the sci-fi references. Not everyone watches Battlestar Galactica.”

Jeff looked like he might pass out. “Woah, woah, woah...that’s Star Trek, not Battlestar. How could you, man. I know you're more of a fantasy guy, but you’ve gotta respect the greatest TV show on the face of the planet.”

“Alright, alright,” Eddie sighed and shepherded Jeff into the Hellfire room and looked back nervously, gesturing to Rose to enter. “If the Lady Ceverra will forgive the foolish jester back there, could I still tempt her inside? The party of adventurers won’t be the same without her.”

Rose peeled herself from the lockers, her back aching from the cold metal. “You can’t put me off now, Dungeon Master. But one question. What’s a pon farr?”

Jeff’s muffled voice called out from within. “It’s a Vulcan mating rit-”

Eddie leapt inside, suddenly filled with panic. “Shut it. Silence Jeff, I swear to god i’ll tape your mouth up if you don’t stop right this minute.”

---

“Your quest has led you to here, every tavern rumour, bribe and threat to the wizards of the Citadel has proven right. The burial mound slopes gently in the wooded hollow, weathered by storm and wind and frost over eons of time, now smothered in vines and moss. The entire mound emits an aura of magic, intense magic. There are wards placed to keep out magic users like you. What’s inside, you ask? Oh, I don’t know, you’ll have to find out yourself by exploring the dark, dank tunnel crumbling into its side. Damp air, thick with mouldering earth, stale with decay, lingers at the tunnel mouth. Do you dare enter?”

When Eddie, reclining on his throne with goblet in hand like he was at a bacchanal, finished his monologue, the party looked at each other one by one. Gareth flexed his knuckles like he was faced with a physical fight, Dustin was nodding vigorously, and Lucas tightened the bandana around his forehead, like he was Rambo himself. 

“Do you even have to ask?” Chris said scathingly. “Each one of us has bled for this moment, dungeon master. I, Thordus Boulderbash, enter the tunnel with my axe-”

“Wait, we’re the Circle of Eight, remember?” Mike prompted him. “We’re playing as wizards for the beginning of the campaign.”

Rose leaned forward onto her elbows. “Wait, why is that? I spent so much time on Lady Ceverra, I was looking forward to playing her.”

Eddie raised his goblet, and threw his leg over one of the arms of his wooden throne. “Children, and milady , hold on. It’s all about trust, man. Let me guide you through this,” he turned to Rose, seated on his right hand side just like last week. “Sweetheart, I know you were excited about this. Just be patient. And in the meantime, you can make the wizard you’re playing now a cleric. You can still heal and eventually raise the dead.”

“Okay,” Rose sighed. “I trust you.”

Jeff muttered under his breath. “I’ve been scarred by Eddie too many times...I feel something big coming, something bigger than a demogorgon, man.”

Dustin nudged Lucas and whispered; Rose had no idea how all the younger boys acted when all three were together, so she just observed and assumed this was all normal.

“We climb into the tunnel,” Gareth picked up the narrative thread. “One by one, we get on our knees and crawl through the dirt, raising torches to light the way.”

Eddie rolled a dice behind his screen. He hissed and popped up, grimacing at them. “Sorry my little adventurers, that’s...a rockfall. You’re clambering through the tunnel and the roof collapses, causing ten damage to the last three people into the tunnel, sealing off your exit. Now, you’re trapped.”

Lucas moaned loudly. “Why did I have to go last? Last is usually safest. Wait - Rose, you’re a cleric, right? Can you do a healing spell? Keep up my HP?”

Rose’s brows raised, and she looked around the table. “Can I?”

Eddie nodded. “You can.”

Rose whistled with relief and threw a d20. 

“That’s a miss, sweetheart,” Eddie says gently. “You all proceed, damage remains.”

“I feel useless already,” she said.

“You’re level one, it’s kind of expected,” Dustin explained. “But look on the bright side! It only gets better from here. Sure, you’ll be slow, miss most of your attacks, and won’t be able to use your necromantic powers until you hit level ten, but you’ll get there.”

Rose tried to mask her disappointment. “Level ten?” 

Eddie placed down his goblet, sitting upright like a normal human for once. He waited, each second he purposefully paused drawing out the tension in the room. “Necromancer’s aren’t born, milady. They have no natural place in the order of things. The land of Greyhawke might be full of magic, but life and death, those are...immutable. And the power to raise something already dead back to life? That’s against nature. That’s something you earn with blood, sweat, tears and a mother fucking tonne of XP points. But when you get there, it’s...intoxicating, like a high,” he gave her a smile that travelled straight into her veins, pulsing warm and dizzy all around her body. “When the time comes, you’ll fucking love raising the dead.”

Rose cleared her throat and pressed together her legs, aware of a very distressing, very urgent pulsing in places other than her heart, hopeful that the other guys didn’t notice the flush to her skin. “So, um, why does it take a necromancer so long to build up to their attacks?”

It was Mike who answered, his gangly awkwardness long gone, confident in the game and as knowledgeable as Eddie. She remembered he was the younger boys’ Dungeon Master.

“Whether good or evil, a necromancer can’t just practice raising the dead straight away,” Mike gestured with his pencil to the board and the character sheets they all placed in front of them. “There’s not really a halfway to raising the dead, right? They will have to practice slowly sucking the life force out of people before they can make their first thrall - that’s the zombie they create, a thrall. So it might be like they’re sucking the energy out of someone for a long time, making them sick. Like...their eyes might start bleeding, organs sucked out their bodies.”

“I guess,” Lucas chimed in, with a grin. “But I think it's more psychic than physical. So they might feel sick and have headaches and shit, but they’ll look fine, until suddenly they’re not fine at all. The lich is hungry, and they need a snack before they have the energy to fully raise the dead. But once a necromancer has practiced enough? Once he or she has reached level ten? All bets are off. Their Raise Dead spell is like a nuclear bomb on the D&D board, a weapon more powerful than most other classes. They go from nought to sixty, killing and raising people as thralls left and right.”

Rose looked down at Lady Ceverra, at the drawing Gareth had finished this afternoon. The drama room spotlights and flickering pillar candles lit up a fighter in light armour, a cleric with healing skill, and one day, a necromancer. A thing of power, but with that power came the serious temptation of evil. Whether her character could resist all that temptation at level ten was to be seen. Raising creatures from the dead sounded fun, but she’d been dead herself, technically. Even if it was just a few minutes. Was she a thrall, bound to do others bidding? Or now she was alive again, was she truly herself?

The game went on for three hours, screaming, jeering, dice flying across the table. They encountered a horde of gargoyles in the burial chamber, losing Lucas to the creatures before the party could make it to the main chamber in the burial mound. Chris was slain at the burial chamber, inhaling poisonous spores, and their party became just five.

Eddie ducked behind his screen again and read through his meticulous notes, then he launched upward, standing on the throne, speaking down to them like a King to his subjects.

“You creep into the burial chamber. Runes on the wall are familiar, but older than any you’ve seen before, layered with a thousand years of dust. And all around a central sarcophagus are long given offerings of wine, incense, coin, and something even more sinister...corpses of animals, of people, pitchers of dried blood filling the air with the thick scent of copper and iron.”

“Oh man,” Gareth said shakily, hands buried in his hair. “I don’t like this.”

Eddie smiled, and continued. “A blast of air colder than ice, colder than death itself, ripples through the chamber. It sucks the very last breath from Dustin, killing him on the spot.”

“What?” Dustin threw his hat across the room. “What the hell, Eddie? I didn’t even get to roll?”

“Mike is next,” Eddie says, sinister, creeping toward the back of the boy’s chair. “Your lungs struggle, coughing and snapping something in your body, gargling on the sudden warmth of your own blood and choking to death.”

