#i get that and i'm glad you guys are starting to peel away from the bullshit of american patriotism

[cassiterite-tenring]

hi, filipino here. just want to say that our independence day is june 12, not july 4. july 4 is when the united states government decided that they would recognize our freedom, specifically because it is your independence day and they wanted to cement their cultural hegemony over our country. and because of their influence on our country this was recognized for a time as our independence day. we still commemorate it, but i hope you can understand why we don't want our independence day to be associated so closely with our former colonizer. it wasn't even a work holiday for us.

june 12 is the day that we filipinos declared our own independence for ourselves, and that is what we celebrate as independence day

happy fourth of july to the philippines ONLY

[ovaryacted]

EAT, DRINK, AND BE MERRY

─ Joel Miller x fem! reader || WC: 10.9k (oops)

SYNOPSIS: Against your best judgment, you take a flight back to your hometown in Texas to celebrate the holidays with your hectic family. Amidst the chaos started by the people you shared blood with, Joel Miller is there to mend the pieces and more.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: MDNI/18+. NSFW. SMUT. No-Outbreak AU. Age gap implied. [Joel is hitting 50, reader is late 20s]. Primarily Best Friend's Dad! Joel Miller. Explicit Language. Alcohol consumption. Oral sex (m & f receiving). Unprotected Sex (p/v). Kissing. Admissions of feelings. Mutual pining. Toxic family household. Mentions of past cheating. Slight homophobia & fatphobia. Patriarchal & misogynistic views on women. Mentions of childbirth and marriage. Mentions of religious upbringing. Reader is originally from Arlington, Texas & currently lives in NYC. Reader is described to have hair, wear makeup, and wear feminine clothing. Reader is very close friends with Sarah Miller. Joel is a long time family friend. Lots of drama. We all hate aunt Evelyn.

➣ Disclaimer: This story includes ignorant language & bigotry that may be offensive to people (the word queer in this fic is used in an offensive manner). The dialogue in this fic is meant to highlight the toxic household the reader came from. I do not support such usage of language.

A/N: Happy belated holidays & New Years. This fic took me much longer to finish and that really pissed me off but I'm just glad it's done. Thank you to my prima @gothcsz for the proofread, and for holding my hand along with @joeloverture as I wrote this fic cause only you guys know how much of a stressor this was for me. I apologize for any typos or repeating words I did not catch and any warnings I forgot to add. Anyways, reblogs, comments, and likes are always greatly appreciated!

NAVIGATION | MASTERLIST | AO3

When the message from your mom came through to invite you back home for the holidays, you felt hesitant to confirm your presence back in the very place you planned to escape from years ago. Yet, the burden of familial obligation overwhelmed you, planning out the last couple of days in December to visit your folks perhaps for what felt like the last time. The trip back to Texas was dreary and long winded, a packed four almost five hour flight from New York City to Dallas with a handsy, fidgeting couple in your row almost brought you to the brink of insanity if it wasn’t for your noise cancelling headphones being your saving grace. Thankfully, you slept for the majority of the flight, waking up once to get your free ginger ale and biscoff cookies as tradition demanded, and by the second time your plane was landing in Texas.

The temperature difference took you off guard, peeling off your thermal jacket and holding it in your arm as you grabbed your carry-on and called for an uber to your hotel. The safest option for you was to pay for a room in the city to avoid your mom bribing you to extend your stay longer than you wanted.

After a day of getting situated in your hotel room and sleeping off the lingering jetlag, you mentally prepared to meet your family after much time away in the East Coast. You meticulously planned out your outfit to be the perfect balance of sensible and formal, a sweater dress cinched with a golden belt by the waist, paired with black pantyhouse and heels to match. Your makeup was equally as tasteful, natural to not distort your face, but layered enough to hide your facial imperfections.

Bringing a bottle of wine as a “welcome back home gift”, you called another Uber destined to your hometown of Arlington, Texas, a different region entirely from the tall skyscrapers you’ve grown fond of in the Big Apple. Walking up the steps of the wooden front porch you’ve known for most of your childhood, nervous fingers reach to press the doorbell, fussing with the edge of your dress and tugging it down as much as it would allow. The moment the door opened, the facade that’s kept you safe all of these years turned on like an involuntary switch, now met with your mother.

“Honey! You’ve made it.” She instantly brought you in for a hug, giving the side of your cheek a kiss. “I hope the trip wasn’t too bad, it seems like everyone wanted to travel this year.”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle. Plus, I brought wine.” You said to her, the smile on her face widening as she took the bottle happily, stepping to the side to let you in.

Holding your trenchcoat in one arm, you stepped into your childhood home and looked over the wall of family photos in the entryway, still in the same frames and spots as you last remembered. You stalled to look over one of the frames, a family photo that was taken back when you were a pre-teen, you could tell from the animal print leggings and shin-high laced converse you wore.

Oh, how the time flew by.

There was a bunch of commotion towards the living room, standing by the archway to spot other members of your rather hectic family. Some of your aunts and older cousins gathered around the television already a few glasses of wine into the night, currently watching something you didn’t care to pay attention to, critiquing the appearances of the women on the screen as a means to feed their broken egos. Thankfully, the family members with younger children weren’t here, the slightest bit of ease settling your nervous system at the thought of not needing to monitor children that weren’t yours. You got the rundown that luckily, your mom had downsized her usual Christmas dinners, most of your extended family opting to save their money and host their own celebrations closer to home. Less people to deal with, even better for you.

Your younger sister came down the stairs once she heard of your arrival, practically jumping on her toes and waiting patiently to have you spot her. You didn’t deny her the hug she had been waiting for since hearing you were coming back home, wrapping her arms tightly around you in an affectionate squeeze.

“Been a while pipsqueak. You've gotten taller since the last time I visited.” You teased her, taking in her slightly mature appearance as if it were the first time you were meeting her despite the facetime calls shared between you. Really, she was the only member of your immediate family you kept in touch with nowadays, the only person you’d want to speak to anyway.

“Yeah yeah, I can finally reach your shoulders.” She replied with a laugh. “Thought you’d bail out this time around.”

“Didn’t think it would be too overwhelming if I visited. How’s college going? Are they treating you alright in California?”

“It’s pretty good. Biology is pretty easy, but I have the absolute worst organic chemistry professor, thankfully me and the other students have a study group so I think I’ll manage. I’m still not used to California, being close to the San Andreas fault keeps me up at night.” Your sister’s irrational fear made you giggle, your head turning over your shoulder once you heard a familiar male voice through the walls of the kitchen, your father making an appearance as he reached into the fridge for what you could imagine was a beer.

“How’s dad doing?” You asked timidly.

“Well, he’s still a bit upset about you leaving after all of these years. I don’t think he’ll ever live that down, but for the most part I think he’s alright.” Your sister’s shoulders rose and dropped in a shrug, not wishing to press on with this conversation topic.

In the midst of asking about what your mother could be cooking, the doorbell rang and your name was called from the dining room to answer it. Parting away from your sibling, you reached for the front door knob fully expecting another distant relative on the other side of the threshold holding a pan of some dish as a welcome gift.

Instead, your eyes widened to see Joel Miller standing on your porch, holding a bottle of rum you knew your father liked. He was older than you remembered with more gray on his head and in the facial hair that accentuated his upper lip and jaw. The seasonal flannel he wore looked tighter across his broad chest, the thin jacket he layered on top only accentuated his wide shoulders and thick biceps. There were a couple more wrinkles on his forehead, some additional creases you counted on the side of his eyes, still as warm and brown as you last saw them.

He grows more handsome with age you’ve come to notice.

“Hey darlin’.” The baritone of his voice washed over you suddenly, smooth in your ear like honey. It took you a second to realize you’ve been blatantly staring at him before finding words. 

“Hiya Joel. Sorry, I didn’t realize you were coming by.” Moving to the side to let him through, you tried your hardest not to stare at the length of his back as he sauntered past you.

“Your mom invited me, heard you were visitin’ so I wanted to see you. Been a while.” The idea of Joel possibly missing you brought a flutter to your chest, but you swallowed it down with a calm nod of your head.

“Yeah, I haven't been back in a long time. How’s Sarah doing? She told me she couldn’t make it for this week.” Ah yes, the mention of his daughter and your childhood friend brought a sly smile to his face.

“She’s over in Chicago celebratin’ the holidays with her boyfriend’s family. Told me she’ll be back for New Years so at least she’ll get to see her old man for a few days. She misses you, you know?”

“She definitely told me that after apologizing for not being able to see me now. I bribed her to make it up to me with a really nice gift.” You both laughed amongst yourselves, the sense of familiarity you always got with Joel in particular made it easier to talk to him, even if it’s been some time since you’ve been back home. “You look good Joel.”

It slipped out before you could take it back, misinterpreting how that could’ve come off. Yet Joel, ever the considerate man, responded with equal amounts of charisma.

“You look good too darlin’.” There was a pause, a single breath that could’ve disrupted the vibe had you cared to look into it more than you’d like. Instead, your mother came to interrupt the minor moment you were having with your best friend’s father.

“Joel! So happy you could come by.” She embraced him much like she had done when you initially came in, with Joel wrapping one thick arm around her waist and holding the rum bottle in his other hand. “You brought a gift for Joseph?”

“Couldn’t come empty handed, wouldn’t be very gentleman like.” The three of you chuckled, but you caught the way he glanced at you as he spoke before looking at your mom again, your cheeks warming the slightest bit when he did so.

“He’d love it. Sweetie, why don’t you go in the kitchen and check on the rolls in the oven. Take this with you.” She hands you the rum bottle Joel had brought, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes at the instant dismissal. Joel gave you another look over as you turned on your heels to head to the kitchen, checking over your mom’s cooking.

Your sister had come by to give you company as your mom paraded Joel around to your aunts and other relatives. Evelyn, your recently divorced aunt for the second time might you add, was eyeing Joel like he was a piece of meat, reapplying her lipstick and curling her hair behind her ear for a chance to have his attention on her. You and your sister snickered under your breath at her obvious antics, making hushed comments of your own as you poured yourself a cup of wine to sip on.

Your family have been preoccupied drinking away and making mundane conversation while you stayed behind to inspect the rest of your mother’s extensive menu, letting the bread rolls cool off and switching out their place with a fresh apple pie. Bending over to check on the pastry through the glass oven door, you watched the dough edges caramelize into a brown, oblivious to an additional presence in the kitchen with you.

“It won’t cook any faster if you glare at it like that.” Joel quipped, his voice startling you as your back straightened.

“No harm in checking, you know how my mom is with her cooking.” You stated, gesturing over to Joel’s almost empty glass. “You want a refill?”

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” Joel handed you his glass, ignoring the feel of his fingers grazing yours as he passed it over. He watched you from the side of your face as you mixed him a rum and coke, just the way he liked, the way you learned he liked. “Learned some new skills in the big city?”

“Bartended for a few years to pay off the living expenses. Was a pain in the ass, but at least I can make a mean cocktail.” Your little jest made Joel chuckle under his breath, passing him his new drink. He took a tentative sip, offering a satisfied hum.

“It’s good. Remind me to give you a tip later on.” You playfully rolled your eyes and shook your head, refilling your glass of wine. “Your aunt, Evelyn if I remember, I think she’s tryin’ to make a pass at me.”

“Well, she is divorced, so it’s not farfetched to think she might want to shoot her shot while she can. She doesn’t tickle your fancy?”

“She ain’t really my type.” For some reason, you felt relieved to hear that from him, despite feeling a bit guilty for doing so. “Been sticking to myself, you know?”

“Right. I forgot you were sticking to the whole ‘single dad bachelor’ type of vibe.” He was smirking now, the appearance of a dimple on his cheek tugged at your chest. 

“So you’re saying I’m a bachelor?”

“If we’re being technical, yes you would fit the bracket, bonus points for being a girl dad too.”

“Well now you’re just butterin’ me up.” You knew you were, but you shouldn’t entertain it in that way, even if you wanted to. Acting nonchalant about it, you shrugged, sipping away at your wine once more.

“Listen, I’m just reiterating what’s been told in Cosmopolitan. Don’t shoot the messenger.” You rose your hands up in feign innocence, much to Joel’s amusement.

“I definitely missed you around these parts. Always were a funny one, smart too.”

“Now I think you’re the one that’s buttering me up.” You were having trouble discerning if or you were outright flirting with Joel or if he was simply being kind after some time away. For now, you’ll blame it on the wine coursing through your system.

“Maybe. Just bein’ honest with you.” He swallowed more of the mixed drink you made him, holding the glass in his large hand, struggling not to examine the way his thick fingers gripped around the cup. “Listen, do you mind sittin’ by me at the table? I’m feelin’ like an outsider and frankly, I don’t mean to upset your aunt if she realizes her advances aren’t bein’ reciprocated.”

“Sure thing, Joel.” You couldn’t blame him for the proposition, hell you wanted to ask if he could sit with you. Looks like you were both interested in doing the other a favor on just getting through the night in one piece.

“You’re the best.”

It was the last thing he said before leaving you in the kitchen, his words of praise bouncing around in your head as you continued to watch over the pie, knowing the dinner you dreaded was quickly approaching.

After a while, your mom had called everyone over to the dinner table, the red and gold table cloth matching perfectly with the white porcelain and silverware gracing the mahogany wooden table. Everyone was quick to find a seat, your parents sitting on the right end and your extended family fanning out on the opposite side. Joel had already found his seat right in the middle of the table, and you took your place beside him on the right with a thankful smile, your sister situated across from you.

“Come, let us say grace.” Your mother declared out loud, your mind blanking at forgetting how religion was such an influential part of your upbringing despite your personal qualms with it.

Everyone around you closed their eyes and bowed their heads, reaching for the person besides them to hold their hand. Joel opened his palm and gestured to his hand with kind eyes, clasping your fingers in his once he felt you. As your mom recited the prayer you’ve tried to forget since you had moved away, you focused more on the way Joel’s touch felt against your skin. He gave you a couple of untimely squeezes, his thumb caressing over your knuckles as you tuned out the sound of your mother’s voice, mind wandering to places where it probably shouldn’t go while being surrounded by your family.

“Amen.” You heard from your right side, the dinner guests echoing afterwards, quickly snapping you out of your day dream.

“Amen.” You muttered last, reminiscing the final instant Joel had your hand in his before he dropped it, leaving it on your lap.

The bowl of fresh butter rolls circled around the table, snatching one as you planned out the rest of your plate. You took your pick of what was laid before you, some mashed potatoes, macaroni salad, glazed ham, and a piece of turkey breast. You brushed off a slick comment you heard down the table aimed directly at you and your portion control. The faster you eat and finish your meal, the less you would have to entertain familial bullshit.

The table burst into conversation, your guests exchanging recent and old memories as they munched away at the contents of their plates. Trying your hardest not to humor any overly personal inquiries from your parents, you made small talk with Joel and your sister, talking about school and childhood stories. Of course, that was short lived by the time your mom chimed in.

“So honey, how’s the city?” You know the chances of this conversation heading in the wrong direction were high, but you would like to give your mother the benefit of the doubt. Maybe she actually cares. Maybe she’s changed.

“It’s good. Finished my masters, moved into another apartment further downtown. Things are going well.” You kept your answer general, thinking that maybe she wouldn’t pry too much.

“That’s nice, I’m glad you finished your program. But that sounds a bit lonely, no? What happened with that boy you were talking to before? Oh what was his name…Daniel? Derrick?”

Oh of course. Your fucking ex of 2 years.

“You mean Devin?”

“Yes Devin! I liked that boy for you.” You fought the urge to roll your eyes into the back of your skull.

“I liked him too before I found out he cheated on me with his coworker. You knew that mom, yet you always remind me of him as if he’s some saint.” The table had gotten a bit quiet then, and you swear you could feel Joel’s eyes digging holes into the side of your head. You didn’t care much to mention your ex, you’ve grown past the bitterness you used to carry and already made your peace with it. Apparently your mom was still hung up on the one individual from your past you would do anything to forget.

“Yes, well, you can always forgive him for that, I’m sure he’s learned from his mistake. I just don’t want you to be all alone in the city. You are getting to that age where you should be thinking about having a family of your own, to have people who can take care of you.”

Of course she was going to fucking say that.

Your achievements didn’t mean shit to your parents. It didn’t matter if you went to college and graduated top of your class or excelled in your Master’s program, getting an offer to work at one of the biggest corporations in the country at a supervisory position. They were always more focused on when you planned on popping out children of your own for their comfort, to reassure them that their lineage will be passed on. That has always been bullshit to you.