“Thanks,” Mike said, deadpan.

Eddie crept around the table clockwise, talking to each of his friends, and Rose got a vague idea of what was happening. 

“Jeff, you’re next. Death comes for you as swift as a knife in the dark. Then Gareth...ah, Gareth. Your power is obvious, your skill known throughout the land. But even you cannot face the forces of darkness and evil alone. You form a fireball with your hands just as the cold takes you, desperate for its warmth. Your body shrivels and hits the floor in an instant. But the light it casts illuminates the dark chamber for just a second...”

Eddie turned to her, his dark eyes wild, the candlelight flickering in their glassy depths.  “Lady Rose, the flare of light gives you just long enough to see a lumpy, grotesque shape emerge from the sarcophagus...a skeletal frame, grey-skinned, with white hair and broken teeth. He raises two gaunt hands toward you and snaps your neck with a single click of his fingers. And his last words? Hail, Vecna.”

“Jesus Christ!” Dustin flung his pencil on the table. “The wards weren’t there to keep wizards out, they were there to keep Vecna in!”

The guys made noises of shock and horror, Rose holding her breath, waiting for an explanation.

“Hold on, it can’t be Vecna,” Gareth said to the group. “The thing had two hands. We know Vecna’s left eye and left hand were sacrificed long ago, so this is just one of his followers, another necromancer. The fucking Cult of Vecna, dude. This campaign is going to break us, it’s going to kill us all.”

Rose was confused. She let them talk amongst themselves about the significance of the villains she’d never heard of before, but her eyes kept going back to her character.

“But we all just died!” She shouted, cutting over the masculine voices. “Isn’t that the end of the campaign?”

Eddie leaned toward her, palms planted on the wooden tabletop. “She’s right, you did just die, so let me finish. Rose, your wizard is dead, as are all of you. The Circle of Eight - which you were playing as - has perished in the tomb, releasing a powerful lich, a cultist of Vecna. But as each of you die, you wake in your mortal bodies. Rose, that means you’re now playing as Lady Ceverra, and everyone else as their own characters. Each one of you awakens with the same thought: Vecna will rise, and the Circle of Eight is slain, the last force strong enough to contain his evil already fallen. One thing each of you know is that you must find Mordenkainen, the Circle’s leader, the last hope for defeating Vecna and his cultists. The quest for Mordenkainen is next week, brave warriors. Get your characters ready, this is the start of my longest campaign yet, we’re talking months.”

“Holy shit,” Dustin cried out. “Vecna is going to be so tough.”

“I know,” Lucas shook his head. “Erica is going to be so jealous. She’ll pretend it's dorky, but she secretly thrives on shit like this.”

Rose felt so behind compared to the others, out of her depth when it came to the gameplay and technical knowledge. She smiled weakly and packed up her things with the others, blowing out candles and wafting away the smoke before the Homecoming committee barged in and accused them of smoking.

A hand appeared on her shoulder; Eddie, with his bashful smile, trying to stop her from tidying the room.

“Hey.”

She smiled back. “Hey.”

Wow. Thrilling exchange, McAllister. What next, how are you? Do you come here often?

Eddie crossed his arms over his Hellfire-emblazoned shirt. “So Vecna is basically the Witch-king of Angmar, once a king, kind of ascended to godhood but not really. So  maybe a cross between the Witch-king and Sauron?”

“Ah, my nemesis,” Rose laughed. “Because...because i’m Eowyn...from last week.”

Eddie blinked a couple of times. “No, I get it. Very appropriate. But Vecna’s a big deal, I hope you have fun. I mean, the whole point is to have fun whilst doing this. So if at any point you think it's boring or don’t wanna continue, please don't pretend and secretly grow to loathe and hate me for dragging you here. What I mean...I mean...”

Rose hushed him. “No one is forcing me to be here. I like it, your storytelling is amazing, and the guys are all fun.”

He seemed to like that, growing brighter as she spoke. “So you’re not going to Homecoming tonight then? No desire to put on a poofy dress and dance? You know, they’ll probably play some Duran Duran at some point. Your favourite.”

Eddie did a little tap dance across the drama room, with the guys in the background making groans of despair or laughing along as they saw him up to his usual antics. He looped around the table and came right back to Rose, bowing at the end.

“Is that how people dance at school events? Like their boots are on fire?”

“Nope, that’s the Hellfire special, dance like Satan’s watching you, and your feet are licked by the flames of hell itself.”

“Satan licks feet?” Rose feigned surprise, hand on her chest. “That’s a bit  kinky. I would expect no less from the dark lord himself.”

Eddie’s grin was a mile wide, and he bit his bottom lip rather sinfully. “You just wait until Halloween. The ritual sacrifice is so worth a whole year of red tape and consent forms.”

Chris made a disgusted noise in his throat as he walked by, putting on his own leather jacket and getting ready to leave.

Dustin, Mike and Lucas ran out, called by someone’s parents in the hall, probably Mike’s mom dropping Nancy off early for homecoming prep.

Eddie watched go fondly, and turned back to Rose. “Your Balrog isn’t here yet?”

“My mum? No, she’s relaxed her claws a little bit. She’s not very well, and my stepdad’s working late, so I get to take the bus. It’s quite exciting really, she’s been overprotective about it for years, like she thinks I need to be within ten feet of a trained paramedic or first aider for the rest of my life.”

Eddie’s frown lined his face deeply, mouth pursed and slightly open. “You’re getting the bus? But that doesn’t come for almost an hour.”

“I’ll wait. Maybe Nancy needs help with decorations or punch-bowl filling.”

He wasn’t convinced. “Nope. Nuh-huh. The carriage has plenty of room, i’ll give you a ride home if you don’t mind sitting next to Gareth for a while, his place isn’t too far.”

Rose toyed with her hands, fidgeting awkwardly. “Really? You’re sure?” 

“Deathly serious,” he replied. “No maiden roams the streets and takes the bus on my watch. Besides, we can continue your metal education, introduce you to a few new songs. I still have to build you up to Megadeath, remember?”

“Sounds...slightly terrifying. But thank you.”

He went a little shy, grabbing the back of his neck and avoiding eye contact. “You never have to ask, alright? Just tell me when you need to get home after Hellfire...or school, or whatever. The van is at your service. And, uh, me too. At your service. Just, whenever.”

Rose could hardly stop smiling, a smile that persisted all the way through clearing the drama room, through Gareth calling shotgun as they walked through the parking lot, through Eddie insisting she get the seat closest to him, but only because Gareth’s house was first, so he’d need to be by the door.

The chariot smelled of cigarettes, weed, and stale fries. But Eddie opened the van door for her like a true gentleman, running to his own side and scooping up wrappers and all kinds of stuff that lived on the front seat, throwing it into the back frantically. She climbed in and buckled the seatbelt, examining the stack of tapes he’d shoved on the dash; Judas Priest, Dio, W.A.S.P, and Jimi Hendrix. 

Gareth crammed into the seat by the door, and Eddie took the wheel, engine roaring into life with an aggravated growl. 

“Hold onto your hats, ladies and gentlemen,” Eddie threw the van into reverse, swinging his arm right behind Rose’s shoulders to look out the back. The van jerked backwards across the lot, swerving around a corner so quickly the thing felt like it would flip over, rubber screeching on the tarmac.

“Jesus,” Gareth hissed. “Lighten up on the gas, dickhead.”

“Drama queen,” Eddie said sheepishly.

Despite clinging onto the seat belt for dear life, Rose was more focused on the arm snaking dangerously close to her shoulders, feeling bereft when he withdrew it. “So what’s next on my metal journey?” Rose asked. “Do I get something heavy yet?”

Gareth replied before Eddie could open his mouth. “Don’t let this guy brainwash you with his Dio obsession. Ozzy Sabbath is the best Sabbath.”

“I have nothing against the Prince of Darkness!” Eddie’s voice rang out shrill in the small van cab. “Lady Evil and Heaven and Hell just happen to be great songs, that’s all.”

Gareth chuckled sarcastically. “Better than War Pigs? Better than Iron Man or Paranoid?” He scrambled around and found a tape, leaning over Rose and shoving it in the cassette player. “You know Sabbath wrote Paranoid in under an hour, just to fill up the album. One of the greatest metal songs of all time was just Ozzy’s filler . How can Dio compete with that?”

Gareth punched the play button and the opening riff blasted in her ears, her hands coming up to muffle them.

“Sorry,” Eddie reached over for the dial and turned it down, swerving just a little as they came out onto the main road. 

“It’s a miracle you still have any hearing left,” Rose commented. Her knee bounced to the rhythm of the song. “I like this. Weird that he’s blaming his girlfriend for his craziness, but I can overlook it.”

“See?” Gareth said smugly. “Ozzy Sabbath is the pinnacle.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie murmured. “Lady Evil still kicks ass. Dio has the range, you can’t deny it.”

Rose laughed and just observed ad the guys argued back and forth in the ten minutes it took to get to Gareth’s house, a split level ranch in a neat, tidy neighbourhood, the very picture of suburbia with manicured lawns, little garden gnomes and flower beds, and practical sedans and station wagons parked on the roomy driveways.

“Don’t forget practice on Sunday,” Gareth called out as he leapt down from the van. “You still owe me those extra drumsticks.”

Eddie nodded. “I’m good for it. See you later, man.” 

The van door closed and Rose was acutely aware of their proximity, and the fact that they were alone again.

“So,” Eddie grinned. “The cassette player is all yours now, milady. What do you want to play?”

She hummed, making a show of thinking intently. “Give me something heavy. I can take it, I promise. What’s your favourite?”

Eddie sucked in his breath and whistled. “Oh, I don’t know. Not sure if you can handle it.”

Rose pivoted in her seat, belt straining across her chest. “Is that what you think, hmm? I’m not delicate, trust me. Favourite song, give it to me.”

Eddie swallowed hard. “I...I, uh think I can do that. Maybe it's time to introduce you to Metallica. I mean, it’s only fair after I listened to about an hour of Duran Duran last weekend.”

“Hey,” she swatted his arm. “No one forced you to eavesdrop on my personal mix tape, Edgar Munson .”

“I knew you’d pull the Edgar card eventually,” he chuckled as they pulled out of Gareth’s drive, back on the road again. “I told you, restraint isn’t my strong suit, sweetheart. God, what do they all even do? Do they have instruments, or just stand around doing a little dance as they sing backing vocals for the main Simon Le Bond or whatever?”

“Simon Le Bon,” she corrected. “But stop trying to distract me, give me some Metallica.”

He grabbed a tape from the dash and tossed it over to her, an electric blue case, forked with lightning, with the band’s name in big letters. “Fast forward for a few seconds, press play exactly when I tell you. Keep going...now.”

Rose hit the button and a sonorous church bell rang out, followed by a heavy guitar riff, the sound filling the whole van. She let the music unfold, watching Eddie headbang and tap his ringed fingers on the steering wheel out the corner of her eye.

By the time the vocals kicked in she was nodding with him, bowled over by the incredible guitar work. It might be kind of a new genre to her, but there was something so atmospheric about it, unpretentious, out there...very Eddie. A drumline so strong it thrummed through her like a heartbeat.

Minutes later, the song faded slowly away, and Rose snuck another glance at him. 

“You like?” he asked, face vulnerable. “Don’t lie if it’s too much.”

Rose smiled. “I like. A lot.”

He let out a breath, sagging against the steering wheel. “That’s good.”

“So what’s next? More Metallica, or do I get to graduate to Megadeth?”

Eddie cocked his head in surprise. “As much as I wanna walk you through my whole collection, you know you’re home, right?”

She startled, looking out the window. They were parked on her vast driveway, sweeping up to the double-fronted house, the grey-blue faded paintwork of the gothic mansion fading into the gloomy dusk, bright lights in the first floor windows lighting the place from within like a great big jack-o-lantern. “Oh.”

“Yeah.”

She gripped her satchel hard, stilling her fidgeting fingers, leaning back against the lumpy van seat. “Maybe, do you want to...you could come in. I mean, if you wanted to.”

Eddie grabbed a handful of his hair and covered his mouth. “You want me to come in?”

Rose felt so utterly lame, so bumbling and terrible at talking to him, that she willed the ground to swallow her up whole. “Only if you want to.”

He leaned in, looking between her and the house. “I don’t think I should.”

Rose nodded vigorously, unbuckling her seatbelt and reaching for the door, clambering out as quickly as she could. “Of course, no big deal. It's Friday night, after all. That was stupid of me to assume you wouldn’t have any plans-”

Eddie’s door slammed as she backed away from the van, and before she knew it he was out on the path ahead of her, palms held up like she was skittish and about to run away - which she supposed, she was about to do. “No, no, no,” he said frantically. “I mean I literally can’t come in. I, uh, I really want to. Like really . But I promised someone I wouldn’t, and I don’t want to break that promise.”

“Ah,” she said slowly. Oh god. This was the part where he admitted to having a girlfriend, wasn’t it? Someone less bookish, someone metal , who wore leather and listened to Megadeth every day with her breakfast. Not Duran Duran. God , she probably had a Megadeth tattoo. Complete fucking opposite of Rose. What the hell, she was probably a cheerleader too. A rocker-cheerleader, with blood red lipstick and teased out Joan Jett hair, and nipple piercings. Yep, an anti-Rose. 

Eddie sighed, frustrated, crossing his arms and pivoting about, feet restless. “I can’t be that guy, going back on my word, you know? Everyone expects a Munson to be a fuckup, a criminal, a cheat. I don’t wanna be like that.”

Rose laughed, but instead of careless and breezy it came out deranged and shrill. “I get it, Eddie. Thanks for the ride. I’ll see you in class next week.”

She dodged around him and marched up the path, towards the imposing house. Don’t turn around, she told herself, tears stupidly prickling at the corner of her eyes. Don’t look back. She fumbled with her keys at the huge door, the one with newly fitted stained glass in the shape of  a rose, of all things. Mum insisted it had to be a rose, she thought it was a lovely coincidence.

“Fuck it. Bollocking fucking fuck,” she cursed, keys clinking as they dropped to the floor. She bent down as the door swung open, the light inside bathing the gloomy night, a pair of tartan slippers right in front of her nose, attached to corduroy trousers, with novelty socks peeking out.

“Whatcha doing there, kiddo?” Jerry’s chipper voice said loudly. “Got the old butterfingers, have you?”

“Something like that,” she said, all the energy draining from her.

A car door slammed in the distance, and an engine roared into life, chugging away and fading within a few long seconds, all with Rose still bent down on the porch.

Jerry shielded his eyes with his hand. “That’s a strange looking bus to me.”

He left. Of course he’d left. She groaned as she stood back up. “A friend gave me a ride home.”

Jerry nodded, standing aside so she could come inside. “You’ll have to ask your friend to come in next time, I know your Ma would love to meet them.”

Her laugh was shrill, just like earlier. “Wouldn’t that be nice, Jerry. I don't think he fancied coming in for a cup of tea.”

“Maybe next time, eh?”

She sighed heavily. “Maybe next time.”