“I’m focused on work and my career, so I’m not really interested in planning for a family of my own.” It was a straightforward response, you think it would be enough for your mom to read the room but it never was.

“How long are you planning on only prioritizing your career hun? You’ll be alone your entire life at this rate. Surely you want to have kids soon, you can’t leave me high to dry. I want some grandbabies of my own!”

“I like my job, I like where I’m at, and a kid doesn’t need to be added in the mix. I’ll be alright.” Your mother forced a hurt expression, real enough for a stranger to think you caused her physical pain. She wore the mask of victimhood well, but you’ve learned to see through her facade since you were a child.

“That city life has made you selfish. See, I told you this was going to happen before you left us. You’ve been telling me you wanted kids since you were little and now you’ve changed your mind.” You bitterly sniggered under your breath, shaking your head in disbelief. Your sister shot you a look of concern, already familiar with the combative direction of this conversation.

“I’m selfish for not wanting kids? For changing my stance on it from a thought I had when I was six? That’s rich.” Before your mother could respond, the nail scratching voice of your aunt Evelyn hit your ears, always so quick to criticize and taunt.

“You won’t find a husband if you continue to be so work focused.” Your pulse pounded in your ears at how dense she had always been, but you weren’t a defenseless child anymore, you had a mouth of your own. “If you ever want to get married, you should learn how you can contribute to the home, to cook and take care of your family, like me and your mom were taught.”

“Really? And how has that turned out for you? You’re on your second divorce from your personal cheating scandal, so maybe I’m doing something right.” You’ve trained yourself to bite back after experiencing so much nonsense from your family. Besides, you weren’t obligated to be anybody’s emotional punching bag.

“The only thing you’re doing right is tightening your waistband. If your education stopped you from finding a man, your appearance certainly will when you’re wasting your youth away.”

You had lost your appetite a few minutes ago, feeding off of the years worth of irritation you felt coiling in your gut, dropping your silverware on the table. Since you’ve left for New York, you put so much into changing the way you thought about things, to undo the traumas you’ve experienced your entire life and unlearn the very things your family indoctrinated you into since you were young. You’ve done the work, and now you realize just how ridiculous the people you share blood with truly are, minus your sister of course.

“And then you wonder why I don’t visit for the holidays.”

“It’s not like you visit anyways.” Your eyebrows furrowed at your father’s voice, tensely looking towards him and growing tense at what will come out of his mouth. “New York has changed you for the worst. I told your mother it was a bad idea to let you go over there, and now you won’t come back to Texas.”

“Well when you guys act like this during a time that should be about love and family, do you really expect me to come back here? Come back to what exactly?”

“You don’t abandon your family, not the people who raised you and brought you into this world.” Is he fucking joking?

“I didn’t ask to be brought into this world, and I didn’t abandon anybody. I went to school. I went to learn. To be somebody.”

“The only thing you learned is how to be ungrateful for the life you’ve been given, the life me and your mom worked hard to give you. And now you repay us by ending our family lineage.” 

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“For the love of God, I don’t want children and I don’t care about getting married. Why won’t you get that through your thick heads?”

“Your responsibility is to continue the growth of the family, to be a respectable woman and a wife to a nice man. Yet you go to the city, doing drugs and partying, losing your faith and probably behaving indecently. Maybe you’ve become one of those queers, an even worse abomination.”

Your heart was hammering in your chest at your father’s words, straining to keep them out of your head. Emotionally, you’ve already grown detached from the man you unfortunately shared blood with, and your time away from home along with the therapy you’ve gotten has shown you just how much pain this man has caused you.

You knew better than coming back home. There was nothing left here for you. And there was nothing else left for you to say.

“Woah, Joseph. That ain’t the way to talk to your kid, c’mon. You don’t say those things to anyone, much less to her.” Joel chastised, holding one hand up in your defense and the other landing on your lap, sensing the angry trembles washing over you.

“Ain’t no kid of mine acting this ungrateful in my damn home! She’s free to leave and go back to her city if that’s what she wants.” Holding your head high and standing up, your chair scraped against the wooden floor, shooting daggers of hatred directly at your father.

“Fuck you.” The words came out of you so vehemently you couldn’t take them back, not that you wanted to. Your other family members gasped around the table, closely watching the showdown between you and your parents.

“Apologize to your father right now!” Your mother had definitely lost her mind, but it came as no surprise that she’d instantly coddle your father instead of giving you the support you needed since you were a little girl.

“I won’t. But I’ll do you a favor and go back to my lovely city. You can all go fuck yourselves.”

Not bothering to look back and hear the additional comments from your bigots of parents, you grabbed your jacket and swiftly threw it over you, taking your purse and heading for the door. Before you fully stepped out, you went into the kitchen, taking the bottle of rum Joel had brought and the apple pie, covering it with a plate and forcefully slamming the front door.

Slumping on the porch bench, you dug into your purse to find your phone to call an Uber back to your hotel. Right as you opened the app and began typing your hotel’s address, the front door opened and closed again, finding Joel now standing by the entryway.

“You alright?” He asked, walking towards you to sit beside you on the bench, his presence easing you in ways you desperately needed at the moment. You hid your emotions well, but you knew it was a matter of time before you broke down to release your storming emotions.

“I will be. Just trying to get out of here really.” You weren’t as bubbly as when you first came home, sagging into yourself and face frozen in a neutral expression despite your eyes telling a whole different story.

“Let me drive you back. It’s the least I can do after watchin’ you go through that.” You should’ve expected him to want to help you out, he always did when things at home got too much to handle.

“It’s alright Joel, I can just get an Uber. You shouldn’t have to leave because of me ruining everything.”

“You didn’t ruin anythin’, and I don’t really have plans of stayin’ with your family, not after how they treated you. I’d rather make sure you’re okay.” He squatted in front of you with a grunt, knees popping as his hands went to sandwich yours, an act of kindness you took graciously. “Please, let me drive you away from here for the night, somethin’ for your peace of mind.”

“It’s a bit more than a thirty minute drive to Dallas.”

“I don’t mind the drive. I’ll do it if that means you’re somewhere comfortable.”

You knew he didn’t have to do that, you could pay the $75 late night fee to find your way back to Dallas and be left alone for the next few days, thinking about whether or not you should pay more money to reschedule your flight back to New York earlier than you had anticipated. But Joel was here, offering you the generosity you had been deprived of for so long, you knew there was no other convenient choice.

“Alright, I’ll appreciate the ride.”

In the next few minutes, you found yourself in the front passenger seat of Joel’s truck, carrying the apple pie you stole in your lap and the bottle of rum securely by your feet. He played some music to try to mellow you out over the 30 minute drive back to Dallas, your phone ringing a few moments later, seeing your sister’s contact picture pop up on your screen. Sliding your thumb on the green phone button to answer the call, you held the phone to your ear, answering all of her sudden questions.

Hey. Yeah I left. Yeah yeah I’m fine, promise, nothing I can’t handle. Yes I’m safe, Joel’s taking me back, Ubers were too damn expensive. Of course I took the damn pie, they didn’t deserve to eat it after that. Sure, I’ll try to save you a piece and you can pick it up tomorrow. I’m not mad at you, you know how they get, I didn’t want you to get involved with them in my defense, I can handle them now. I probably won’t be back for the rest of the break, but we can hang out before I leave and you go back to Cali. Yeah, I’ll let you know. I love you too pipsqueak, stay safe.

Joel did you a favor by keeping quiet for the entire drive, staying focused on the road and taking the fastest route to the city. You weren’t necessarily in the mood to talk anyway, stuck in your head and tuning out the music playing in his car, thinking of other solutions to the mess of your night. Time flew by so quickly, Joel had begun pulling into the driveway of your hotel, putting the car in park and turning off the radio momentarily, bringing your attention back to him.

“Thanks Joel, for getting me out of there. I’m sorry for what happened, for my family acting the way they did.”

“Ain’t nothin’ to apologize for, family gets messy like that, I get it. It’s not your fault, just a shame they behaved that way durin’ the holidays.” Even if you didn’t ask for it, you appreciated his compassion. You just hoped the next thing you said didn’t ruin your current circumstances.

“You know, I didn’t eat much at dinner, and I have an entire apple pie and a bottle of rum to myself. Want to grab a bite and share it with me?”

You didn’t know what exactly you expected in his answer, but the small smile creeping on his face was all you needed to know you were in the clear.

“I wouldn’t mind some pie.”

After driving out to get some chicken tenders at a local spot that was still open and purchasing a full liter of coke, Joel took you back to your hotel, guiding him up the elevator and to your bedroom as he held the bag with your food. Taking your keycard from your purse, you inserted the small piece of plastic on the sensor by your door, opening it with a click.

The both of you leaned on your bed, munching away at your tenders and fries and sharing sips of watered down rum and cokes with cups provided by the hotel service. Your heels and belt were thrown to the floor, laying on your side while Joel was beside you, keeping his feet off of the bed, not trying to dirty your pristine sheets by mistake. The conversations between you flowed with ease, taking trips down memory lane and talking of all the moments you shared with each other while biting into the apple pie piece by piece. Sarah’s birthday parties and soccer games, high school prom, trips to the mall and sleepovers at the Miller’s household.

Being with Joel now at this very moment was the closest thing to normalcy you’ve felt since coming back to Texas after all of this time. If it were up to you, you would hold on to this feeling for as long as you could.

“Sarah told me she was thinking of coming back home next year, tells me she misses you a lot.” You mentioned to Joel, taking another swig of your mixed drink, losing count of what refill number you were on.

“She still has to figure out the whole transferrin’ of jobs from Chicago, especially with her boyfriend, but I won’t deny that the idea of havin’ my baby girl back home 'excites me.” The way Joel spoke of his daughter was always with pride, the love towards her evident in how his eyes brightened at the mere mention of her. Sometimes, you envied your close friend for having such a good relationship with her father, but you knew she was the most deserving individual you knew.

“I hope she does. I think it will be good for her, being back I mean.”

“I’m guessin’ you don’t feel the same about coming back here then?” You grew quiet at that, releasing a heavy sigh and swirling your cup around as you thought about your answer.

“My life in New York is different than it ever was here. It’s a huge lifestyle change, yes, a little chaotic moving to such a big city but…I’ve never been happier, never been more myself. It feels good, and I’ve worked too hard to lose that.”

Joel hums, sipping his drink in the same manner you did before, downing it completely and refilling again, looking into his cup to think of the proper words to comfort you.

“You worked hard to leave, to get out. If there ain’t nothin’ left here in Texas for you, then stay in New York, live your life, the life you want. Nobody should take that away from you, even your family.”

“I know that. It’s just, it’s hard not to feel guilty about it sometimes, leaving everything behind…dad’s still holding a grudge about it, if you couldn’t tell.”

“Family is a real messy thing, but just cause they’re your blood shouldn’t mean they dictate your whole life darlin’. You deserve to be happy, to thrive, and if it upsets them…well fuck ��em.” His honesty made you chortle a bit, bashfully glancing at him to meet his softened gaze. “Besides, you have me and Sarah rootin’ for you always. Don’t matter the distance, we’re here for you even miles away.”

“I know. You guys have been there for me since the beginning, I don’t know how to repay you for that.”

“Nothin’ needs to be repaid. Only thing you should do is prioritize yourself and your career, everythin’ else can come afterwards. Relationships, kids if you want, all that can come after you’re settled in life.” If only it were that easy.

“Trust me, I’ve already made up my mind on kids, that’s an absolute no. Relationships are quickly finding their way on the no list too.”

“Damn, that bad huh?” You laughed under your breath, finishing the rest of your drink and reaching for the rum bottle for a refill, long passing the threshold of tipsiness. 

“You have no idea, Joel. But it’s alright, really, he was an asshole and I was just an idiot. I’ve made peace with it.” It was easier for you to say that compared to the actual healing process, the months worth of anguish from a broken heart put behind you once you were ready to move forward with your life.

“It’s a shame. A man disrespectin’ a pretty girl like you. Should knock some damn sense into him for lackin’ so much of it.”

Pretty girl.

“Would’ve been nice if you did that honestly. He deserved it.”

“I can fly back to New York if you want, rough him up real good.” If Joel was trying to make you feel better about your shitty night, he was doing a real good job of doing just that.

“No Joel, I don’t need to explain to Sarah why I had to bail you out of jail in the city. I have enough going on as it is.” The sound of lighthearted laughter filled the walls of your hotel room, the episode of some reality show you didn’t care for playing on the mounted TV in the background.

“Just sayin’, don’t let that one situation make you question your worth. Anybody would love to be with you, and if they don’t realize that, then they’re as blind as a bat.”

“You really think that?” You focused directly at him, his brown eyes landing on yours, taking in your facial features so intimately.

“I do darlin’. I really do.” From the soft tone he used when he said that, you could actually believe him. “You’re a lovely girl, I’m sure the right person will make you feel the way you deserve.”

“What about you?” You blurted out, the rum flowing through you lowered your inhibitions.

“What about me?”

“Are you one of those men that have sense?”

With how Joel had grown quiet, you would think you just fucked yourself over, making things weird between someone you’ve known for a large portion of your life. Yet he only stares off towards his feet, hesitant to meet your piercing gaze.

“I think under different circumstances, I wouldn’t hesitate to snatch you up, show you a good time. In another life maybe…”

“Why not this one?” At that, he almost snapped his neck to peer at you, the haziness in your pupils matching his own.

“Sweetheart…you know we can’t mess around that way. It ain’t right.” Of course he had to be the voice of reason. Fuck morality. Fuck holding yourself back. Fuck thinking so much about the hypotheticals until they smothered you in your sleep.

“It ain’t right to who exactly?”

“For starters, I’m a lot older than you, your parents would kill me.”

“Do you think I care what my parents have to say about me and my life choices? I stopped giving a shit about their opinions a long time ago.” You wanted to reason with him, to find a way to break his inner critic. “And you might be older than me, but we’re both consenting adults here. I’m not a kid anymore, Joel.”

“And what about Sarah? You’re close friends with my daughter, have been for a long time. Do you really want to risk your friendship just to be with an old man like me?”

“Joel…” You inched closer to him as he shakily sucked in a breath. “Sarah, well, yes we’re close, but she kinda figured out I’ve had a little crush on you for a while.” You were sincere when you had a little alcohol in your system, but your words continued to surprise Joel, giving him a sense of whiplash.

“You’re jokin’. Really? Since when?” As if it would be difficult to like a man like him.

“Remember when I came back to visit a few years ago for your mom’s birthday barbeque? You were wearing this stupid grilling shirt, and I think that was when my crush really sunk in for me. Thought you looked really cute.”

As you recalled the memory, you had a sheepish grin on your face. You could hear Sarah teasing Joel about his outfit on that hot summer day, embracing the title of barbecue dad like a badge of honor. He kept himself busy over the grill, flipping burgers and hot dogs as the brisket continued to cook in the smoker, authentic to the Texan cuisine you grew up with. You couldn’t take your eyes off of him that whole day, watching his throat bobbing with every sip of his beer, how he laughed loudly at something Tommy had said in passing, tossing his head back to show all of his pearly white teeth, both dimples on display. You could spot his softened tummy through the corny t-shirt he wore, his ass accentuated by the jeans he still managed to wear despite the burning sun.

You were long gone the moment he smiled at you, tilting the tip of his beer bottle towards you in salute.

“So you don’t think it’s a bad idea to try and kiss you?” You couldn’t hide the smirk on your face even if you tried.

“No, I don’t think so.” You drew nearer to him, carefully testing your boundaries with the man that had always been considered as a family friend. Placing a hand on his chest and messing with the collar of his flannel, you offered him a genuine smile. “I really want you to kiss me Joel.”

“Wouldn’t be kind of me if I kept you waitin’ any longer, right?”

Joel inclined towards you, hovering his mouth over yours and glancing between your eyes and your lips. Finally, he graced your lips with a kiss, cradling the back of your neck as his thumb caressed the spot behind your ear. He tasted like you expected, a mixture of rum and apple pie, a sweet combination garnishing your tongue.

Jerking on the collar of his flannel to bring him closer, you instinctively crawled into his lap, your legs on either side of his hips to sit comfortably on his pelvis. He grunted under his breath, a heavy hand now on your lower back, holding you by the waist while the other caressed your cheek. You willingly opened your mouth wider when his tongue teased over your lower lip, welcoming the wet muscle to curl around yours with a muted hum.