The entrance foyer to the house was a mess. The facade of the fireplace was fancy as hell - and who the bloody hell has a fireplace in their foyer? - but the metal grate was missing and some tiles needed laying. The huge sweeping staircase was in need of a good sand and varnish and two spindles were missing. 

Rose had never minded living in a construction project, the dilapidated state of the house had given it a romantic air, but tonight she saw what others must see: decay. Her imagination was running wild, wondering where the murder had taken place. Hopefully not her room.

“There you are, love,” her Mum pottered into the hallway, a cup of tea in hand, her face drawn and tired, blonde Princess Di hairdo mussed up and tucked behind her ears. “How was your day at school?”

Rose kicked off her Doc Martens and stomped across the creaky floorboards. “Still alive, so there’s that at least.”

“Don’t,” Mum said, a hint of panic in her voice. “Don’t joke about that, Rosebud. My nerves won’t take it.”

She felt horrible, guilt eating away at her stomach. Rose’s little brush with death may have affected her far less than her mother, after all Rose went itn surgery and came back out feeling like shit, that was all. But Mum? She’d lived through being told her daughter was dead, and they’d begin resuscitation, with a slim chance of success. Yes, Rose knew the impact on her was far greater, despite the scar she lived with now.

“I’m sorry, Mum,” she gave her an impetuous hug, holding her tight. She’d lost weight, her bones felt fragile as a bird. “Shall we watch some telly that Jerry won’t understand? Monty Python, or Only Fools and Horses? I’ll make you a proper cup of tea, his always tastes a bit odd.”

“Hey, I heard that!” Jerry’s voice floated from somewhere across the house.

Her mother beamed, grabbing onto her tight. “Really? I thought you’d be busy, maybe even go to that school dance that’s on tonight.”

Rose wrinkled her nose. “It’s not like a school disco, it’s all big poofy dresses and tuxedos. Plus, I think someone has to ask you.”

Mum settled in front of the TV, under a knitted blanket Rose had made when she was ten, misshapen and lumpy. “So. No nice boys at school then? No one you’d have liked to dance with?”

She snorted as she joined her mum on the couch, trying to imagine Eddie Munson in a bow tie, slow dancing to Bonnie Tyler or REO Speedwagon. “The less said about the boys at school the better.”

Her mum was no fool, her eyebrow twitched and she watched Rose with sudden interest. 

“Actually,” Rose reached for a diversion. “I have a favour to ask. Can my friend Robin come and stay tomorrow night? I may have promised her we’d watch a film.”

Mum’s face lit up. “Oh, that sounds lovely. Does Robin know about your heart?”

“No,” Rose moaned. “But i’ll add it to the interview process for my potential friends, shall I? Sense of humour, check. Good taste in music, check. Can recognise congenital heart failure and perform resuscitation, check.”

“No need to be sarcastic, dear. Invite her over, I’ll make sure Jerry is occupied in the garden or in the basement. Give you girls some peace, so you can gossip about musicians or boy bands or whatever girls your age talk about these days.”

“I think Robin wanted to watch something sophisticated, maybe something French. She speaks it too. Maybe a foreign film or a documentary.”

“God,” her mum sighed. “When I was your age...well, we didn’t spend much time watching documentaries, if you catch my drift. Ah, the sixties. Just before I met your father I had a fling with a very dashing pipe welder from Sheffield. My goodness, he had muscles in places I didn’t know could be muscled.”

Rose buried herself behind a stuffed pillow, muffling her cries of horror. “ Stop, please , before I vomit on the sofa.”

“Youth is wasted on the young. Do you want some booze tomorrow? I’ve got some Peach Schnapps and some Tia Maria in the pantry, on the top shelf.”

The pillow moved just slightly, until she could speak. “Yes please, Mum. If you’re going to talk about muscled pipe welders, i’ll need to be drunk.”

---

Rose slept fitfully that night, hovering on that surreal place between the waking world and the sleeping one. In her dreams she was floating aimlessly, on a river in the dark. At first it was peaceful but the current dragged her under. Through the muffle silence she could hear a melody, a beautiful tune hovering on the edge of her consciousness, like she’d left on her walkman and it was bleeding into her dreams.

She woke for the briefest of seconds, the delicate keys of a piano still thrumming through the air, an echo of the dream music in the quiet, creaking house. Her breath came short and she flung her arm out, grappling with the pull-switch on her lamp. Light flooded the room again, but there was nothing, no figure in the corner, no monster lurking in the shadows. Just the old piano by the window, untouched, and silent, the black and white keys illuminated by the lamp and the sliver of moonlight from her window.

She sagged back down on her bed. On the edge of her consciousness a thought crossed her mind; she would have sworn the lid over the keys was shut...wasn’t it? But sleep came for her like a thick, warm blanket, and any thoughts of haunting music and piano keys were forgotten.

[littlebetesofeverything]

Welcome to Night Vale ep 20

OKay, palate cleanser, give me the good stuff. Maybe some Carlos as payback for 2 episodes with Stupid Kevin, please.

Yes, I am safer in Night Vale than Desert Bluffs, that is for sure.

Poetry week is sacred? Oh Night Vale how I missed you.

Why chain Librarians? They should be free range.

Oh wait. Never mind, I think there may be a librarian out to get me too.

The poetry is certainly something. Love the outro for her.

Why would you want to keep the animals away from people in the zoo? How else do we get to experience them?

Also, I love how these are the locals making poems. Even the sheriff.

Yes, a poem on Street Cleaning Day. That was a fun episode, tbh.

Cecil, are you gonna drop some lines later?

That is how billboards work though, they just appear and randomly change.

no one tell Carlos that he is actually a comedian. I don't think he would agree.

Cecil, is this just poetry disguised as traffic? I approve

oh no, the dog park has a note outside. I love how this entire episode is just poem after poem.

Grave danger is just a day ending in Y for you, Cecil.

Russell Swinson sounds like a realtor name for sure.

Intern Dana, #6, will be counted as the same, since I bet only a Night Vale native would be able to kill their doppelganger.

oh no, the gates! stone monoliths are never good.

I'm too curious, I feel like I might go missing within a day of going to Night Vale. especially if I go near the dog park.

I love Old Woman Josie. Erika is a wonderful name for an angel. Oh no, there are witnesses to the monolith, nice knowing you nameless locals.

Welp, I will miss Dana. Intern #7 may need to look into life insurance before they apply. Just because.

Even the angels made a poem! awwww

Cecil, consequences are a choice, don't you remember? They will never catch you, anyways.

Dude, your phone needs to go back to the manufacturer.

Now this is what I missed in the last one. Good times have been had. Off to bed, now!

[loulovingho]

How do you feel about all of bucks ex girlfriends?

God, don't come for me I'm about to have some hot takes.

Abby: I think the way she treated buck was pretty awful, considering she was fully aware just how deep he was in that relationship. imo it never meant as much to her, and she knew it didn't, but she liked being doted over and cared for (don't blame her for that) so she just kinda let it happen. I also wonder if she was even going to really tell him she was leaving at all, if he hadn't showed up to her place to explain things? liked her as a person, did not like her for buck (although I do think she was necessary for his personal growth). 4/10

Ali: Wasn't around for very long. Didn't mind her, but thought the scene of them making out in front of the realtor was bizarre, but that might just be the fact that I'm not a fan of prolonged pda. Seemed nice enough and I understood her reasoning for not sticking around but I hate the cliches these types of shows do where the partner is surprised that the person with a dangerous job has a dangerous job. 6/10

Taylor: This might be where people come for me but please let me explain! I can't stand her, but I blame the writers for it. For some reason, writers tend to write females who are passionate about their jobs as annoying and aggressive. I just rewatched her first episode and while she says things that make sense, they didn't write her likable at all and the whole relationship in season 5 feels like a scam. I feel like they would have been much better kept as friends. They were always on different wave lengths and, honestly, I don't think either of them were ever truly "in love". idk I just didn't buy it. 2/10

Lucy: not exactly a girlfriend but she was something and, again, I think they screwed the character over by having her be anything to buck at all. Also, I'm sorry, but the acting was terrible. I used to watch that actress on Gilmore Girls and she was good, but this was not and I feel like I'm the only one who thinks that because everyone I see always wants her to come back, but like why??? her acting made me cringe, I'm so sorry. 4/10

Natalia: Didn't hate her. I actually thought she was the best potential love interest they brought on (up until tommy ofc) and my god she's stunning, but we barely got to know her. She seemed kind though, and didn't mind buck's complicated history. I get why they dumped her so quickly when things shifted within 911, but I didn't mind her 7/10

I do want to emphasize that I was not here for the original go around with these characters, and I am sure the actresses were given so much unjust hate simply for being near buck, but I also blame the writers for doing a bad job giving buck female love interests.