You spent a good while simply kissing Joel, sitting above him chest to chest with your hips gently grinding into his, feeling a bump growing under the confines of his thick jeans. He squeezed your hip and pulled away from you for some air, setting his forehead against yours as he huffed through his nose.

“Darlin’...this might be embarrassin’ but, it’s been a while since I did anythin’ like this.” Despite being in the same predicament as him, his confession only seemed to arouse you even more.

“Been a while for me too.” You admitted, stroking his chest through the soft material that covered him, thrumming your fingertips over his collarbone. Trailing your lips over his jaw and the side of his neck, you whispered in his ear. “I want to make you feel good.”

“You sure you want that?” If you looked at Joel long enough, you would see the slight blush painting over his features. “Don’t need to do anythin’ you don’t want to.”

“Positive.” One of your hands drifted to palm the bulge in his jeans, the groan rumbling in his chest made you clench around nothing. “Want you in my mouth. Please?”

“Alright baby, alright. Take what you want.”

With a grin you slipped away from Joel and eased down to your knees, letting him stand for easier access. Antsy fingers fumbled with the buckle of his belt, taking the leather strap out before yanking it off all in one go, tossing it behind you and popping the button of his jeans open to pull them down with his black briefs. His cock poked out for you to marvel at, hard and heavy as it was revealed to you. You concealed the moan that threatened to tumble out of your mouth at the sight.

You didn’t bother wasting any time teasing Joel, instantly pressing several kisses to his tip and the underside of his shaft, lavishing your tongue over the bulging vein under his length. In an instant, your lips circled over his throbbing crown, swirling your tongue around the circumference of him and slithering it over his slit. Breathing deeply in your nose, you took him into your throat on the next exhale, relaxing to take more of him, feeling him in the depths of your esophagus.

“Fuckin’ hell, sweetheart. Are you tryin’ to kill me?” Joel rasped above you, bringing one of his large palms to hold the back of your head, palming your skull as you hummed around him.

Drawing your head back and timing your breaths, you adopted a forceful rhythm, bouncing your head with enthusiasm and clutching at the denim over Joel’s thighs. You lost yourself to your movements, glassy eyes staring up towards Joel, observing the way his head was thrown back in pleasure, his Adam's apple bobbing with every breath he struggled to have.

His thick fingers grasped at the hair on your head, keeping you in place and lightly thrusting into your mouth, chasing the feeling of your warm tongue stroking the underside of his cock. You encouraged his movements, unhinging your jaw and opening your mouth wider, your hands tugging on the back of his thighs to bring him forward. He eyed you closely, watching the tentative manner you held his gaze, an invitation for more.

“Gonna let me fuck up into that perfect mouth of yours, huh?” Joel croaked, yanking your head back to give you a forceful thrust, one you skillfully took and mentally prepared for with a swallow.

The man above you continued with his rough touch, bucking into your mouth with his heavy balls slapping into your chin, feeling every pant through your nose over the wet spit that covered his length. Your nails dug into his thighs, tears lining your lids as you felt the heavy weight on your tongue twitch, whirring in confirmation to coax Joel to fall over the edge, to feed you with his taste, something you’ve only dreamed of at the late night hour in private. The gruff moans coming from Joel dampened your panties, surely ruined by now as the material uncomfortably clung to your body.

“Shit…sweetheart I’m gettin’ close,” he didn’t need to confirm what you already knew, but you appreciated the notion anyway. You buzzed in affirmation, bobbing your head faster over Joel and taking a hand to knead over his balls, thumb pressing right into the crease between them, a primal growl pouring out of the older man as his vision went white.

“Fuuuuuck!” The sound Joel released as he came in your mouth would’ve been enough to bring you to the edge on your own. Your nose pressed into the coarse hair at the base, his musk overpowering your senses as you milked him for everything he had to give, happily drinking down his release with a gurgle. He didn’t need to shove your head down to keep his spurting cock down into your esophagus, you did it all on your own, hungry to every bit of him until he was running on empty.

With ease, Joel plucked you away from him, his softening cock slipping out of your mouth with a line of spit connecting you to his length. Giving the sensitive tip of him one last parting kiss, your lashes flapped upwards to meet Joel’s darkened brown eyes, now engulfed in black.

He pulled you to your feet and brought his lips to yours, chasing the taste of him in your mouth. You moaned against him, gripping the collar of his flannel and scratching at the nape of his neck, biting his plush bottom lip before he withdrew.

“Had I known it would feel like that, I would’ve made a move a while ago.” He cheesily said, making you giggle and place another kiss over his mouth.

“You can make up for lost time then,” you replied cheekily, humming at the way the tip of his nose ghosted yours. He brought you to stand fully before him, widening his legs and stuffing himself back into his briefs for the time being, leaving his jeans haphazardly unbuttoned.

“I sure can. Wanna see all of you now baby. Can I take this off of you?” God. Even the way he asked just to peel your clothes off of you was attractive, nodding enthusiastically.

His antsy fingers reached for your baggy sweater dress, lifting the material above your head in one fell swoop, careful not to ruin your makeup or hair further. He was kind enough to fold the dress and place it over on the farthest corner of the bed, the act bringing an airy giggle to your lips. As he turned to look at you, standing in front of him in your lace underwear set and pantyhose, he tried his hardest to suppress his audible moan of approval.

“Christ. Ain’t you a pretty thing.” He touched your waist, bringing you closer to him so he could nuzzle into your chest, placing affectionate kisses over the swell of your breasts. He meticulously reached for the bra clasp in the back, undoing it with finesse and tossing it to the floor. He stared at you in awe, rough graying stubble rubbing against the soft skin of your breasts, calloused thumbs stroking your stiffening nipples as you curved into his touch.

“I just know you taste as good as you look darlin’.”

Joel maneuvered you to lay on the mattress, your back bouncing a bit from the movement, waiting for Joel’s next move. He hovered above you, kissing your lips before moving to plant kisses down your neck and collarbone, shifting between the valley of your breasts and lining his lips with one of your nipples. Swirling his tongue around the stiff peak, he suckled at the nub, bringing a moan to your throat and a slight arch of your back, pinching and plucking at the other nipple. He pried away from your slick nipple and blew over the peak, drawing his attention to the other and doing the same, alternating his touch and attention.

Warmth pooled in your gut, gasping once Joel was ready to reciprocate the attention you had given him, grasping the flare of your hips and kissing down your sternum and lower stomach, running his chin over the waistband of your pantyhose.

“You better not think about ripping them.” You joked with him, seeing him smirk with a dimple popping in his cheek.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, unless you let me.” He jested right back, carefully taking hold of the waistband of your pantyhose and peeling them down your hips and thighs, his fingertips leaving goosebumps in their wake.

You aided him in removing the fabric off your body with a kick of your foot, getting a kiss on your knee as a thank you. Joel took one more minute to appreciate the way you looked in your black lace panties, the soft wet flesh underneath barely covered by the material. Without hesitation, he hooked his fingers with the waistband of your underwear, tugging them down and tossing away the last article of clothing you had over your figure.

The sight of you bare with nothing obstructing his vision made Joel’s heart pang in his chest, the organ pumping between his ribs a tad bit harder as you spread your legs for his view, inviting him to take a good look at you.

“Fuck darlin’. Look at that.” He drawled, his voice dropping an octave as he noticed the slick skin of your glistening flesh, your clit peeking out from under its hood, twitching and desperate for his attention. “That’s for me baby? All from suckin’ my cock?” Joel Miller had a mouth on him, but you loved it.

“Yeah, I liked having you in my mouth.” You didn’t feel ashamed of the truth, sitting up on your elbows as one of your hands swam between your legs, spreading your lips for Joel to get a better close-up of the deep pink between your thighs. “Now I think you should repay the favor.”

He was so fucked.

Joel didn’t pause his movements, diving head first between your legs and licking a broad stripe up your cunt, groaning at the taste of you invading his mouth. His fingers clasped around your thighs, keeping you spread open for him as he feasted over your pussy, shifting his tongue over your twitching flesh, gathering as much of your arousal as he could get on his lips. His nose pressed into the sensitive nub of your clit, his tongue gliding lower to twist inside you, fucking up into you as you bucked your hips into his face.

“Taste so fuckin’ good darlin’. As ripe as a fuckin’ peach.” Joel commented in a muffled grouse between your thighs, eating away at you with added fervor.

He pulled away for some air, your arousal staining his chin and upper lip, marking your territory. His plump lips veered to your twitching clit, wrapping around the nub and swiveling his tongue over the tip much like you had done with his cock a few minutes prior. The act had you keening louder, one of your hands coming to tug at the graying curls on his head, clutching the strands in your fist to keep him sucking at your clit in attentive pulses.

“Fuck Joel. Yes, yes, that’s so good, feels so good.” He grumbled around your pussy in praise, taking it up a notch as one of his hands moved, his fingertips skimming your entrance and plunging two of his digits inside you, down to the knuckle.

You gasped from the added stretch, your walls pulsing around his fingers as you adjusted to the intrusion. If you were feeling like this from just his fingers, you couldn’t imagine how taking his cock might feel, how it will stretch you out from the inside. You twitched around him at the thought, craving the release he waved in front of you like a treat.

Joel thrusted his fingers in time with the sucking of his lips around your clit, pulling out his digits and burrowing them back in. In and out. In and out. A steady push and pull that made your thighs shake beside his head, your grip tightening between his hair and the bed sheets under you, hips jerking up into him, trying to take more of his fingers. He curled his digits on the next drive, hitting something divine that sent a shot of lightening up your spine, the pressure building in your belly as the rope of tension threatened to snap at any given moment.

You could feel yourself clenching around him, your walls tightening as you were brought closer to the edge than ever thought possible. Your cries turned breathless, airy whimpers pouring out of you in par with the arousal that seeped out of your cunt and onto the bed underneath.

“Joel…I’m so close.” The curve of your back deepended, the man on his knees before you sucking with more intensity, pressing his fingertips into the textured spot inside in faster pulses, the entirety of his mouth slurping the length of you.

“C’mon baby. Give it to me. I know she wants to spill for me, let me taste her.” Joel was determined to make you fall apart because of him, inserting a third finger for an additional stretch, the act of the blunt edge of his teeth scratching your slick pearl was your undoing.

You shook as you hit your limit, climaxing with Joel’s fingers never ceasing their lunging, milking your orgasm for what it was worth. Both of your hands were fastening the gray strands at Joel’s scalp, throwing your head back against the mattress and coming with a broken cry of his name, tears pricking the corner of your eyes at the pure euphoria that overwhelmed you from the force of your climax.

All too soon, your body grew limp on the mattress, Joel slipping his fingers out of your pussy and cleaning them off with his mouth. He placed one last parting kiss on your twitching clit, kissing around your mound and inner thighs in an attempt to soothe you, leaving another smooch over your hip and floating up your body before meeting your face. You blinked up at him, cheeks heated at the way his lips plumped up from the work they did, his lower face shining in the lighting of your hotel room from your arousal.

You tugged him down for a passionate kiss, winding your tongue around his, devouring the tangy flavor of your release coating his mouth.

“Need you to fuck me,” you begged hastily against him, sneaky fingers going to haul Joel’s flannel from his softened tummy, craving more of him. “Please, Joel.”

“Baby, I would, I want to… didn’t bring anythin’ with me. Wasn’t even thinkin’ about doing somethin’ like this.” Ever the considerate man, of course he would be thinking about protection. Frankly, you could care less.

“Got tested a while ago and I’m covered. It’s fine, Joel. Trust me.” You bargained with him, sense thrown out the window as you clenched around nothing, wanting to be claimed and taken by the man you’ve fantasized about since going away for college, the man you’ve compared every previous partner to since the beginning. “Just want to feel you.”

“You will darlin’, you will. Not gonna leave you runnin’ on empty now. Not while I’m right here.”

Joel swiftly removed his jeans and briefs in one piece, hard cock bouncing between his legs as he undid the buttons of his flannel, peeling it off with your help. You released a lighthearted giggle when one of his arms got stuck in his white undershirt, mimicking your laugh and smirking at the appearance of your smile. His knees sank into the fluffy comforter of the bed underneath you, large hands taking hold of your hips and towing you closer to the edge.

“Thought that was funny?” he bantered above you, kissing your lips and enjoying the reciprocation of his actions, his length twitching beside your thigh.

“Maybe. It was cute…” you murmured, hand taking hold of him to pump his shaft with a jerk of your wrist, a shaky exhale falling from his lips. “Are you done teasing me now?”

“I might be. You’re gettin’ desperate?”

“For you to fuck me? Yes, I am.” Your thumb swiped over his tip, the sticky precum wetting your digit. “Been waiting too damn long.”

“Then put me inside darlin’. Let me feel you.”

You positioned him over your aching cunt, his hips thrusting over the seam of your pussy, sticky tip grinding into your sensitive clit. He felt good like this, mind running on empty imagining what he would feel like inside you. You didn’t have to imagine too much when his tip bumped into your entrance, his hips tentatively rolling to plunge into your waiting warmth, your hands jumping to clutch his freckled bicep. Joel didn’t stop pushing into you until he was down to the hilt, balls deep and groaning at the feel of your walls pulsing around his thickness, adjusting to his size.

Eyes beating closed, Joel put more of his weight on his forearms, breathing heavily through his nose to calm himself down, not focusing too much on how warm and wet you felt, wanting to last and make this experience good for you. Meanwhile, you had already lost all focus, the depth of him could be felt in your chest, widening your pelvis just to accommodate him.

“God, Joel,” you practically mewled under him, clamping around him once more, forcing Joel to open his eyes on you.

“Sweetheart, don’t…fuck don’t do that…” he panted, pinning your hips down into the mattress to keep you in place, trying not to cum too early. “Ain’t gonna make me last.”

“Just fuck me,” Joel had started to slowly bump into you, pulling his hips back and leaving half of him outside of you to plunge back inside, savoring the gasp you gave him. “Fuck me.”

“Look at you, already beggin’ for it. You like my cock that much darlin’? Like havin’ this old man fuck you right?”

“Yes.” Your wispy reply made Joel chuckle, a deep rumbling you felt inside you as he kept his steady pace. “So fucking deep.”

“Yeah? Feel me deep in ya?” You nodded dumbly, his forehead pressing into yours, your eyebrows furrowing as he hit that delicious textured spot tucked in the roof of your canal. Your legs wrapped around his waist, accepting his passionate kiss, unabashedly moaning into his mouth.

Joel began to pick up the pace, pouring all of his energy into the drives of his hips, listening to the high pitched whimpers that came out of you. He leaned forward a bit more, his hands raising the underside of your thighs, allowing him to slip just a tad deeper inside you. The angle brought a cry punching through your lungs, squirming under him from his consistent thrusts.

The hotel room filled with sounds of skin slapping, his heavy balls slapping into you, your slick covering the length of him every time he fucked into you, letting your pussy taste every gracious inch he had to give. You were getting close again, pawing at Joel’s broad chest and tightening your hips around his waist. He kept his deep and precise pace, sending the tip of him kissing your cervix with every pound.

“Joel,” you whined out, glassy eyes struggling to focus on him as your pussy grew taught around him, the tell tale signs of your pending orgasm creeping up on you, building in intensity as the hair at the base of him grazed your tender clit with every grind.

“I know, I know. Can feel you flutterin’ around me.” His words made you whimper, clutching at him harsher, your deep crimson nails creating fresh streaks down his back, leaving your mark for him to admire in the morning. “Let me feel it darlin’, need you to cum around me. C’mon baby, c’mon.”

With his gentle coaxing and a bite to the side of your jaw, you fell apart for him a second time, a wail resounding the walls of the bedroom, silently praying that the walls were relatively sound proof. Joel fucked you through your release, an audbile squelch filling the room as you soaked his cock, your thighs quivering as he milked your orgasm to finality.

“That’s it. That’s my fuckin’ girl.” His praise brought heat to your face and the tip of your ears, heart lurching at the thought of being his girl. “Fuck, where do you want me sweetheart?”

“Inside,” you pleaded meekly, head bouncing limply as he pounded harder into you, letting him use your cunt for his own release, making an effort to clamp around him as an invitation, wounding your legs tight around him with whatever strength you had left.  “Please Joel. Fill me.”

“Christ. That fuckin’ mouth,” Joel was heaving now, sweat dripping down his brow and the bridge of his nose as his climax grew to profound heights, a tingling in his lower back that he could feel in his balls. “Gonna fill this pussy up ‘till you feel me tomorrow.”

Two more drives and Joel growled as he came inside you, his spend dribbling into every crevice and you took it all with a fucked out smile. You whizzed as your body tingled from the aftermath of fucking Joel Miller, a family friend that was significantly older than you, not like you cared all too much. Joel struggled to keep upright after his vigorous orgasm, pulling you with him as he laid down on his side, facing you.

“You alright?” Joel asked you once you gained your bearings, his palms rubbing your cheeks and keeping you present in the moment during your comedown.

“Mhm. Can’t really feel my legs.” You conceded with a grin, Joel following through and wearing the same blissful expression on his face.

“Means I did my job right then.” Tired chuckles replaced the sounds of panting, basking in the weightless feel of laying next to Joel like this.

He kept his palm on your cheek, caressing your heated skin and running his fingers over your jaw as you breathed in and out. You don’t recall a time where you ever felt this good, where you felt truly satisfied after being with someone or giving somebody access to your body in such a passionate way. Had you known you would’ve gotten that from Joel Miller of all people, you would’ve made a pass at him a long time ago and saved yourself the trouble of wasting your time with your mediocre ex.

A voice nagged in the back of your head, the echo of wondering what comes after this. You wondered what Joel was thinking in his foggy subconscious, if the post-coitial clarity was starting to hit him and he was second guessing what you two had done. You didn’t want the guilt to kick in just yet, to imagine the consequences and have them ruin the perfect manifestation of your biggest fantasy. You’ll both figure it out somehow, like you always did, right now, all you wanted was to enjoy Joel for as long as he’d allow.

“I wouldn’t mind having you stay the night, sleep off the rum and apple pie before you go home.” It was a flimsy suggestion, half serious and half not, but as you looked directly into those chocolate orbs of his, watching them soften at your inexplicit question. His lips turned upwards then, your heart hanging on to hope that maybe, you weren’t asking for too much.

“Yeah, I reckon that’s a good idea darlin’.” He leaned forward to kiss you again, much softer than how he had just rendered you boneless.  “Like I said, you were always a smart one.”

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[rubyvhs]

who’d believe? | dean winchester

summary. dean finds you six years after you ‘died’. tags. wc 2.3k, car sex (just fingering), angst, mentions soulless sam. lailas notes. this is for my ‘stuck on you’ by meiko square for @jacklesversebingo + actually got inspired by @little-diable ‘s not a ghost fic. so so beautiful and i think everyone should go read it! ++ for my 500 celebration, so happy i got to it so quickly && the title is the translation of the song title. and most importantly, beta’d by the incredible @copperboom82 who made it much more readable and enjoyable.

You were never really a bar type of person, mostly because of the loud noise and smell, other than that, you liked a good party. But you decided you needed to celebrate getting your dream job, or, okay, whatever, your friend is forcing you to. 

"I'm not taking no for an answer," she said, handed you your outfit and went outside to get the car started, not even giving you time to reject the idea. Though the second you stepped foot in the lively place, you were glad you came.

The drinks and music were exactly what you needed; a nice night out with no responsibilities. And especially no men (at least none like those you work with, you're honestly over them). 

An hour into dancing with your friend, two more strangers join you. When the last song ends and another less 'pop' and more 'rock' one starts, they suggest going out to smoke for a second. Despite not once in your life trying it, you agree. 

You should really work on saying no.

Thankfully you're sensible enough to refuse when they try to hand you one, just standing next to them, linking your arm with your friend's. "Where do you work?" You ask one of the girls. She has shorter red hair that almost reaches her shoulders, black eyeliner and a septum piercing. In other words? Fucking sexy.

"Police." Your eyes widen and you stand up straighter. "Oh, stop it! You're fine."

You laugh but shake your head, "No, no, that's not what I meant, you're just so— cute, I guess. Wouldn't have taken you for the assertive cop type."

"Yeah, well," she shrugs, dismissing the thought. It's obvious she gets it a lot. "Saw the hottest guys today, by the way—"

Her friend interrupts, beautiful brown pin-straight hair, pale skin, a gorgeous smile; "God, he was pretty. And his brother too…”

"Oh yeah. Agent something and Agent whatever, I don't remember, I was too busy looking through the shorter one’s shirt." You all laugh, a sway in your demeanor. You're pretty sure it's the alcohol that's got them saying all this but it's funny either way. 

"Yeah, he was amazing. Like, those green eyes, honestly—" Your smile drops fast. Green eyes had always been somewhat of a trigger for you ever since Dean, especially that specific beautiful shade. Then again honestly everything's been a trigger: hunting, black cars, vintage cars, food, pie— you could go on.

"Oh and the way he walks? The little outward bounce of his leg, so cute!"

You shift, a little uncomfortable. How many guys do you know with bow legs, green eyes and are cops? They're probably not allowed to tell you he's FBI. 

The red-haired girl touches your arm making you jump. "Shit, you okay, honey? You seemed out of it."

"Oh, no, I'm sorry, just reminded me of someone. Old…" Dean. 

There he is. Alive and in the flesh. You don't become a hunter and not hear about the Winchesters, you, on the other hand, fly under the radar. Especially since you try to stay away from any and all hunters.

But you heard nothing of how gorgeous he has grown up.

The girls catch your drift mid-sentence and look back to see what you're staring at. A dumb-struck Dean. "Oh! Agent…" Her friend elbows her stomach and Dean doesn’t peel his eyes off of you to speak.

"Right, yes. Hi, Officer." 

She blushes under the dim light but Dean apologizes before breezing past them and holding your arm roughly to drag you away behind the bar. Your friend makes sure to motion to you if you need help before you let her know she should just get back inside. It’s pretty damn obvious you know the guy.

"Are you fucking serious?"

You let out a shy smile, "Dean, hey, how are you?"

"'How are you?'" He mocks, letting go of your arm aggressively, "'how are you?'"

"Is that not what they say anymore?"

"Are you serious?" He seems to enjoy repeating sentences much more than when you last saw him. "I looked for you, I mourned you." You mourned him too, in a way. 

You and Dean were acquaintances, occasionally hunting together until you stayed at Bobby's place for a week and he came to visit coincidentally. You both started talking more that night, exchanged phone numbers and became somewhat friends. 

Sam left for Stanford and you guys stayed together more frequently. Sam came back and you 'died'. Not on purpose, obviously, but Dean thought you died. You did, for a second, before you were brought back for some twisted, fucked up reason. Not that you knew it but if you did you're sure it would be fucked up.

By the time you woke up Sam and Dean had been long gone and your body had been buried. Didn’t burn your bones like he should’ve, no. He buried you. You're not sure which is worse.

"Look, I don't know what happened—"

"What does that even mean? You magically come back to life; you fucking call me! Ever thought of that?" A thousand times. 

But Sam had finally decided to come back and hunt with Dean, Dean buried you, and so, you'd reasoned he was fine. You knew that if you were Sam, your body would've been preserved in the Impala for months before he'd ever allow himself to do that, to put you six feet under. The fact that he didn’t hold on to you had to mean he was okay.

But neither of you deserve more guilt. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"That's really rich. Real rich comin' from you. Grieved you for goddamn years. Six." Huh, that's a lot longer than you’d have thought. You were sure it would be six minutes. You knew he cared about you, but Deans also a 'what's done is done' kind of man.

"I'm—"

"If you apologize, I'll kill you. Again." You're about to crack a joke but his glare sets you off. Oookay, tough crowd, whatever. 

"I wanted to call, I swear I did," how do you explain to the king of 'I don't deserve good' that you don't deserve him. He'll think it's a cruel joke. "I didn't know if you'd want me to reach out, I thought you were moving on with Sammy, okay? Going on with finding John. Me calling wouldn't have made a difference."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "I went to hell." You bite your bottom lip between your teeth. He sighs, a mix of emotions on his face. "You knew?" Your nod makes him turn around in anger (disappointment? hurt?), kicking the cardboard box as far as it'll go, another plastic one breaks and you flinch at that one. 

In your defense, everyone knows.

"I couldn't do that to you and Sam, you moved on, Dean, I heard about you and Lisa and Ben—"

"Where the hell did you hear that?" Hunters talk. And he knows it. He turns around in an angry haze. "I didn't fuckin' move on, alright? I did what Sam wanted me to do when I didn't have you. Because my goddamn brother was in a cage with Lucifer, and now he's walking around without a soul!" He raises his voice until it gives out and so does his breath. You can't help the way your heart clenches, not even because of the words, but the tired look behind Dean's eyes. 

Subconsciously, you move forward until you can hug him, and like he always used to: Dean throws himself into it, his head in your neck as he breathes you in. "I missed you." He whispers. 

You don't believe how easily he's adjusted to this. If you were in his place you wouldn't hesitate to kill him, thinking he's a demon or a shifter.

He chuckles, his whole body rubbing against you. "Haven't hugged anyone like this in— ever. Was waiting for you." 

He's never been safe, always made everyone else feel protected, you could only hope you built a safe place within yourself for him. You're at least close.

"I missed you too, De. Every single day, I swear."

You don't know what about the sentence sparks anything in him, but it does. He pulls away to smirk and push you against the hard wall. You gasp, doing nothing but turning him on more and giving him an entrance to your mouth. 

He kisses you like he's lost his mind. He has.

His touch is electric as he pulls you closer, the heat of his body searing your skin, the raw intensity of desire saying more than words ever could. The kiss evolves, turning feral, almost carnal. He holds you, firm but tender, and rediscovers your mouth like a starving man. He is, he hasn't tasted you in… ever. 

This is your first kiss with Dean, but the explosive chemistry between you makes the blood scream in your ears. It was never a secret that you and Dean were more than just hunters to each other, and it seems you dying was his last straw. 

"We— Dean, can't here—" 

He agrees. Or he doesn't. He's still kissing you and you're not sure if either of you are breathing. 

Eventually he lets go. "Yeah," he whispers against your lips, moving for another kiss, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth, leaving a peck and panting out, "right." 

"'M sorry." God, why are you apologizing? Why are your bodies so far away?

He shakes his head, moves away (even if it looks like he's struggling to do so), "it's fine, what— you were here with friends? Are you staying?"

"Are you asking me to not stay?" 

He smiles, leans down for another kiss and you decide to say goodbye to your friends now or else you're never getting the chance. 

"De, someone can see—"

"Don't overthink it." He says, burying his head between your breasts, kissing, biting, licking and loving all the noises you're making. He groans into your skin, nipping at a particularly sensitive spot that has you moaning out loud. "God, sweetheart, love that sound."

He moves his hands to your waist, thrusts his hips once, checking your reaction. A little tremor passes through you. Eyes hood over. 

"Can't believe you're here, and all for me." 

"Yes," you breathe, resting your forehead against Dean's, overwhelmed by his words and how close his hand is to your inner thigh. "Please."

"If I slide my hand up your skirt, will I find you dripping wet for me?" Another shudder shakes you gently. 

"Yes."

When he grips your knee and your neck, closing your lips with a kiss while his other hand travels higher, you start feeling your pulse hammering in your ears. The windows start misting over, giving you privacy— not that you particularly believe Dean cares. 

Dean moves his seat back, then pushes you until your shoulder blades hit the steering wheel so you're more comfortable, your legs bent on either side of him, hands braced against the door and his chest. 

"Dreamed about this," He says, his voice low and husky. The way his eyes are raking over your body, you're not even sure you're supposed to hear him. "Thought about this everyday for six years, sweetheart. Now I get to have you." 

He glides one finger between your lips, sliding up and down slowly. “Such a pretty pussy,” he groans, eyes focused between your legs and you fall over, your head on his chest, before he pushes you back against the steering wheel, "nu-uh, wanna see it. Wanna see how wet you are for me, baby."

You have so much to say— a lot of apologies and 'I miss you's’ and so many more beautiful words and kisses and you want to tell Dean that you care about him as much as he does you and why you left—

He dips two fingers inside you. Curls them immediately, and just like that, he finds your most sensitive spot. 

You half pant, half moan, the words 'Dean, oh my god, please' a jumbled drowned-out mishmash because he starts torturing your clit, his thumb rubbing perfect circles, hard and fast, reducing your bones to liquid. But when you're right there, he eases away, lazily pumping two fingers in and out. 

He smiles, exhaling a content breath as his gaze zeroes between your thighs, ignoring your pleas. "Yeah? you wanna come, darlin’?" the pet name and the question both bring out a loud moan you didn’t know you were holding, your hips involuntarily moving against his fingers until he stops you. you’re about to whine again but he increases the pace, crooking his fingers inside you while his thumb rubs your clit, and that’s all it takes.

The orgasm rips through you, powerful, relentless, so intense you think you might just black out. You’ve never felt so boneless in someone's arms, until your head falls right into his chest as he works your pussy, the sensation easing off and then coming again like waves crashing against the shore.

Dean doesn't stop. His fingers are rough, his thumb still being put to good use, and the release lasts so long. So fucking long you think you have an out-of-body experience. 

It takes a minute until you're able to breathe anything but his cologne. When you can, you sit up slightly and move into the seat next to him, thankful for the lack of a console to separate you since you don't get very far, just lay your head on his chest. 

He kisses your head. You can even feel his smile against the kiss until you notice the bulge of his pants and frown. You quickly get up and Dean's entire face falls. "I'm sorry, I didn't think—" 

Dean grabs your wrist before it makes it halfway to his dick. "This isn't an exchange, sweetheart." Your entire body is like jelly, you can't move and you're pretty sure if you try sucking Dean off, you’ll pass out. But it feels… rude. "You're spent. I'll get you home so you can take a hot shower, and we'll pick this up again when you're ready. How about that?" 

You can't fucking believe your luck. Dean wants an 'again'. 

[lichenes]

Lockjaw

Someone requested Silco x brothel worker!reader (AND I WILL WRITE IT, KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED.) but. I raise you one better. Silco in love with a brothel worker, NOT reciprocated HAHAHAHAAAAAA. I'm going fucking insane. I'm going crazy. The smut is also here... ig... I did a shit ton of research cuz my seasoned writer best friend said it was difficult to get right. Any feedback is appreciated!! CW: reader has a pseudonym (Lulu), porn with plot (AND ANGST HAHAHAHA), SW!reader, eating out (reader receiving), piv briefly mentioned, wear protection kids, fleabag reference - i couldn't help myself. wc: 639 .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚

Dark drapes. Burgundy carpets. Gold candleholders. You could smell the incense all around you. The cool, night air calmly was circulating and mixing with the warm feeling spreading in your chest. The room was overflowing with prestige and cachet. 

Silco was between your legs as you stared at his beautiful, bicolored eyes. You were toying with his locks as he greedily pleasured you. He couldn’t take his own eyes off of you. He was mesmerised by your squirming body, by your quiet moans and by the way you were just- almost there. 

He detached himself from you, denying you pleasure once more. You whined at the sudden loss but were eager to get even more from him and tonight, he wanted to give you it all. He hurriedly unbuckled his belt and slid his pants down his legs putting the garment neatly on the chair behind him. 

“Hi Lulu!” Said Juliette entering the break room where you were spending your last moments alone for the night. “Hi Julie, how you doin’?” She was in a good mood. “I’m doing okay! I got a massive tip from this one guy, and-” She trailed off saying how glad she was to not have taken a sick day today. You didn’t quite listen. “Lulu? I asked you a question.” You came back to your senses and answered the trivial question she presented you with. 

“So, how long are you staying?” You began answering but she interrupted you. “Oh!” She hit herself lightly on the forehead. “Silco’s coming today right? It’s Wednesday after all.” You nodded. “Looks like you’ve got quite a night in front of you.”

Your thoughts were interrupted by him getting close to your face. He was breathing heavily, yet a certain intimateness was flowing from him today. As he kissed you, you could taste yourself on his tongue. Slight hints of expensive cigars were also there, the taste was intoxicating. 

With his lips still on your own ones, he pushed you back onto the bed and caged you in his arms. He kissed a trail down your neck and chest before he put his hands on your thighs and spread them wider- right to his liking. He pulled back for a second. “You look divine.” 

He entered you with a slight resistance and let you accommodate his size before he started moving. With each encounter he was becoming more gentle. You never mentioned it, you never even noticed it up until now. You were fearing the- worst. 

Your legs were bent at the knees, you were trembling a bit from the intrusion. You were propped up by your elbow watching him enter and exit you. You reminisced about the first time he ever showed up here. Quickly you were pulled away from your thoughts by him burying himself to the hilt. 