[felinecryptid]

Chasing Pasts in Shadows

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

please pay attention to the tags, there's some heavy stuff going on

Mr Reyes was a balding, rotund man in his fifties, who greeted them, showed them around the garden like a realtor and finally invited them into the parlour (A parlour!) to have some tea. Will was currently sat on the long couch with Mike crowding him in towards the right armrest and eyeing the plates suspiciously and worrying the rip in his black jeans . Max took the armchair nearer Mike, picking up one of the sandwiches. Mr Reyes took the last armchair, settling in with a sigh. “Oof. Bad knees, these days. I'm not as young as I was, back in the eighties,” he chuckled, “but you kids don't have to worry about that yet, hmm? I should hope not. Well, take whatever you’d like to eat and you can ask away,” He leant back into the plush of the chair.

Will nodded and reached in for a grape. ”Mr Reyes, before we start, if at any point of time you feel uncomfortable answering questions, do let us know. We want to know as much as possible about the case but not at the cost of your mental health. Do you understand?”

“I do.”

“Good. Max, hand over the recorder, please.”

Max passed it to Mike. Will reached out for it, electricity racing up when his hand briefly brushed against Mike’s. He fought down a shiver, clicking it on and placing it on the middle of the table, among the delicately arranged sandwiches, fresh fruit and cheese and crystal glasses of sparkling water. “Just say your name and age, we’ll take care of the rest.”

“Javier Reyes and 53.”

“Mr Reyes, you called us to investigate some disturbances in, um, your house. Could you please elaborate?” Will asked, chewing on his grape. It was delicious.

“Oh, what do you want to know about?”

“When did they first start?”

“About 10 months ago, I was in the kitchen to get a drink, I think, at 2 am in the morning, because the mini fridge in my room had broken down a few days ago. The entire house had blown a fuse, and some of my appliances short circuited before the fuse. Old faulty circuitry in an old house. So, I was getting a beer from the refrigerator, when the chandelier started swinging, just enough to be visibly moving. I thought nothing of it, going back to bed. Things progressively went worse from there,” Mr Reyes said. Will could see his fingers clenching hard.

“Worse how?” Max asked, reaching for another plate of sandwiches. “These are delicious, by the way.”

“I’m glad, Ms. Mayfield,” Mr Reyes smiled, his eyes losing a bit of their edge. “About your question, well, it didn't get bad right away. At first, it was swinging chandeliers, knives out of the wooden block, on the island or just my phone dying even if I charged it all night,” Mike, Max and Will glanced at each other. What the fuck? Mike mouthed silently.

Just keep listening, Max mouthed back.

Mr Reyes didn't notice their little conversation, continuing, “then I started finding the knives in increasingly weird places, like the library, behind a book I was thinking of reading, in the bath where I could have cut my foot on it, once I found a meat cleaver on the bedside table. I couldn't sleep again for the rest of that night,” Mr Reyes cut off, shivering. Will felt like it, too. Meat cleavers near his head? Will would run, screaming and never looking back.

“Are you okay, Mr Reyes? We can take a break if you like,” Will asked.

“No, no, it’s fine, it’s relieving to get this off my chest. I was so happy when I saw the Facebook ad,”

The what? Facebook? What the fuck was Lucas doing?

“If you are sure,” Will nodded.

“I heard footsteps, first on the floors above or below me, then it got closer, I heard it outside in the hallways, in the room adjacent to the one I'm in, and it always walks towards me. They start silent, barely audible, getting louder and louder til I'm sure there’s someone on the other side. Just there, looking, standing, staring. It’s gotten even closer since the last few days,” Mr Reyes' face was frozen in an expression of confused terror. Will felt sorry for the man. Mr Reyes seemed so optimistic, so happy. No one would ever think he was going through a horror film all the time.

Mr Reyes went on. “The footsteps are always coming from where I can’t see. I was making and eating dinner the day before, when the dreaded sounds came up, thud, thud, thud, behind me,” Mike inched closer to Will, a movement so minute, Will would have missed it if he wasn’t attuned to every single part of Mike. “I whipped around, sure I’d see the intruder, a squatter or something, but there was no one. Nothing. I decided I’d call someone, maybe a priest to have a look around the next morning. I threw away the rotting pb&j full of maggots-”

“Wait, rotting pb&j?” Mike asked, perplexed.

“Oh, yeah. It's been happening for some time but food goes bad the moment I take my eyes off them. It rots away like it's been sitting there for days. Liquified and maggots crawling through them,” Max set her plate of sandwiches down, a bit green in the face. “I'm not sure how that is happening, but I don't eat here anymore, my friends take me out for meals.”

“Mr Reyes,” What the fuck, Will asked, “Do you have any other place to stay for a while? All of this sounds like it’s very intense for you-”

“Oh no, Mr Byers, I can’t leave this place, not after- not after my dear Emily…” Mr Reyes choked up. “I can’t bear to leave this place, no. If I stay over at a friend’s, she won't come to me. She talks with me in my dreams, asks me how I am, we do things we normally do, like cooking together, reading in the library, kissing me, but if I don't come home, Emily doesn't come to me, only the sound of footsteps, getting closer,” A tear dropped down Mr Reyes’ face. Will felt unsettled. The things he was describing did sound like a true haunting, but what if it wasn't?

“Mr Reyes, I think it'd be good for you to take a stroll in the garden, get a breath of fresh air,” Will spoke up. “I insist.”

Mr Reyes slumped, breathing heavily. “Alright,” He said, after staring at his shoes, for what seemed like an eternity, “I'll take a short walk outside,”

Will turned back to the others the moment he left. “How are you guys holding up? If this case is true, it'd would be the biggest one yet, financially and paranormally,”

Max looked at Will. “You don’t believe him, do you?”

“It’s not that, I suspect other things as well,”

“Will,” Mike said, so softly near his ear, Will nearly jumped out of his skin. “I don’t think he's lying,”

“What do you mean?”

“Max, you can feel it right? It’s so heavy around him, It is coming off in waves,” Mike stared at the door Mr Reyes exited from.

“It’s still here though,” Max said. “If he was being haunted, then the intensity of the energy would cease the moment he left, but it didn’t.”

“But it’s different, they are not similar,”

“You mean there are more than one entities in this house?”

“It doesn't have to be an entity, Byers, it can be a object with history as well,”

“But this doesn't feel like an object, it feels separate,” Mike sighed loudly. “I don't understand.”

“So I was way off when I thought it was schizophrenia.”

“You thought it was schizophrenia? Have we not done this shit like a thousand times?” 

“Well, sue me, I was thinking of his mental health, Max. It has happened before, when it was just El, Mike and me.”