“Lulu you were requested.” 

“Lu- oh, Lulu.” Moaned the most powerful man in all of Zaun. 

“I’ve been watching you for quite some time.” 

He emptied himself into the rubber and stayed inside you for a moment more, relishing in the closeness. Closeness he was to lose soon enough.

The break room was empty. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you.” The silence was filled with his confession. “Clients aren’t supposed to be here.” You said, dressed only in a warm robe, keeping you from getting goosebumps. He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes becoming dark, darker than any substance ever synthesised, soulless and- subdued.

He hung his head and turned his back to you, his coat in hand as he professed. “What’s keeping you here?” You didn’t answer. “Lulu.” He pleaded. “It’ll pass.” You answered. 

He walked onto the street, rain falling freely from the sky. His messed up hair was becoming wet. “I don't think it will.” He said to no one in particular.

.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ masterlist

[biggestxsimps]

Last Embrace

A/N: I am so sorry for not posting the last couple of months, I've had the worst bloody writers block. I know how much y'all like the Ghost fics so I hope you guys enjoy this! This one's a bit sad, even though angst isn't my strong suit, I really liked writing this and I think it turned out okay.

Just a disclaimer, I know nothing about the military and even less about dying so just let me know of any inaccuracies and I'll fix em.

WARNINGS: blood, mentions of guns and bullet wounds, normal war shenanigans, death (Let me know if I'm missing anything.)

During a mission, everything took a turn for the worse. Ghost urgently gave the order for everyone to evacuate, swiftly conducting a head count, only to realize that Y/N was missing. Filled with concern, he called out for him over the radio. "C/S? C/S, how copy?" Ghost's grip tightened on the radio at the lack of a response. "C/S?! Y/N, what's your position?"

Worry builds deep in Ghost's stomach, an almost nausea-like feeling coursing through him as he speaks through the radio once more. "Y/N. Y/N! I need your location!"

Y/N groans as he hears a loud ringing in his ears, one that fills his mind and brings an ache to his head. His eyes remain shut as he tries to ground himself, though the sound of a familiar voice in his left ear makes his lids slowly blink open.

Though his vision is blurry and everything feels fuzzy, Y/N places a hand on his shoulder and clicks the button on the radio. "Ghost? That you?" Y/N's strained and weak voice makes Ghost sigh in relief. "Ah fuck. Thank god, Y/N." Ghost's voice calms down as he speaks again, his voice stern as he tries to get an answer out of the other man.

"Where are you, Y/N?"

Y/N groans as he tries to look around, his vision still blurred enough to not be able to see anything in detail, he had little to no memory of what he'd been doing before, and the visible bright white walls and floor made him want to close his eyes again. Y/N speaks up once more, his voice holding a slight amusement. "Don't know.. I can't see properly. I'm inside a building, though."

Ghost seems to feel slightly more at ease once he hears Y/N speak, he was glad the man was okay enough to be able to smile through his pain. "Can you see anything? Anything at all?" Ghost looks around at the buildings in the area, Y/N could be anywhere.

"White walls and floors.. I can't make out anything else, though... That help at all?"

Y/N lets his body press against the cold wall behind him, relishing in the relaxing chill shooting through his body. He starts to take a few deep breaths as he tries to keep himself stable, slowly looking around the bare walls, the paint cracked and peeling. His vision gets torn away though, the bright lights starting to flicker, the hall flashing from eerily dark to painfully bright.

An annoying buzz was audible as the light stopped blinking, remaining on. Y/N could see debris on the ground, he wasn't surprised, this was a warzone after all. Y/N slowly closes his eyes, letting himself relax.

Though the feeling of a sharp pain makes his eyes shoot open, a pained noise escapes the man as he looks down at his body. His eyes widened as his gaze trailed down; the only thing he could make out was blood–blood covering his abdomen, blood covering his hands, and blood covering the floor.

Shit.

"Yeah, that helps, Y/N. I'll be there soon, you stay there, alright?" Ghost's voice was gentle, like he was trying to keep the man at ease. But Y/N wasn't listening, his eyes were too focused on the bloody mess in front of him. Y/N's throat starts to close up, the intense smell of the blood making him feel sick.

He brings his hands to the wound, pulling his warm, sticky, blood-soaked shirt up as he tries his best to judge the severity of it. His heart drops as he sees multiple bullet holes piercing his skin, cringing at the amount of blood still escaping him. He was hit with a sudden realization.

"Y/N, you still with me? I'm not far, just stay alive f'me, okay?"

"Ghost.. I don't think I'm gonna make it.."

Ghost's body fills with dread, his heart aching at the sound of Y/N's discouraged and afraid voice. Ghost shakes his head, trying to sprint even faster, his breathing ragged as he speaks through the radio. "Shut it. You're gonna be alright. I'm gonna make it to you, and then we're gonna get you out of here. Alive."

Ghost tries to keep his tone confident, but the shake in his voice shows just how worried he was. He knew that he had to make it there quickly if he wanted the best chance at saving Y/N. His words were rushed as he repeated himself, wanting to hear that Y/N believed him. "Do I make myself clear? I'm getting you out of here alive."

Y/N can't help but slowly shake his head to himself, he could see his wound, he could see how quickly he was losing blood, he could feel the way his body was slowly going numb. His breaths escape him at an uneven pace, his heart racing as he comes to terms with the situation. "Ghost.. I'm losing too much blood. I can't.."

"Yes, yes, you can. You will survive Y/N, I know you will. You have to.."

Ghost ran, ran like he's never done before. He couldn't lose Y/N, not now, not like this. The building was in sight, he was so close to being with Y/N, being able to help him, save him. Ghost could feel the burn in his legs and his lungs and the hard thumping of his pulsing heart. The dry feeling in his throat makes him want to take a breath, but he doesn't stop running, not for a second.

As Ghost ran into the building, Y/N could hear him, his loud footsteps echoing against the bare halls. "I'm here, can you tell me exactly where you are?" Y/N could hear Ghost's urgent yet puffed out voice from both the radio and from the right side of the building, the sound not too far away.

"I can hear you, Ghost.. You're to my right." Y/N's voice was the opposite of Ghost's, he tried to keep his voice as calm as he could, and the strain already being put on his body by the wound, made it impossible to speak any louder without putting himself in even more pain.

"Okay, just.. Just stay there. I'm nearly there, you're gonna be okay."

Y/N's eyes drift to the right side of the building, hearing Ghost's heavy footsteps hitting against the ground. A small and pained smile forms on Y/N's face as he sees the masked man come into sight, watching as he quickly rushes towards him.

A feeling of relief swarms through Ghost's body as he sees Y/N sitting against one of the walls, though the condition the other man was in made his worry come right back. He quickly makes it to Y/N, dropping to his knees as he brings his hands to Y/N's body. "Y/N.. Fuck..." He can't help but take a second to look into Y/N's eyes, his own brown ones showing extreme vulnerability, a look of pure fear.

Y/N lets out a dry and painful sounding chuckle, trying to ease Ghost a little. "Mhm.. it's me." Y/N brings one of his shaky and bloodied hands up, letting it just hover over Ghost's covered cheek, not wanting to get his blood all over Ghost's mask. Ghost doesn't seem to care though, letting his face gently push into Y/N's hand.

Ghost lets out a shaky breath as he feels Y/N's hand against his face. "You're.. You're gonna be okay.. I'm gonna get you out of here, alright? I promise." Y/N gently shakes his head, his small smile faltering as he pulls his other arm away from his wound.

Ghost's eyebrows furrow as he sees Y/N's reaction to his words, but before he can speak, his eyes move down to where Y/N had moved his arm from. Ghost feels his heart shatter as the sight, multiple bullet wounds scattered across his abdomen, blood slowly seeping from each one.

Ghost shakes his head, almost frantically as he brings both hands to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding with his gloved palms. All he manages to achieve though is flooding Y/N's body in pain, evident by the startled cries leaving the injured man.

"Fuck.. I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Just let me stop the bleeding, let me.."

Ghost's panicky voice trails off as he sees Y/N's wounds only bleeding more aggressively at his touch. He shakes his head, looking down at the other man's body as he keeps his hands on the wound. The blood soaks through Ghost's gloves, the warm and gory liquid uncomfortably sticking to his skin.

Y/N's hands instinctively reach Ghost's wrists, pulling the other man's hands away. "Fuck! Stop.. stop, Ghost." Y/N's grip was weak and his body had little to no strength now. Ghost slowly pulls his own shaky hands away. "I'm sorry.. I just.. you're gonna be okay, I'm gonna find some way to stop the bleeding, and then we'll.. we'll go back home. We're gonna-".

"Simon."

Ghost's mouth shuts at the use of his real name, an audible gulp being heard. His eyes trail back up to look into Y/N's, the look the other man gave him only made his heart sink, he felt like his world was falling apart. "Please.. we both know I'm not making it out of here.. just-"

"You are. You're going to make it out of here. Shut up with that nonsense." Ghost doesn't want to hear it, he refuses to hear it, to acknowledge it.. to accept it. He tried to keep his voice stern but the tremble that grew with each word made it obvious he wasn't all too hopeful either.

He slowly pulls his hands out of Y/N's grasp, bringing them back down to the surrounding area of the wound, his quivering fingers gently trailed over the scarred skin. He pulled off his gloves, using his bare hands to touch Y/N.

"You.. you can't... You're all I have left.."

Ghost's voice softened, his words paining him as they left his mouth. Y/N rests his hand back onto Ghost's mask, sliding it slightly down as he slips a couple fingers underneath the mask. The injured man remains silent, afraid of the emotion that'll leave him if he dared to speak up.

Ghost feels Y/N's fingers slide underneath the mask, a warm feeling bubbling in his stomach. He brings one of his bare palms to Y/N's hand, holding it in place before slowly, cautiously, pulling his mask over and off his head.

The sight of the rugged man made Y/N meekly smile, his heart fluttering at the long-awaited reveal of the subject of his attraction. He had been into Ghost for quite a while, and he always had a suspicion that Ghost felt the same. It was almost a silent understanding between both men, never outwardly speaking of their true feelings yet knowing they felt them.

Ghost looks down, his eyes falling shut as his grip on the other man's hand tightens, holding him closer against his now bare face. He didn't care for the blood the other man's hand was rubbing onto his skin, he needed this, he needed the Y/N's gentle touch.

"Thank you.." Ghost slowly opened his eyes at the other man's pained voice, watching as Y/N slumps further down the wall, groaning at the pressure it relieved from his wounds.

Y/N lets out a small hum at the feeling of the cold floor pressing against his back, a stark contrast to the warm liquid pouring out the front of him.

Ghost slightly shakes his head, a small smile on his face as he questions the other man. "What are you doing?" The other man signals for Ghost to come closer, his voice strained but trying to keep it sounding as optimistic as he could despite the situation.

"Getting comfortable.. Come here."

Ghost does just that, shuffling closer to the man that was now laying flat on the ground, looking down at him, his eyebrows furrowing as he takes in the man's appearance. One of Y/N's weak hands moves to Ghost's arm, gently pulling him even closer.

"Sit down, relax." Y/N was oddly calm despite the situation, despite knowing his undeniable fate. "Relax? How am I supposed to-" Y/N tugs at Ghost's arm, interrupting him. "Please." The desperation in Y/N's voice made Ghost's stomach wrench, he silently sat beside him, bringing his hands to hold onto Y/N's.

Y/N gratefully hums, his eyes looking over the other man before making a request, pleading evident in his tone. "Think you could hold me..? Jus' for a bit?" Ghost nodded, carefully wrapping his arms around Y/N's shoulders, gently pulling him into his arms.

His senses were heightened, he could feel everything, the warm blood starting to soak through his own shirt and the shake in Y/N's body. The rough and cold hands of the other man, weakly wrapped over whatever part of Ghost he could reach. Y/N lays in his arms, weak and helpless, his skin losing colour and his body shaking more rapidly...

For the first time that evening, Ghost came to terms with what was going to happen, he couldn't deny it any longer, not when it was so obvious. His eyes tear up, his heart thumping louder as all he can do is pull Y/N closer, hold the injured man in his arms as he wishes for this to just be some twisted nightmare.

He couldn't keep himself calm anymore, waves of emotions crashing onto him, flooding his mind and filling his body with unease. His grip tightened, the fabric of Y/N's clothes balling up in his fists, he just pulled him closer, not wanting to let him go, not now, not ever.

"Hey.. Simon."

Y/N looks up at the man holding him, watching as he struggles to hold in the tears his body so desperately wants to let fall. Y/N's cold fingers trace along Ghost's cheek, pulling his face a little closer, his voice quieter and more strained than before. "It's gonna be okay.."

Though the injured man was smiling in a way to comfort Ghost, his true feelings were obvious. His eyes held fear, a fear Ghost had never seen on the usually optimistic man before.

He knew he had to be strong, he knew that whatever fear he felt right now, Y/N was feeling tenfold. He took deep breaths, trying to gather himself. He felt his throat close up, he couldn't speak, not without breaking down completely, he could only nod in reply. He brought a trembling hand down to Y/N's face, his rough fingers caressing the skin with a softness Ghost didn't know he was capable of.

Y/N closed his eyes, humming at the gentle touch, and the contrasting feeling of Ghost's warm hand pressing against his chilled cheek. His presence was comforting, it almost felt like he was cuddled up against a cosy fireplace, like the flames were crackling in front of him and leaving warm kisses on his cheek.

It was a nice thought, a nice feeling, but it seemed like the pain in his abdomen did anything it could to bring Y/N out of his calming mindset. It felt like his body was on fire, but also like he had been out in the cold for days. His feet were numb now and he could feel the way his legs and fingertips also started to lose their senses.

He looked up at Ghost, tears had started to form in his own eyes, ones that were impossible to hide. "I'm scared.. you'll be here.. right? Please.. don't let me go, not yet.." His voice was faint, filled with an uneasy panic. Ghost started to nod, bringing his face closer down, letting his lips press against Y/N's cold forehead.

"..yes, yes.. I'll be r-right here. I'm not moving.. I'm not letting you go..."

Y/N closes his eyes, his head falling to the side slightly as he sighs. "Y'know.. I always looked up to you, Simon.." He leans his head deep into Ghost's chest, his tears slowly falling as he feels his body go numb. He had lost all feeling in his arms and legs, even the ache in his abdomen had started to ease. Ghost shakes his head slowly, biting his lower lip in an attempt to hold in the sobs he so desperately wanted to let go.

"I love you, Simon."

Ghost pulled Y/N closer, letting out quiet, choked sounds. He felt Y/N's body start to go limp in his arms, his hands desperately pulling at the other man's body to hold him in a comforting embrace. "I.. I love you too... Fuck.. don't do this to me.."

"I'm sorry.." Y/N moves his head, digging his face further into the other man's chest. All he could smell and hear was Ghost, the man he had grown so attached to. It brought him some comfort, knowing he would be dying in Ghost's arms, not alone. "Forgive me.."

"Always, Y/N.. always.."

Y/N lets out a weak hum, slightly nodding his head as his body relaxes in Ghost's arms, his head now starting to fall limp, being too heavy for Y/N to move. "..thank you..." Y/N's voice was barely audible, his mumble causing Ghost's heart to shatter.

"Always.. a-always... I-I'm here.. always..."

Ghost cradled the dying man in his arms, soothingly whispering as he slowly swayed his body side to side. "It's okay.. It's okay... You're safe.. you're safe with me.." Y/N's voice was practically inaudible as he tried to mumble back to the other man, his incoherent slurs trailing off into silence.

Ghost felt as if his whole world was crashing down right before his eyes. He could only pull Y/N closer, continuing to cradle the fallen soldier. His movements became a little more frantic as he rocked their bodies, his fingers clawing at Y/N's cold skin.

"Shit- I'm so sorry... I-It's okay.. It's gonna be okay.. It's gonna be okay..."

He whispered into the other man's ear, his voice broken as he felt the tears he had been suppressing, finally fall freely. His words started as a means to comfort his dying partner, but it seemed like he was only trying to convince himself now. He mumbled a mantra of 'It's okay' and 'I love you', the words just tumbling out without his control.

His body trembled, his throat letting out more choked sobs now than it had in the last 10 years, his eyes were screwed shut, his head dug into Y/N's frozen neck. His hands tried their best to pull Y/N's limp head up, his tears pouring down his bloody cheeks as the other man's head just dropped back down.

If only he made it there sooner, if only he was there to protect him; none of this would've happened. He wouldn't be here, holding the corpse of the man that showed him what it was like to be alive, how to feel, how to love. The one person that had been able to break down his walls and make him feel human again.

It felt like hours, hours of cradling his deceased lover in his arms like a child, hours of sobbing and mourning the one person that brought light into this cruel world.

"Ghost? Do you copy?"

Ghost heard the static of his radio before the familiar voice of his Captain rung through his ears. "Ghost?" Ghost's teeth grit as he hesitantly brought his hand to the radio on his shoulder, forcefully composing himself before clicking the button. "I'm here." He looked down at the deceased man in his arms, hugging him close as his body threatened to break down once more.

"Evac's here, did you reach C/S?"

Ghost lets out a shaky breath, his fingers shaking as he grips the radio. "C/S's.. C/S's been KIA." His hand falls from the radio, his blood-stained fingers gently caressing Y/N's cold cheek, gently pulling his face closer. Ghost couldn't help but admire the other man, his eyes closed and his eyebrows relaxed. His lips were tugged into a small smile, his skin devoid of its usual colour. He looked.. peaceful.

There was a few seconds of silence from the other line before it was cut by Price's voice once more. "I'm sorry, Ghost." Ghost placed a soft kiss on Y/N's bloody forehead, speaking through the radio one last time, leaving no room for argument. "I'll be there in a few, I'm takin' him with me."

Ghost snatched his mask from the floor beside him, pulling it on before scooping Y/N into his arms. He lifted him up, holding his limp body against his chest as he whispered. "It's gonna be okay.. I've got you.." He held the man tightly, his eyes glancing down at Y/N's motionless figure every few steps he took.

"I've got you..."

A/N: Could you tell I struggled ending this? I won't lie, I teared up a couple times while writing this, I think this might be the saddest thing I've written. Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated, especially since I'm still not too familiar with Ghost's personality. This is also my longest fic ever, about 3.4k words!

Also a big thank you for over 400 followers, we're so appreciative of all your support!

Masterlist

- Written by Owner 1

[uncouth-the-fifth]

pythia, a supernatural rewrite. bloody mary, rough draft.

read it on ao3.

words: 6k notes: hi y'all! yes, you read that chapter title right - this is a little unconventional, but since I've unfortunately shifted hyperfixations and have drifted away from SPN, I thought I would post what I have for the next part of pythia. since I'm moving into resident evil land, I'm not sure if I'm going to come back to this fic—but I absolutely didn't want to leave you guys empty-handed!! I'm so so sorry that this fic will go unfinished (for now), and I'm so grateful to those who were along for the ride with me. I have so much love for all the people who motivated me through writing this fic. all of you are beyond kind!! and I hope you enjoy this dose of pythia content, featuring some of my notes and process-work, lol. I only had a few heavy chunks of the beginning written, but the prose for this chap (ironically) started to get into the meat of what I really wrote this fic for—psychic bullshit between reader and Sam. It was just too plain juicy to not share!! All of my spn fics will remain up, but if you keep up with me, expect lots of Leon Kennedy bullshit and tomfoolery. Again - thank you so much for your endless love and support, I had so much fun writing what I could of season one!! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy this unfinished chunk of silly/ansty Christmas drama :)

EAU CLAIRE, WISCONSIN - Dec 21st, evening.

Sam drops the stack of glossy, brand-new legal pads into his lap, and flashes his brother a plain smile. “Thanks, Dean. I needed more of these.” From your spot seated on the living room rug, you twist your rings and wait for Dean’s witty reply. With all those notes you’re always makin', Sammy, I’ll hafta buy you some for New Years, too. You wait for him to make a crack about the gift he got Sam, something about diaries or his brother’s girly handwriting.

Instead, Dean shrugs, “Well, then there ya go.”

Voila. And with that, the feeble threads you’d tried to braid into a proper Christmas are cut. Without a word, your Mom picks up the little wooden jewelry case the three of you had thrifted her and recedes into the dark hallways of the house. Dean peels himself out of his seat to clean up. Sam sighs, picking at the plastic seal around his legal pads. Hilariously, this all plays out while Paul McCartney chimes about what wonderful Christmastime he’s been having from the radio in your kitchen.

Technically, you hadn’t just been celebrating Christmas. No, you managed to completely bomb both Christmas and the sacred Winter Solstice sabbat that the Proctors had been celebrating for a bajillion fucking years. The special sabbat that would have a real spiritual effect on you for the next couple months.

You’d given it a good ol’ college try. First, you’d painstakingly picked out gifts for the boys and your Mom. Good ass gifts, too, that you’d been hiding in your duffle since summertime. Hell, you’d been looking for the Eagles album you bought for Dean in tape form for at least two years. (Cool, Dean had said, half alive in his armchair after your chupacabra hunt in Illinois. He was at the ugly front end of a cold. He’d sniffled, Don’t have this one.) And knowing that this would be Sam’s first Christmas without Jess—the one person who had given him any kind of good holiday when he was away from home—you’d poured extra love into his gift, too.

He’d been begging you to read Frankenstein since high school, and you’d dodged it because sometimes books that pushed too far into the “classics” category could lose you. Mary Shelley got a little wordy at times. But you were a big girl with a big brain, so you’d read the whole thing for Sam… and annotated the whole thing for Sam…

He’d taken one look at your labor of love and murmured, “Good. Glad you read it.”

…Yeah. You had half a mind to check if he’d been replaced by a clone, hearing that. Fifteen-year-old Sam would have melted into a babbling, ecstatic mess if someone had carefully combed through one of his favorite books and shared their thoughts on it with him. Bare minimum, you figured he’d at least enjoy having his own copy of Shelley’s work. All his other books had been lost in the fire.

But you’d given the book to a Sam who was twenty-two, not fifteen. Fine. People changed.

The boys being a collective bummer was something you could deal with. Sam was always sullen around the holidays, and you couldn’t exactly be mad at Dean for being exhausted after a stressful hunt. But your Mom…

Beth used to make Yule her bitch. When you were a kid, come December 1st, the Proctor House could easily have been the center of all Wicca celebrations in the world. If working retail during the holidays tested one’s love for festive music, then the non-stop winter songs bouncing off Beth’s vinyl player would’ve made Santa beg to hear something else. Every room would gush with the smell of evergreen branches and holly. Your family’s altar, the home of all the love and joy for the season, would be lush with offerings and presents. The candles you lit as a family to welcome the light of the new year would glow in a neat row—your little silver candle, your mother’s tall red one… and the biggest. Your Dad’s.

Now, your Dad’s candle was tucked away with the rest of the unused decorations in the attic. From your spot on the floor, you couldn’t help but stare at your piss-poor excuse for a family altar. Beth hadn’t “had the time” to find the table runner your great-grandmother had embroidered just for that space. The small bouquet of mistletoe you’d brought sat pathetically on the wide, barren surface, framed by your family’s dollar-store candles: silver for you, red for Mom, and twin green candles for the boys. 

It was stupid. Really, you shouldn’t have cared so much. You were almost twenty-five, and the older you got the less people cared about silly, trivial things like a single holiday out of the year. That was just a fact of life.

Still, an ugly ball of bitterness sat in your gut. She couldn’t have tried to decorate? Even out on the road, you’d still found ways to make today a little special for the people you loved. Did she really have such little strength left in her? You’d dragged the boys up to Wisconsin with you so your Mom didn’t have to be alone. Was it really that impossible, after eleven whole years without your Dad, to try and be happy?

Fuck this. Yule isn’t over yet. There’s still time for you to squeeze some life out of today, and you’re going to start straight at the source. You find your Mom in the kitchen, mindlessly swiping invisible crumbs off pristine counters. When she senses you paused behind her in the kitchen doorway, clutching in both hands the gift she got you this year, the radio suddenly needs to be toyed with. Then cleaned. There are gray strands in her hair that shine like tinsel in the low kitchen light.

“Hey,” you say, your voice bright and christmas-card perfect. “I don’t think I got to say thank you for the gift.” (You did. More than once already.) “It’s been a bit since I read this one.” The gift in question is your Dad’s second edition print of The Shining. It’s even older than you are, with soft, petal-thin pages that reek of that wonderful old book musk. Rolling the flexed and cracked paperback between your hands, your Gift automatically picks up the distant echo of the hands that had touched these pages when they were new.

When you were little, you’d always found it kind of strange that your Dad considered this book his favorite. He was a sweet, soft-spoken person, and the mental image of him indulging in uncensored horror novels didn’t mesh with the Ray preserved in your head. Having since grown up and read it for yourself, you understood that it was less about the gore of the Overlook and more about “the shine;” the array of psychic abilities that kept five-year-old Danny Torrance alive through the book.

Years of having book-club with Sam had trained you to form cultivated opinions about the stuff you read, but The Shining existed in a realm that made it hard for you to describe how you felt about it. See, you had Danny Torrance’s shine—on the same level, too, enough shine to power the decades of ghostly ballroom parties and mob conspiracies inside the Overlook for a century. Seeing your Gift put onto a page so nakedly and cinematically made you uncomfortable. Yet, feeling the weight of your father’s book in your hands, standing in the kitchen he hasn’t touched in a decade, you know that it must’ve comforted him. Back then, surrounded by a psychic mother-in-law, girlfriend, and daughter, it would've been impossible to survive without a little shine of his own. You’re sure that your Dad's Gift was faint and unimpressive next to the psychic blackholes of your Mom and Grandma. Just enough to know if you’d skinned your elbow or had a nightmare. On the days that you came home from school tear-streaked and ruddy-faced, Dad would be waiting on the porch with soup.

You can still feel the faint psychic imprint of one of his whiskery kisses on your face. You don’t have many vivid impressions of him left to feel; none that haven’t been rubbed again and again, like the hollow of a fingerprint smoothed into the face of a rock over time.

Your Mom gives a non-committal hum at your attempt at conversation. Not because she doesn’t care—you can feel how much she cares from across the room—but because she’s tired. Adult Tired, like when she’d turn down your pleas to play together as a kid. Not tonight, baby. Momma’s exhausted.

“Mom,” you say, sounding as glossy and clean as a brand-new cookie tin. You open your mouth to say more, maybe to start in on one of your long-winded book-rants that had everyone wondering where Sam had suddenly appeared from. You know the answer, but you ask anyway, “This was one of Dad’s favorite books, right? I vaguely remember him talking about the hedge animals.” Beth accidentally hits a button as she’s dragging a rag over the shiny front of the radio, forcing Paul McCartney to have yet another wonderful Christmastime. She doesn’t look at you.

“Yup. But you knew that already, honey.”

C’mon. Nothing? She won’t even throw you the smallest, most pathetic olive branch? A psychic battle occurs. You get so frustrated all at once that your throat closes up, and that frustration balloons out into your family kitchen like the expansion of a bomb. You push. There is no give. The bubbling stormcloud of grief and loss hanging around Mom is there, then it’s not. The side of the kitchen your mother stands on is suddenly a void of absolute nothingness, empty of any feeling whatsoever, good or bad. She’s cutting you off from reading her—and protecting herself from your explosive emotions, as per usual.

Beth keeps cleaning the radio, her back to you.

Your rage bubbles out of you all at once. One day! One day out of the entire fucking year, the day your Dad always made special, and she can’t even pull herself together for that. You know you should be a good daughter and empathize with the woman who made you, but you’ve been a good daughter about this since you were twelve years old. Eleven Yules have gone by since your Dad passed. Just for one measly moment, you want to talk about him like he’s not a corpse rotting in the living room.

And the worst part is that Mom knows that. She’s known you’ve felt that way all day, a slow-bubbling pot building to a boil across the room. The two of you can always feel each other. You’re the only two who can; she’s the only other radio tower that can receive your station in its purest quality, and yet she has the gall to shut all her signals down.

“Fine!” You burst out, making the conversation physical.

It should feel good to yell, really. After the slow, ungratifying day you’ve had, you’ve been a shaken soda bottle waiting to implode. Instead, since you’re the crazy person yelling at nothing for no reason in the kitchen, your anger booms out of you and fizzes out in the same breath like a faulty firework. Fine. Fuck all of this. If you can’t beat em’, join em’. If everyone’s determined to rot the day away, then you’ll go wallow in self-pity the Proctor-Winchester way, too. Merry fucking Christmas, and a happy fucking Yule.

There is no satisfying door to slam on your way out of the kitchen. You take a sharp right down the front hall, hoping to veer up the stairs and slam your feet down on every single step up to your room. If your Mom wants to live forever in the year your Dad died, by all means—you’ll even bring home your thirteen-year-old self and her childish tantrums, just for time-accurate ambiance. Sam’s standing frozen just outside the kitchen archway, and you catch his deer-in-headlights look as you go peeling around the corner. You’re still keyed up with enough lashing rage to spare, so seeing him, just as hollowed-out and not there as your Mom, only feeds your pyre.

As you get to work thoroughly stomping the staircase to death, you hear him go into the kitchen and ask Beth about soup for Dean’s sore throat.

Upstairs is even more painfully quiet. Through the floor, Paul McCartney muffles down to a cheery mumble. All old houses shift around a little, but yours settles like it's alive, clicking, creaking, swaying. You don’t look at the portraits of Proctor women up the stairwell. The dusty grandfather clock in the hall watches you with its stained glass face, and you’re so lost in your own head—

—and Dad’d be so pissed we didn’t decorate the altar or listen to the Tull Christmas album, he’d riot, he’d talk some sense into her—wouldn’t think any of this is stupid— —that you don’t hear it when it chimes. Muscle memory plants you right in front of your bedroom door. Having a good cry under the covers sounds like a perfect end to the night, right? And yet you stop. Your hand drops on the knob and stays there, unmoving. Maybe it’s your Gift, or good old-fashioned human instinct knowing when something in the home has been nudged two inches to the left, but the air in the hall tastes staler than usual. A draft? Your gaze is pulled all the way down to the opposite end of the hall, where the untouched, stately storage room door is ajar.

Your Mom probably left it open. Maybe she’d gone in there to hunt around for all the heirloom Yule decorations, only to rediscover Dad’s football memorabilia or Dad’s engraved cigarette case and go bolting out of the room. —everything’s different without him, Sam and Mom and Dean too. So am I. Everything’s twisted—without him— Still riding the whirlwind, you stomp from one end of the yellowing, starry zodiac carpet (Aries) to the other (Pisces), the floorboards squeaking under your weight. You push the door and it goes shuddering into the darkness. This was one of many rooms in the house that Mom had banished you from as a kid, mostly as a way to shoo you away from the hunting world. It’d given you this insatiable fascination with it as a result, but when you tug the chain to turn on the closest lamp, what it illuminates doesn’t come close to the spectacular stories you’d made up in your head.

It’s just a room. It has windows and shelves and old things, some from your childhood, some from your Mom’s. Some from even further back than that. The closest fascinating thing is a shiny gold blob poking out of your baby things, which turns out to be Sam’s eighth-grade mathlete trophy. You had no idea what possessed Mom to come up here so often. There was no way she wasn’t in here at least a couple times a week; the tall metal storage shelf where she immortalized your Dad’s things was never dusty, and yet the whole room reeked of rotting books and insulation. You shove the box with Sam’s trophy aside with your foot until it skids out of your way, and then send the heavy door shut behind you with a wall-shaking bang.

A flurry of dust hails down from the ceiling. You cough through the cloud, wandering in your blindness towards the neat row of plastic storage tubs labeled with your Dad’s name. Clothes. Misc. Books. Maybe that’s where Mom had gotten your new copy of The Shining from, halfway through one of her sacred meditations over Dad’s things. You drop a hand onto the cold lid of the tub. Nothing, not even the slightest psychic imprint, reaches back.

What is she even holding onto anymore? You try the clothes next. The rounded corners of this bin have been scuffed gray from how many times it’s been pulled off and then pushed back on its shelf, again and again. The case feels as lifeless to you as it would for anyone else, but you try your luck and slide it out onto the floor. It comes loose with a solid thud.

When you were old enough, Beth would sometimes send you up into this room to grab things (spell ingredients, books you didn’t keep downstairs). You would run full-tilt right up until you hit the storage room door, then pass inside like a stranger in a dangerous realm, watching where you stepped and always, always keeping your Dad’s shelf in the corner of your eye. On brave days you would pick up his silvery cigarette case and roll it between your palms. It grew harder and harder to feel him each time, the ghost of him whittled down like a rock made round by the current of a river.