“Okay, okay, Max, calm down, Will can’t feel the traces so it’s not his fault. Will, thank you for looking out for us, I, uh, we appreciate it.” Mike looked at Will, eyes soft. Will felt his cheeks heat up.

The door swung open and Mr Reyes walked in, his face noticeably calm.

“I feel better now,” He took his seat. “We can continue.”

“Mr Reyes, can you show us the food thing?”

***

things are escalating, what is going to happen?

thank you for reading!!

once again this was only betad by grammarly and hemingway editor so please lemme know if there are any errors or weird dialogues bc english isnt my first language and some of it looked funky to me.

some more lore that i can't figure how to put in the story w/o infodumping

el's full name is Janelle Hopper

will and el are still step siblings

lonnie is out of the picture

el is hopper's bio daughter

el was never experimented on and she grew up a happy normal life bc hop and joyce got together when will and el were about 5

mike, will and el met in kindergarten, just like in canon

the only reason el has this backstory is because i personally want el to not have a trauma filled life

next part should be up tomorrow, same time ie 1800 IST, spam me with messages if i don't update ✨✨

tell me what part you liked!!

[sadnesslaughs]

You shake the magic 8-ball, hoping for an answer to your question: However, through the glass you read one word: "RUN!"

(A response to a writing prompt)

Allan clutched the magic 8 ball, shaking it with all his might, causing a wave of dye to spray all over the dice. He gave it a few additional shakes, resting it near his ear as if it would whisper the answer to him. After those shakes, he lowered it, seeing its message. “Rum?” He muttered, not noticing the N was misshapen because of the dye. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Retrieving the flask from his jacket pocket, he took a swig, wiggling his face as the mixture burnt its way down his throat. “Good shit.” He told himself, even if the feeling in his throat said otherwise. “Why would the answer to the question, what should I do, be rum?” He thought, wondering if the paranormal spirit haunting this place had a drinking problem like he did.

Regardless, he honored the spirits request, pouring the rum onto the floor, watching as it spilled down the floorboards, dripping into the lower levels of the manor. “There you go, buddy. I tipped some out for you. You better drink it, though, or I’m coming back to lick it up.” He warned, entirely serious about his threat.

With the rum poured, he sat on the bed, staring at the assortment of creepy dolls, skin bound books and demonic scribbles on the wall. “Well, if the magic 8 ball doesn’t know the answer, maybe I should try one of these other creepy things?” He ran his fingers over the book, feeling as though he was holding someone’s hand. That only made him hold it tighter, missing such a feeling after his wife left. The tighter he squeezed the book, the more he heard it squeal until the book popped open.

Inside, a red eye was stuck between the pages, frantically looking back and forth until it landed on Allan. It stopped looking once it found him. “You will die here, mortal. This home is mine, mine, mine.” It laughed, only to groan as he squeezed it again.

“No, this home belongs to Mr. and Mrs. Laverasa, which is why you’re getting evicted. I’m Allan from Happy homes Realtors.”

“A real estate agent? How do you intend to purify this home?”

“I was hoping you would tell me. Or maybe I should try the 8 ball again.”

“How stupid. Ah, I see. One look at you and I know what you are. You’re a money hungry idiot that jumped at the potential reward for evicting us. The Laverasa’s have a lot of money, money they stole when they poisoned my family! Now they wish to take my home. NO, I WILL-“

Allan slammed the book shut, the eye getting squished in the pages, letting out a whimper as the real estate agent tossed the book aside. “What a weird book. This must be that AI thing that my son keeps blabbing on about. Pretty crazy how it talks to you. So, what do I need to get rid of a spirit?”

Opening up Wiki-how on his phone, he browsed through the top articles. “How to rule the world in ten easy steps, how to fake your death and adopt the persona of the monopoly man, and how to stop crying when you look at yourself in the mirror.” He saved that last article for later, before searching for a beginner’s guide to purification. “Ah, the first step is you get salt. Easy peasy, rum and breezy.” He sang, opening the door.

The door peeled open and outside stood a tall, looming figure, built with bones of every shape. It had three skeletal heads, two on both its shoulders and one in the normal position. “Why do you hunt us?” The one on the left asked, in a high pitch.

“Because he’s a dirty, money hungry idiot.” The middle answered, belonging to the voice from the book.

“He’s a threat. Sorry, we must remove you.” The right said.

The assortment of bones had to crouch to stay inside, having been put together by fusing the bones of at least three people. Even with six legs, the creature was slow, its enormous size making it hard to shift through the home, especially through doorways. Allan watched it try to squirm under the doorway, having to crouch to get under.

“Hm, I should ask the 8 ball about this.” The 8 ball still said ‘rum’, but Allan knew this wasn’t the time for a drink. He went to shake again, only to drop the 8 ball, bowling it under the foot of the skeletal beast, causing it to stagger backwards. Its claws scratched at the wall, trying to find something to grip, before falling over the staircase railing, landing on the bottom floor.

“Sorry!” Allan shouted, travelling downstairs to the kitchen while the monster struggled to regather itself. In the kitchen, he set a gigantic pile of salt down, making the shape of a circle before consulting the article again. “Blood or holy water. Well, I’m not allowed in churches anymore, so I guess blood? Although, bloods gross.” Allan checked the fridge, searching for an alternative. He found old milk that was less milk and more a habitat for unknown species to be discovered in. Pouring it out, the sludgy mixture fell onto the salt, completing the next part of the ritual.

As he read the next step, the skeletal beast sprinted into the kitchen, running on all fours, finding a faster method to move. The manor shook as it closed the distance, glasses rattling in their cabinets as the threat approached.

“Shit!” Allan exclaimed, seeing the time on his phone. “It’s time for my smoke break.” He pulled out a cigarette, lighting it up. He only got a puff out before the monster ran into the room, charging him. As it dragged its front foot over the salt, it screeched, bouncing back into the wall. The shake of the wall dislodging the cigarette, hitting the floorboard below, finding some of that spilt rum that had drifted through the upstairs bedroom.

The fire ignited the rum, flowing towards the circle, causing a spark of light near the ritual circle he made. “Why don’t you all settle down? You can’t own this house if you aren’t alive, so why don’t you either come back to life or leave?” The circle glowed, causing the creature to shrink down, overpowered by the strange chant.

“That’s it. Return to life or leave. Return to life.” He chanted, the expired milk crawling to the skeletal creature, pulling the bones apart, reforming it into three human shapes. Once the bones reformed, the milk coated them like a skin, slowly molding into a human appearance. Now, three people stood before the agent, all of them hugging and crying about their resurrection.

“Daddy, you’re alive.” The small girl shrieked, hugging the older man, who didn’t know what to think. Moments ago, he had been possessing a book. Now he was alive again? Not only was he alive, he had his wife and daughter with him. He hugged them both, as the three wept tears that smelled faintly of rotten eggs and milk.

“Did I make a mistake?” Allan went to check his phone, but it was out of battery. With no article to consult, he sighed, realizing he wouldn’t be getting paid for this.

“Our savior. Thank you so much. I can’t believe you rescued us. We thought you were a fool.” The mother smiled, pulling Allan into the family hug, considering him one of their own after all the effort he went through to help them.

“Please, if you need anything, let us know.” The father stated, and Allan already knew exactly what he wanted. “I’m going to hire the best lawyer around. I don’t care how much it costs me. We will sue the Laverasa’s for everything they have.”

Allan, sensing an opportunity, decided not to ask for his reward yet. “How much are they worth?....”

“Well, about thirty million, although they would have access to my family’s fortune, which was over half a billion.”

“Half a billion? How much would you pay this lawyer of yours?”

“Ah, if he’s worth his salt, I would give him whatever he asks.”