When you crack off the lid, you expect some kind of smell. You don’t remember what he smelled like, but you have a few guesses—cheap, vanilla-sweet aftershave, or maybe the woody stale smell of cigarette smoke you know you shouldn’t love. Maybe both. It doesn’t really matter. The neatly folded stacks of your Dad’s old shirts and jackets don’t smell like a damn thing. You dip your face into a holey band-shirt with the sleeves scissored off, but all that comes back to you is the rotten smell of dusty insulation. He’s here—he’s right here in front of you, right in your fucking hands, and yet the whole world is dead of him. You can’t sense even a sliver of him left.

The same old reservoir of despair pushes and pushes at your composure, wiggling through your cracks, widening them with a hundred thousand tons of pressure bearing down on you a minute. It is a day by day task to handle the reservoir. You like to think you’re good at handling it, at patching the cracks as they come and letting them breathe when the moment calls for it. But when you lift your face from the bin, the leak springs—really, genuinely springs, like it hasn’t in years.

You fall back onto your haunches, swallowing back sudden stinging tears. The bin and its askew lid go shrieking back onto the shelf with a lash of your foot.

-

The music downstairs stops. You can’t tell how long it’s been.

When his death was fresh, and you were stuck deep, deep within the reservoir, you’d wondered if it would always feel this way. It got easier, right? And in many ways it had—on most days you could talk about your Dad without it hurting, letting the dam’s water run. The battle was still there, but it was a burden you were proud to carry if it meant his memory lived on in you. He would want you to be happy, your Mom used to urge. So you gave being happy your best shot, loving and giving as much as you could.

That’s what frustrated you so endlessly about your Mom. She’d been right; your Dad would’ve wanted the two of you to move on, and yet she still entombed herself in the bottom of her reservoir far too often. There was no release, no acceptance with her. The dark part of you that wanted to pass blame wondered if this was all because of John, and how well Winchester grief happened to mingle with a Proctor’s. How would your mother’s life be different, if the evil that’d taken Dad hadn’t been put down a week later? Would she be just as hellbent? With your knees sore from pressing into the floor, you knew the answer. You knew if the thing that’d taken Sam or Dean from you was right in front of you, you’d chase it until you were in your own grave. You knew that even after it was dead, you would be digging your nails into the backseat of the Impala and clawing for every psychic molecule of them left in the leather.

And that’s what scared you—was she just going to be chasing Dad forever, til’ there wasn’t a wisp of him left in the world to feel? 

Something dawns on you, thudding through your mind like a rock dropped down a chute. With limp hands, you slide The Shining towards you on the worn wood floor, part the pages with your thumbs, and press your nose into the binding. There’s the smoky, earthy scent of old paper first… then something just underneath the surface that no one but you and your Mom can pick up.

Old books. Yes. Yes, that’s what Dad had smelled like.

-

You’re seated on the floor of the storage room, back pressed to one of the ancient metal shelves holding up your gramma’s VCR collection, when a blot of the future is tossed at you. Cheap deodorant and lemon cough drops.

Around a minute later, the stairs beyond the door squeak under someone’s weight. Even without the roulette glimpse of the future, you can tell by the footfalls who it is. Heavy knuckles rap the door and come straight in without waiting for an answer. Behind him, the silence of the rest of the house is even heavier.

You try to sound like a reasonable adult, but the mopey teenager slips out anyway. “Thought you were sick, Dean.”

He artfully dodges your point. (Dean is, after all, a master of the craft.) You don’t look back at him, but the lemon cough-drops glimpse you got of him creates a clear picture: Dean’s whole body listing into the door frame, one hand on the knob, his face lacking its usual color. His cheeks have graduated from stubbly to scruffy, neglected. “Hey,” he says. It’s the, okay, you’re done cooling down, let’s have a grown-up conversation kind of hello.

You don’t know what to say back. You’re not sure if you can have any kind of conversation right now.

Dean rolls with it, trying to decide if this silence is begging for a subject change or a heart-to-heart. You’re not sure what he goes for when he says, “I had an idea.” “Did it hurt?” You joke. Jokes you can do.

There’s his opening. After a beat, you’re—

—fucking lobbed with a foam football. Like you’re fucking twelve. Dean’s throw arcs straight towards your head and bounces clean off the top, a perfect spiral. You yelp in outrage, and before you can think you’re following where the stupid ball went so you can clock him right in the face with it. Asshole. It loop-de-loops on the floor around an old dining chair, and you clamber on your knees to fish for it.

Just when you get the toy in your hands and you’re about to demolish him with it, Dean ducks behind the doorway, chuckling, “Woah! No face shots! You wouldn’t bash a poor, sick guy’s face in, would’ja?”

God. You can’t fucking believe him. If anyone else did that…

You lower your hackles and drop the foam toy into a basket, far out of reach of congested troublemakers. When his shining eyes appear in the slit of the doorway again, your cheeks are aching with an impossible smile. “You’re lucky it’s Christmas, loser. What is it?”

Dean hesitates a moment more, just in case you’ve got something else to throw at him, then joins you in the storage room with the evil little oily smile you love. The same dust cloud that got you earlier descends on him in a rough coughing fit, but this lets him get a good look at the little mess you’ve made: the book on the floor, your Dad’s things open and askew. When he clears his throat for the last time, he looks pained.

For your sake, you pretend it’s an empathetic kind of pained. And you know that’s a part of it—Dean doesn’t enjoy seeing you and your Mom like this. But it’s an unfortunate fact of your life that you will have four times as much context for him than he will ever have for you. Just breathing the same dusty air as him, you know he’s been nursing a sinus headache since Monday, one that’s made his head feel like it’s chock-full of stuffing, and that Sam made him canned chicken noodle soup—and at first he felt a little smug making Sam play nurse, until he stewed on it more and—

—hate it when he gives me that dead-eyed look, like he can’t even pretend to care anymore. Like he’s just dragging himself through this for our sake. Poor kid scares the shit outta me. Is this how it’s always gonna be? Sammy aching over her, night after night after night—

You know just touching the bins holding your Dad’s things that on a icy February afternoon in 1994, fifteen-year-old Dean had picked up the plastic tubs for your Mom from the store.

So when he gives you that pained look, you know it’s part-concern, part-fear. If this is what you look like eleven years after your Dad’s passing… if John never comes home from his hunting trip, is this what Dean will become? The loyal son, waiting and waiting on that porch for a man who would never come home? 

Your whole life, you’ve felt like you were becoming more and more like Dean; lately, it feels like he’s becoming so much like you. Your last four years on the road together had slowly but surely melded you together.

“Okay, so, Yule’s a fire festival, right?” Dean grasps around in his memory for the yearly history lesson your Mom gives about the Wicca calendar. “Uh, we lit candles… I thought about burning Beth’s Muppet Christmas CD with my lighter a couple times. That’s about all the fiery, burny-stuff we did today.”

“I love the Muppets Christmas album,” you pout.

“After the millionth partridge in John Denver’s goddamn pear tree, you’d change your mind,” Dean swears. “But I was thinkin’—we got the firepit in the backyard, marshmallows, and I think I could put together some vodka shots. Then we can blow em' out and eat em' with the s'mores.” Your eyebrows raise. Only he, of all people, could take your sacred family traditions and twist them into such a wonderful, stupid-ass thing. Maybe it’s ridiculous, but… there is chocolate and graham crackers downstairs… and with how cold it is outside, a fire would be perfect… It’s the best blend of weird Proctor-Winchester traditions you need to save Christmas and Yule. Dean takes your silence as glowing awe. “Exactly. I told you, I'm a fuckin' genius. Helluva way to start the wiccan year, right? You in?”

You’re well aware that this is an elaborate plan to coax you away from your moping. Still, it’s just too Dean to turn down. “...Hell yeah.”

At first R hopes that it’s just her and Dean, and that Sam and Beth keep their grief to themselves. But then she realizes how cruel and selfish she’s been—everyone grieves in their own way, and just because she works through it by talking about it doesn’t mean it will work for everyone. It’s not good that Beth is holding on so tightly to her loss, but that doesn’t mean R wants to leave them out.

Lead this into a touch of psychic!Dean and how he has a teeny tiny second sense for what she needs, just like her Dad did. Just enough shine to get by.

R and Dean come downstairs and invite Sam and Beth to their campfire 😀

Or, at the very least, all the psychic happenings in the house echoing between them; if Dean's sharper instincts were as psychically heavy as a shadow falling on grass, then Sam's Static was six feet of snow in an arctic blizzard.

It tingles all the way up to your shoulder when Sam touches you. And that, oh, that was a whole new can of worms. As they get dressed for the snow outside and assemble the s'mores and flaming shots, you try not to head down that train of thought again.

Every time you’ve glanced at Sam these past few weeks, you’d been unable to hide from what you’d sensed there—from what you’d seen in the demon, and what you now knew to be completely and utterly true after reading its mind.

Sam had It. The Gift, the Shining, whatever the fuck you wanted to call it. Not the vague imprint of psychic-ness from loving one or sharing the Impala with one for four years; full-on, unlatched, REDRUM, I-saw-it-before-it-happened psychic abilities. In the weeks you'd had to sit with that revelation, you'd poked carefully at Sam from afar. Obviously, you knew what a fucking psychic felt like. The five-year-old Sam who'd cut Dean's gum out of your hair had not been psychic. Yet this Sam, twenty-two with three-fourths of an ivy league law degree under his belt, was as psychic as a fucking—well. You. He was just as psychic as you.

Without even a sliver of the same control or even understanding of—of what he had, yes, but you were confident that if Sam was pushed, he could reach into your mind just as easily as you could reach into his. There had been a shift, then. At six, having gum cut out of your hair, you had been decidedly less psychic than you were at twenty-four. So Sam had gone through the Proctor Rite Of Passage; some terrible moment had cut him deep, deep enough to pull a new kind of blood to the surface. After Jessica, he had been... yeah.

It was fucking crazy. And yet it also slotted perfectly into some of the weirder things you understood about Sam; about who he was now and the vague, strobing flashes you got of his future. It freaked you the fuck out. Did Sam know? Did anyone know, besides you? Had your Mom recognized that spark in Sam, the same way she'd seen it in you? Had John?

And the plain existence of the Gift in Sam begged the question—why? Had he just happened to drop from the tree as a different kind of apple? Or was this something you could trace back to his mother, the same way it traced back to yours? Had Mary…?

The implications of that took pretty much everything you understood about Sam and Dean’s life, lined it up on the chopping block, and cleaved it in two. Needless to say, thinking about it made you sick. How could you even begin to bring this up to them?

You cursed your abilities with all you had. There were nights when you sat on the bathroom floor, wishing you could dig in with your nails and rip out whatever had put It in your head. Never in a billion fucking years would you have wished It upon anyone else; especially not Sam, good, selfless, wonderful Sam, who already ached so deeply for other people. Seeing their future, too? And even more often, seeing it and being helpless to change it?

He used to cry over squashed spiders as a kid. You'd felt a whole lot more than just spiders die.

…Beside that shuddering horror was another, far more selfish feeling. As scary as the implications could be, when you thought less about the Winchester family and more about your relationship with Sam, you were… excited. Relieved, even.

There were only four people in the entire world that you could share your Gift with. One of them has been six feet under for over a decade. Your Gift was a clingy, possessive creature, too. It was maybe two steps shy of being an eldritch horror. It poked through Dean’s dreams when you slept beside him, sucking them up like cigarette smoke. It breathed down Sam’s neck wherever he went. If you wanted, no one could lie to you—all punchlines and stories were spoiled for you, you knew when people found you annoying or pretty or stupid. If that particular Proctor gene had skipped you, then maybe you’d be able to form relationships with people where you didn’t immediately, intrinsically understand who they were and why. Dean would say, You need a drink. You would know without asking that he meant, You scare the ever-living hell out of me n’ I know I can’t hide it from you. Fucking hell, kid, I wish I could.

You knew you were a freak. The tiny human vessel for the lashing, bubbling, soul-melting, cosmic weight of a star about to bloom into a black hole. Only your mom would ever understand what it felt like to exist on the fringe of time, between the exhaustive influence of the past and the vast, spotty expanse of the future. You were a tool to men like John; an anomaly for men like Bobby; and a responsibility to men like Dean. 

But Sam… Your best friend Sam, he’d always tried to understand. Maybe he’d never fully get it, but the point was that he tried to. You remembered sitting with him on the curb outside your old high school, the concrete thrumming with music from the junior prom you’d both left behind inside.

How either of you had gotten dates was a miracle. You, the class weird-freak-emo punchline, and Sam, on his fourth round being the new kid that year, were two peas in a pod. Your date had never picked you up; Sam’s had escaped with her friends long before their first dance. Neither of you were very broken up about it.

The future had sprawled in front of you that night as clear as could be. You must've sat and talked on the curb for three straight hours, pressed together at the hip with Sam’s blazer around your shivering arms.

He was always beautiful in the boy-next-door kind of way, dimples popping with every good smile and freckles rising out of the too-short sleeves of his button-up. But that night he’d been fucking Helen of Troy, and the roar of the past and future slowed to a halt around him. 

Do you really see the future all the time? Every second? Sam had curiously tilted his head, sending a gleaming swish of chocolatey hair out of his eyes.

Swallowing hard, you’d hesitated, Not every second. But a lot, yes.

Again, the head tilt, then the swish. His gaze was innocent and intrigued. No existential dread, no sweeping sense of fear. Just plain curiosity. Not even morbid curiosity. Sam had asked, What about right now?

Sam’s cologne—oh god, his cologne—was steaming off his borrowed jacket and floating around your head in a wonderful rosy fog. You’d poked at the future. Sometimes things came back, sometimes they didn’t. That night, the future had come back tasting like Sam’s vanilla chapstick and junior prom punch, and your face had gone up in flames just sensing it. He’d waited for an answer. You’d blurted out the plain truth: In a minute or two, you’re gonna kiss me.

This kind of absolute, unshakable certainty about the future had made other hunters’ blood run cold. You’d braced yourself for Sam’s displeasure or worse, his fear. But instead, there were those dimples again, and Sam had the gall to bat his lashes at you and delightedly ask, Really? That’s what the magic eight ball has to say?

His big hand had dropped onto your knee and you’d squeaked out a shrill, Signs point to yes!

Sam loved the stupid magic eight-ball joke. You could feel him smiling about it as he kissed you, kissed you, hand-on-knee, his face tipping down to yours, the shitty school punch staining his lips as the two of you connected. At fifteen and sixteen respectively, this was the first kissing that either of you had ever done. It’d been wetter and warmer than you’d expected, and Sam’s vanilla chapstick had left the slightest print on your mouth, one that your tongue swiped over obsessively for the next month. Your Gift had chased him for weeks after that, silently and invisibly swarming him every time he entered a room.

Back then, your mind had been on the Curse. But now, you thought about what had led to the kiss in the first place. Sam hadn’t kissed you on a night when your Gift had been crammed down deep where it could bother nobody but you. He’d instead chosen the precise moment where your Gift was most raw, one of Its fingers coming down from the sky to press against the pulse of the future. It was small, but at a time in your life when you’d wanted to claw your Gift out with your bare hands, Sam had gotten the smallest glimpse of It and had fallen in love.

You couldn’t help but see this thing inside him, his Static, and feel the exact same way. His powers were twisted and unavoidably demonic, and yet you kind of loved them. It made perfect sense to you. No one really understood you like Sam did. Now, it's clear why.

-

tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss @spnexploration @stoneyggirl2 @urm0mmmbbg @mulattomoon @poeticsorcery @deansapplepie @rennydenny @babydollfoster @badlandsbrunette @hallecarey1 @pplanetcaravan @notanotherthembo

[seyaryminamoto]

hello! I really like your meta about Zuko, and I'm so glad that I finally found a person who also thinks that Zuko in book 3 is a much worse person than he was in the book 1. I always thought that something was wrong with me, since literally no one sees this obvious fact for me! But I would like to ask you: What do you think about Katara in book 3? the fact is that she was my favorite character in books 1 and 2, and the way she was written in book 3 upset me a lot. it seems to me that they spoiled her character, but I can't explain why. Please share your thoughts!

Glad you've enjoyed my extensive meta on the fandom's fave, haha. I did write a lot about him, always nice to know my thoughts on the subject are still deemed relevant.