Allen scooped up a handful of milky salt, holding his open palm to the family. “I’m about 250grams of salt, so I’m worth it. I bet you didn’t know this, but I’m also a genius lawyer. This is only my weekend job.”

“But it’s a Monday?” The daughter questioned.

“I was so good that I finished my case in the morning. I walked in and called everyone a contempt of court and walked out. The other lawyers never saw it coming. They had to award the case to me.”

While the three weren’t entirely convinced, they had witnessed this man perform what could only be described as a miracle. Since he had revived them, they were willing to take the risk, thus beginning Allen’s career change from real estate agent to lawyer.

[sunkissedfawn]

The Death of My Father

By Steve Martin

In his death, my father, Glenn Vernon Martin, did something he could not do in life. He brought our family together.

After he died at age 83, many of his friends told me how much they loved him—how generous he was, how outgoing, how funny, how caring. I was surprised at these descriptions. During my teenage years, there was little said to me that was not criticism. I remember him as angry. But now, ten years after his death, I recall events that seem to contradict my memory of him. When I was 16, he handed down to me the family’s 1957 Chevy. Neither one of us knew at the time that it was the coolest car anyone my age could have. When I was in the third grade he proudly accompanied me to the school tumbling contest where I won first prize. One day, while I was in single digits, he suggested we play catch in the front yard. This offer to spend time together was so anomalous that I didn’t quite understand what I was supposed to do.

When I graduated from high school, my father offered to buy me a tuxedo. I refused because my father always shunned gifts. I felt with my refusal, that somehow in a convoluted, perverse logic, I was being a good son. I wish now that I could have let him buy me a tuxedo, let him be a dad.

My father sold real estate but he wanted to be in show business. I was probably five years old when I saw him in a bit part at the Call Board theater on Melrose Place in Hollywood. He came on in the second act and served a drink. The theater existed until a few years ago and is now finally defunct and, I believe, a lamp shop.

My father’s attitude toward my show business accomplishments was critical. After my first appearance on Saturday Night Live in 1976, he wrote a bad review of me in the newsletter of the Newport Board of Realtors where he was president. Later, he related this news to me slightly shamefaced, and said that after it appeared, his best friend came into his office holding the paper, placed it on his desk, and shook his head sternly, indicating a wordless “no.”

In the early ’80s, a close friend of mine, whose own father was killed walking across a street and whose mother committed suicide on Mother’s Day, said that if I had anything to work out with my parents, I should do it now, because one day that opportunity would be over. When I heard this remark, I had no idea that I would ever want to work anything out with them, that, in fact, there was anything to work out at all. But it stewed in my brain for years, and soon I decided to try and get to know my parents. I took them to lunch every Sunday I could, and would goad them into talking.

It was our routine that after I drove them home from our lunches, my mother and father, now in their 80s, would walk me to the car. I would kiss my mother on the cheek and my father and I would wave or awkwardly say goodbye. But this time we hugged each other and he whispered, “I love you,” with a voice barely audible. This would be the first time these words were ever spoken between us. I returned the phrase with the same awkward, broken delivery.

As my father ailed, he grew more irritable. He made unreasonable demands, such as waking his 24-hour help and insisting that they take him for drives at three a.m., as it was the only way he could relax. He also became heartrendingly emotional. He could be in the middle of a story and begin to laugh, which would provoke sudden tears, making him unable to continue.

In his early 80s, my father’s health declined further and he became bedridden. There must be an instinct about when the end is near, as we all found ourselves gathered at my parents’ home in Orange County, California. I walked into the house they had lived in for 35 years and my weeping sister said, “He’s saying goodbye to everyone.”

A hospice nurse said to me, “This is when it all happens.” I didn’t know what she meant, but soon I did.

I walked into the bedroom where he lay, his mind alert but his body failing. He said, almost buoyantly, “I’m ready now.” I understood that his intensifying rage of the last few years had been against death and now his resistance was abating. I stood at the end of the bed and we looked into each other’s eyes for a long, unbroken time. At last he said, “You did everything I wanted to do.”

I said the truth: “I did it for you.”

Looking back, I’m sure that we both had different interpretations of what I meant.

I sat on the edge of the bed and another silence fell over us. Then he said, “I wish I could cry, I wish I could cry.”

At first, I took this as a comment on his condition but am forever thankful that I pushed on. “What do you want to cry about?” I finally said.

“For all the love I received and couldn’t return.”

He had kept this secret, his desire to love his family, from me and from my mother his whole life. It was as though an early misstep had kept us forever out of stride. Now, two days from his death, our pace was aligning and we were able to speak.

My father’s death has a thousand endings. I continue to absorb its messages and meanings. He stripped death of its spooky morbidity and made it tangible and passionate. He prepared me in some way for my own death. He showed me the responsibility of the living to the dying. But the most enduring thought was expressed by my sister, Melinda. She told me she had learned something from all this. I asked her what it was. She said, “Nobody should have to die alone.”

[joanofsnarrrk]

Fic: I’ve Got Phil! - Chapter One

SUMMARY: Or five times Claire realized her husband was a thirst trap — well, more accurately, her particular brand of duck swaddling, magic loving, realtor swaggering "me likey.”

I'm super late to the Modern Family train, but I'm here now, nine seasons deep. Imagine my shock at the complete lack of Claire/Phil fic, as their dynamic is one of my favorite things in the series. So rather than work on any of my other in-progress fics, I brainstormed this in a Ty Burrell crush-infused haze. The idea  is that this will be a multi-chapter effort, and each chapter takes place during a certain number of years into their marriage. 

Join me in my three-years-too-late sitcom ship obsession!

Can also be found on AO3.

——————

i. 16 years

The bake sale is a huge hit, but no one—and Claire means no one—is going anywhere near her brownies. Brenda Sherman's no-bake cheesecake squares, though, people can't seem to get enough of those. At one point, the line was wrapped around as far as the restrooms, back near the face painting station, where she's currently stuck.

And, sure, Claire's brownies were a secret recipe (the secret? She picked them up from Ralph's on her way over), but so what? She's just a woman who gave up a lucrative marketing career to basically be a full-time chauffer to three mostly ungrateful kids she loves very much. She barely has time to put on clean clothes, let alone make homemade baked goods for some dumb middle school carnival put on by the PTA.

The only reason she's here in the first place (and not at home taking care of a grotesquely sick Luke) is because Cynthia Williams—Anthony's mom—sent out an email blast saying anyone who volunteered for the carnival wouldn't need to sell wrapping paper for the winter fundraiser in a few months. So, one less thing Claire has to commit to? Like music to her ears.

What's not music to her ears is the way Brenda Sherman sidles up beside her—in her pearls and immaculately pressed slacks—to say, "Thanks so much for coming out to help tonight, Claire!"

Claire takes in Brenda's cardigan and complete lack of undereye circles (seriously: how?) with total suspicion. Much like her daughter, Annabella (at least from what Alex has told them), Brenda is usually a complete kiss-ass. She'd definitely fall under that 'lawful good' category from that game thing Phil and Mitch sometimes play—at least on the surface, anyway. Claire's still not entirely convinced she's not some kind of undercover lizard person.

Her instincts are right on when, before she can get a word in, Brenda adds innocently, "Every little bit counts, you know. And, gosh, Claire—you're so consistent in being a minimalist in so many areas of your life, especially your wardrobe. It's what I admire most about you. The fact that you never let your vanity get in the way of how you present yourself."

Claire thinks about the way her own hair is unceremoniously piled up on her head with a butterfly clip, the way her shirt probably—wait, yup, definitely—has a small vomit stain on it from Luke's antics earlier in the day. She thinks she might snap a crown, the way she grinds down on her teeth and forces a smile. "And that's what I love about you, Brenda. You're always so lavish with your compliments."

It's like one of the old westerns her dad used to make her watch, the way they stand off, but it's in a PTA mom world, so instead of a six-shooter, Claire just draws her most winning smile and forces her attention back on the kid whose face she's painting. Only when the sound of Brenda's footsteps fades under the din of the rest of the carnival does Claire allow herself to grumble.

Gruffly, she holds up a mirror to the kid. "There. You're done."

The kid pouts. "What is it?"

"It's a... pinecone. Or something."

"It looks like poop."

"Just go." She all but pushes the kid out of the stool.

It's not until her own stomach growls that she realizes she hasn't eaten anything since breakfast (one measly slice of toast). Mind made up, she places an "ON BREAK" sign on the recently vacated stool—much to the chagrin of the considerable line of parents and students waiting their turn—and makes her way over to the bake sale table.

When the coast is clear, she snatches one of Brenda's no-bake cheesecake squares and—holy mother of God is it good. She allows herself a muffled moan of pure delight before wallowing in the unfairness of it all.

"Did you see Kevin Peralta's father?"

Immediately, her ears perk up. A group of moms is huddled together (including Brenda) nearby. It's a school-wide known fact that Kevin Peralta's dad is otherworldly fine. Claire casually hangs around trying to listen in. The group is made up of notorious gossip hounds, but sometimes the intel is good.

One of the moms—Tara Perez's mom, Claire thinks—pipes up: "The man's a contractor. There's no way he should look that good."

"I'm not saying it was me," Cynthia Williams insists, "but as soon as someone mentioned a dunk tank fundraiser at the last board meeting, he was voluntold for the position."

Another mom: "Those arms, though... mmm, mmm."

Brenda sighs. "I would gladly let that man stake claim to my construction zone any time."

Claire follows their line of sight over to Kevin Peralta's dad, who is glistening like some kind of Adonis from his throne in the dunk tank. He does, in fact, have great arms, one of which he's lifting to run his fingers through his recently drenched hair. As Claire watches a bead of water travel from his glistening smile, along the column of his throat, down, down his flat stomach into the waistband of his swim shorts, which are slung low on his hips, she allows herself to briefly fantasize...

Claire, I called the plumber. I recognize my limitations, and I think it would be best to let a professional fix the dishwasher. Claire, it's not you. The remote is a faulty piece of junk. Claire, I did something for the kids without you having to ask. Claire, I finally fixed that step. Let me use my big, strong arms to lift you onto the kitchen counter, and—

"Phil Dunphy on the other hand..."

At the mention of her husband, Claire's ripped from her fantasies (equal parts guilty and grudgingly). She listens in more intently.

"Oh, my God!" This from Cynthia Williams. "He's such a goober."

"I don't know," Maybe Tara Cruz's Mom says, "I think he's cuter in real life than on those cheesy bench ads. What he's doing with Claire, though, I'll never know. Even for someone as embarrassing as him, it's a step down."

Okay. Claire's fists clench at her sides, crushing her no-bake cheesecake square paper plate. Maybe Tara Cruz's Mom is dead.

She takes a moment to briefly glance over at Phil, who insisted on volunteering even though no one asked him to. He has on a magician's top hat and a cape, white gloves and all, and is currently trying to dazzle a group of sixth graders with some card tricks. Only she can tell his enthusiasm isn't all the way up at one hundred percent because he was really counting on Luke to be his sidekick for the night.

The fact that he loves Luke that much... Something about the sight makes her heart feel incredibly full, until—

"Could you imagine? I bet he does magic tricks in bed." Brenda laughs at her contribution, while the other women snicker. "God," she adds, "what a loser."

That's the moment Claire goes absolutely postal. She marches over to the group.

"Hi. Hey." She squeezes inside the circle and takes in everyone's suddenly slack jaws with total delight. "Yeah, it's me, Claire. The step down? Just wanted to come over here and say you all are mean ladies. I can't imagine why it's hard to find volunteers, Cynthia, when they can look forward to being insulted behind their backs. Have a wonderful rest of your evening."

She waggles her fingers at all of them before walking away, head held high. Her heart is pounding, but what a rush! In her adrenaline/anger-fueled rage, something occurs to her. She stalks back to the group, who is still stunned into silence, and focuses all of her attention on Brenda.

"Oh, and, Brenda?" She waits until she has the woman's full attention. "Phil does do close up magic in bed, and when he says, 'for my next trick, I'm going to make your clothes disappear,' it's... it's hot as hell!"

And then with as much dignity as she can muster, Claire makes a beeline straight for Phil.

His face lights up when he sees her. He bows with a flourish to his audience, then lightly jogs to meet her about a quarter of the way. "Hey, Hon—!"

Before he can get the full word out, Claire grabs him by the cape on both sides and pulls him in for a, frankly, completely inappropriate kiss for a PTA-run middle school carnival. When she pulls back, Phil fixes his hat and looks equal parts stunned and totally into it.

"Claire! What—?"

"Let's get out of here."

Phil looks torn. "I-I can't. I'm just about to start the Serpant's Kiss. It involves a straightjacket, but I can't go into more detail because I'm already on thin ice with the guild as it is, and—"

"Phil, I have an act I've been working on, and I'd really like to try it out."

Somehow, Phil's eyes darken even more. "You do?"

Claire sidles up to him and whispers in his ear, "I do. It's a trick where I make your pants disappear."

"Technically," he corrects, voice barely above a whisper, "that's a vanishing illusion—"

"Oh, my God, Phil," Claire breaks the spell a moment out of frustration, but she shakes it off and tries again. "I don't think you're quite getting this. I want. To make. Your pants. Vanish."

She can feel him shudder, and when she pulls away, she watches as his throat works through a swallow.

"Houdini's haunches," he says in complete reverence, his gaze never wavering from hers. "What did I do to deserve such perfection? Martin!" he shouts, eyes still riveted on hers.

A pudgy seventh grader makes his way over to them. Phil shucks off his top hat, cape, and gloves and practically shoves them at the kid.

"Martin," Phil instructs, still not taking his eyes off Claire. "At last, the apprentice becomes the master. You must take over and finish the show." Phil grabs Claire's hand and starts pulling her toward the exit. Over his shoulder, he cries, "Remember your training!"

"What the hell are you talking about, man?" Martin calls after them.

But Claire doesn't care. Phil has already started working on his belt by the time they reach the double doors that lead out to the parking lot. Before they leave fully, Claire turns around and manages to find Brenda over at the face painting station. She flashes Brenda a triumphant grin before she laces her fingers with Phil's.

In the end, they both end up making each other's pants and dignity disappear when a school security guard taps on their fogged-up car windows and catches them mid-act. After an excruciatingly humiliating conversation about appropriate school grounds behavior, they Rock, Paper, Scissors for it. Phil is the one who has to tell Alex why she has to take the bus to school for the next week.

[libraford]

On moving, I'm also in the Columbus area, and if you want a realtor to work with, I could recommend the one I've worked with three times now. She's almost 70, very energetic, reads liberal (my spouse and I are straight presenting so I can make no promises but I'd be shocked if she was phobic), and always always listened to us and took our wants onto priority. But realistic and honest. Knows everybody. Helped us buy our first house about 10 years ago in your price range. Jane Falk. (if you already have one or don't want a rec from a non mutual, I take no offense. I just hate working with sales people and dread anything like being pushed and love working with her.)

I actually am working with a realtor that was recced to me from someone in the queer performer community, so shes familiar with the typical concerns like... how many hate crimes have happened in the area, is this house near the godawful bottleneck on 270 that might prevent me from getting to and from gigs, etc. But good lookin out!