As for Katara... well, I have thoughts on her, too. My experience with her character is quite similar to yours, I'd say, because I too felt a lot better about her character in the first two seasons of the show compared with the third. I don't usually give this a ton of thought, but after your ask, I figured I'd try and figure out what exactly went down with her that made people like us feel so uncomfortable with Katara's portrayal at multiple points of Book 3...

For starters, I'll say I vibed with Katara a lot when I started the show for reasons beyond her being a great character or being written wonderfully: she could very well have been written mediocrely and I would have loved her anyway simply because I ran away from anime to ATLA in an era where anime kept shoehorning incest undertones into every sibling relationship, even in shows that didn't have that as a core subject. It happened at least twice that I can remember, I kept seeing people raving about shows where it WAS the core of it (I still do not understand the Oreimo deal, like, the minute I read that show's title I puked in my mouth and knew I'd never watch it), and I just needed... safety from that concept, I guess?

So when I went into ATLA, and the first sibling relationship you're exposed to is Sokka and Katara, two siblings who very much act like siblings? I was thriving. It was thrilling. I felt so refreshed that I think I didn't care much about the flaws of Book 1, despite my inability to sense direction for most of it, because thank the universe, it was a sibling relationship that made sense to me!

With that as an opening, I'd say that, initially, I thought Katara was fine for most of Book 1. In Book 2? She fell off the radar for me a bit simply because other characters are introduced that just appeal to me so much more than she does. I vibe better with characters like Azula, who tend to be the type of female character I just LOVE, and with characters like Toph, she's a tomboy, I was a tomboy (... was? x'D maybe I shouldn't use past tense...), so I gravitated much more towards those two by no real fault of Katara's core personality traits. Back in Book 1, there aren't as many main characters, so you don't have a lot of variety to choose faves from. It's not that strange, I think, that once the cast broadens, people's interest in certain characters can scatter too.

But then Book 3 happened, and I just couldn't enjoy Katara outside of episodes where she wasn't that important. The Katara-centric episode of Book 3 stand among my least favorite episodes of ATLA altogether, and among the least likely episodes I'd ever want to rewatch. I literally skipped over The Painted Lady in my first rewatches of the show, every bit as much as I skipped The Great Divide or Avatar Day, both of which annoy me a lot in the first two seasons. The Puppetmaster? Not even close to being an episode I could enjoy. Even the Runaway, that's supposed to be Toph-centric, ends up making me count down the minutes for it to end and I'm not even going to get started on The Southern Raiders and the absolute can of worms that episode is...

So, with all this being said, if we peel this particular cabbage open little by little...

After mulling it over, I've grown to suspect that Katara has major inconsistency issues since day one that most people don't particularly like to acknowledge, and that flew over most of our heads from the beginning of the show. She's pretty much portrayed to us as an empath, someone who has so much heart that she can't help but feel everyone's pain and suffer with them all the time. The fandom 100% acts like that's who she is (while also obsessively adultifying her unnecessarily, and forcing her into the mom!friend role, which... we'll talk about that later)

But this is also the same character who, when her brother banished Aang from the Southern Water Tribe as early as in episode 2, protested in a very particular way once Aang was gone. Which one of these statements sound more accurate to Katara's character, and a suitable protest for her to proclaim upon witnessing this injustice against Aang?

"Aang is alone! How could you send him away on his own? He could be in danger, Sokka! He's just a kid!"

"The Air Nomads are gone, Sokka! Where do you think he'll go? He doesn't have a home to go back to and you just sent him away!"

"You happy now? There goes my one chance at becoming a waterbender!"

If you ask the fandom? They'll most likely think that her reaction was either #1 or #2.

Surprise surprise: it was actually #3

I'm not saying she didn't show empathy towards Aang while Sokka was ranting at him, because she did. I'm not saying she wasn't willing to be banished along with Aang until Sokka asks if she'd choose pretty much a total stranger over their family and tribe, because she was. She absolutely did all those things.

... So why would she focus only on how he represented her one chance at becoming a waterbender once Aang is gone?

This feels off to me. I've never particularly liked that line. And you could absolutely say that Katara has every right to be mad at losing her chance to reclaim an aspect of her culture that she cannot connect to, but the way it was framed here? It absolutely makes Katara look more selfish than she actually was. The wording is not good. The show doesn't emphasize, at this point, that bending is such a core and crucial part of their culture and that Katara feels a major responsibility in being the ONLY person in the South Pole that can keep it alive. So it just comes off as a child's tantrum. Sokka's concerns were 100% valid too, even if he went about them while being a jerk (he is, indeed, an older brother...). He wasn't even wrong in the end about how dangerous Aang was to their tribe, since Aang's mishap with Katara on the ship gives away his position to Zuko, and it results in Zuko ramming a huge ship into their home and nearly killing people in the process. But you DON'T see the show fully framing it as though Katara and Aang did something wrong -- it was an honest mistake. We know it was. Sokka is framed as unreasonable for being so paranoid even though later events in the very episode prove he wasn't.

And that's... the crux of the issue with Katara's writing. If you ask me.

There are far too many instances where Katara makes mistakes that she's not held accountable for, that she doesn't apologize for, that run against the core logic and principles of her character and they either get shrugged off or overlooked. There are far too many situations where she acts out, and is a jerk at her jerk of a brother, even unprompted on occasion, and it's supposed to just be funny. One particularly stood out to me when I revisited it a few years ago, I can't really remember what for (maybe when I was writing Jeong Jeong's arc in Gladiator and I had a look at the fishing village...?), but it's the famous flashback episode in Book 1: The Storm.

The scene in question is... humorous. Supposedly. Katara is trying to buy fruit in the market but then realizes they have no money to pay for it. Not only does Katara piss off the vendor, but the vendor actually takes her rage out on Sokka once she realizes these kids won't give her any business: he gets kicked in the rear, as the transcript's description says. No one protests the woman's violent reaction, not even Sokka. Katara most certainly doesn't do it. But that's not all there is to it: Sokka doesn't hold what happened with the fruit vendor against Katara, they have a conversation on how they have no money and no food... and Katara offers him the golden ticket solution to their problems:

"You could get a job, smart guy."

Am I too feminist for thinking it's insane that Katara expects her brother alone to get the job? That she's not saying the THREE of them should get jobs? She and Aang are BENDERS! That's an asset most people aren't likely to find in any would-be employees in the central Earth Kingdom! So... wouldn't it be logical for all of them to do it? But no, instead, Sokka alone has to get the job?

And yes, I know, Sokka is the provider, Sokka is the protector, Sokka would do ANYTHING for his sister and the people he loves: you ask the fandom, though, and that's Katara instead of him. Moments like these simply do not exist in the fandom's eyes and, if they do, they're just excusable because Sokka is boring/weird/annoying/insert-demeaning-nonsense-here and Katara is a queen who can do whatever she wants.

Then, the consequences arrive once Sokka gets a dangerous job on a fishing boat and nearly gets killed in a storm. Aang is the one who shows concern about the potential storm when the fisherman's wife brings it up: from all I can see in the transcript, there's nothing from Katara. Sokka says they told him to get a job, so that's what he's doing, and there's no manifestation of concern from either of them about maybe joining him on this fishing trip to ensure he's safe. Instead, Aang is haunted by his past and Katara goes with him when he leaves, which, yes, is very important for context on the Air Nomads and Aang's life... and yet we don't really NEED for this scene to be Katara and Aang only. It could've included Sokka too. The plot of the second half of the episode would change? Likely. They could've come up with another idea, and not shown us a Katara who doesn't show concern for her brother's safety or any remorse when her unfair demands or expectations from him could result in catastrophic outcomes :') yes, she worries about Sokka's safety once the storm hits, but there's no sign of her feeling responsible for Sokka being out in the storm at all. No apology. Which is ironic, because Zuko apologizes to Iroh in that very same episode, hence, an apology from Katara to her brother could have mirrored that side of the story well, and they REALLY loved doing Zuko-Gaang parallel scenes like that, so it would have fit perfectly! Didn't happen, though.

Point being... Katara's compassion and empathy are not absolute. It's important to keep in mind is that they don't need to be! But precisely because she falters with them in moments where she REALLY shouldn't, with people as important to her as her own brother? It becomes very difficult to believe that she's the empath the fandom is convinced she is, and that the show's narrative tries to push her as.

The real reason why her failure to show compassion to Sokka in "humorous" situations feels so unnerving isn't because she's a typical little sister who takes her brother for granted (which is a perfectly logical/believable behavior!): it's because there are no consequences for it. Maybe at some point or another there were? But I for one can't remember many instances where Katara failed Sokka and it was framed as her fault and her responsibility. Let's look at other Book 1 instances that exemplify what I mean:

She freezes him to the deck of Zuko's ship, which puts Sokka in MAJOR danger, and she just tells him to hurry up as if it weren't her fault that he's frozen in the first place. We don't even see her making efforts to thaw him out of there when she IS the waterbender so it seems logical that she should be able to help with that (and if she's too inexperienced to do it? The least she can do to help her brother out of a dangerous situation is to TRY???). But apparently it's funny that she doesn't help him when it's her fault! So this is fine!

She endangers the entire group over the waterbending scroll, which, of course, the pirates had no right to have anyway and it's reasonable that she'd want it for herself... but she antagonized a group of fully adult, dangerous, potential murderous pirates, against Sokka's constant warnings that they shouldn't pick that particular fight. As far as I can remember? Her apologies on that episode are exclusively about how she hurt Aang's feelings by being jealous over his greater talents as a bender. Basically, nothing for Sokka, no apology for not listening to him about danger, making it worse when the very final moment features Katara proudly telling her brother that she won't steal things... unless it's from pirates. So lesson not learned because it's funny, again, to never acknowledge that Sokka has a point.

She actually cares about Sokka's fate in Jet! But the thing is... the narrative doesn't frame that as Katara's fault. Because it's not. Jet made his choices and he did awful things and he captured Sokka, lied and gaslit everyone, because he had a goal to fulfill and he used Katara to make that happen. As angry and upset as Katara is, it's not exactly shown that Katara is sorry for having trusted Jet when Sokka could have ended up paying a deadly price for it. She's angry at the betrayal, even in Book 2 it's constantly framed as though Katara is upset at him as an ex-girlfriend would be upset at her ex-boyfriend for lying to her rather than, you know, being pissed at him for nearly killing her brother + an entire village. My point is, the narrative framing never holds her responsible for Jet's choices. Which, again, she's not. But she IS responsible for her own choices... and one of those choices was disregarding Sokka's warnings about Jet. THAT was her fault, and her responsibility. She jumped to conclusions and assumed that Sokka was bitter and jealous that Jet was the charming cool leader Sokka could never be. There were no apologies to Sokka over that, either.

I could go on, and on, and on. The truth is, I bring all this up to show with solid evidence that Katara's writing was always a little... unstable. Weird. Disconnected from logic in many regards, I'd say. It's not logical/compatible to tell us that this character has the BIGGEST heart of the entire cast when she fails to show that heart to none other than her own brother, who is inarguably the person who she knows best and with whom she should share the closest relationship, even as her friendship with Aang grows and thrives. That makes no sense, thematically speaking.

Is it meant to be comedic? Yes, every bit as much as Iroh sexually harassing June was done for comedy's sake. That's not an excuse for characters behaving in ways that are thematically contrary to what they're supposed to be portraying... and along with that? No excuse for them facing zero consequences for that behavior. Which is, in fact, my main issue with these flaws from Katara: I have no issue with the writing choices in the scenes I listed just now! I take issue, however, with the lack of follow-up and consequences that you can BET, 100%, would have befallen Sokka if it had been him instead of Katara acting that way. He faced consequences even for things he didn't do, for comedy's sake: he wouldn't have gotten away with disregarding Katara's safety as often as Katara did with him, no chance at all.

Ultimately, these scenes in Book 1 are kind of ignorable in the larger scheme of things (or at least, that's how the fandom has always acted). Not a lot of people take any of this as major proof of characterization for Katara. You won't see a lot of fic writers showing her acting like this. Canon, though, often would go down this route for funsies, and the comics certainly did it plenty too, that I can remember. Part of the issue here is that, as funny as it is, it also makes Katara feel stale as a character, as does the Sokka-Katara dynamic, at large, because there's no progression for it. That's probably my greatest gripe with the Great Divide, believe it or not: it fakes being an episode where Sokka and Katara are going to be confronted over their conflictive tendencies, and the ONLY potential development in that basically-filler episode SHOULD HAVE BEEN Sokka and Katara learning to be a bit more harmonious and respectful of each other? ... And that's just not what happened at all. The status quo remains exactly the same after that episode, and it continues to be like that until the end of the show.

The real reason why Sokka and Katara are deemed the healthy siblings is because, of course, compared with the other main set of siblings in the show, these two appear to get along wonderfully. But the truth is, their relationship is not as dynamic as it deserved to be. And that's part of why Book 3 ends up failing in ways Book 1 might not have, while having similar flaws: Book 1 is when you're still getting to know these kids, and that's why I find its flaws far more forgivable than anything that comes later. When there's basically no development for that connection at all, Book 3 winds up falling flat with characters like Sokka and Katara and the bond between them.

All this being said... I'm not saying that Katara is terrible in Book 1. I still stand by the fact that I really enjoyed her character in many instances of this season, there absolutely are situations where she sasses Sokka that still make me crack a smile, and genuinely humorous situations that don't paint her in a questionable light over her lack of concern for her brother's safety. Her fight to earn the right to be trained as a waterbender is deeeeeply flawed but it's not her fault, it's more the misogyny of the writers/creators that decided that a betrothal necklace from his past would make Pakku unlearn all his sexism and get over his bullshit right after beating up a girl who was fighting tooth and nail to make him acknowledge her. That he only acknowledges her because he wanted to marry her grandmother is... uh... fuckboi behavior even when he's well over 70 years of age? XD

So, yeah, Book 1 still has my favorite Katara of the entire show even though I REALLY wish she wouldn't get away with things that other characters wouldn't get a pass for (... well... other than Zuko...). I can't enjoy her as much as I enjoy other characters because I really don't like it when characters aren't held accountable for serious mistakes they made.

Moving on to Book 2, though, and leaving behind my greatest gripe with Katara's Book 1 writing (lack of direct consequences/self-reflection on her part), Book 2's biggest sin when it comes to Katara is the beginning of the "mothering" trope. I honestly did not feel motherly vibes from Katara towards anyone in Book 1. Sokka is very often the one playing the responsible role, while Aang and Katara are seeing the world, practicing their bending, doing reckless and fun things. The entire thing about Katara being the mom friend started in Book 2 when she suddenly becomes the epitome of responsibility (well... kinda) when Toph joins the group. She still does sketchy stuff with zero consequences (I'll forever complain about how ice is not cold in this show, the kids she froze to the wall may have been dicks, but freezing someone alive that way should have resulted in serious health repercussions, just as ANY case of freezing someone alive should have, ffs, be it Zuko in Book 1's finale or Azula + Katara in Book 3's...), but once Toph is part of the group, she becomes the cool girl who's "one of the boys", and now Katara is "the mom". This dynamic gets forced into the story pretty much right after Toph joins the group. And after that? It doesn't really change for the better often. There are only a handful of instances where Katara wasn't acting wholesome and comforting and kind and compassionate in Book 2 (... particularly with Sokka, ofc), but the point where her dynamics, even with Aang, start to feel motherly is definitely Book 2.

And this adds to the issue, in the end: Katara's appeal as the main girl in the show is suddenly gone because Toph is here, and she's a way more unique character that the writers definitely were having fun working with, probably more fun than they had with Katara. So they had to find a new niche for her, I'd dare guess. Thus, instead of actually building up an awesome and solid friendship between Katara and Toph, they mostly just clash and collide. Toph is basically the ONLY character who gives Katara grief and isn't framed as in the wrong for it, which is its own set of issues (namely, Toph not being challenged enough by the narrative, which stunts her character growth), but among many things, we suddenly get shown that Katara is a girly girl who likes makeup and she ropes Toph into this when nothing we've seen so far suggests that Toph would be comfortable with that. Katara pushes her into doing things because they're the "girls of the group"... and it doesn't often look like Toph's feelings on anything are important when Katara is pushing her around for whatever purpose. I'm not saying Toph hated the spa day, she certainly had fun eventually, but even when the comics made a "Katara and Toph's day out" story, where Toph got to choose what to do for once, the story devolved into Katara's show anyway, and things concluded with Toph deciding they're better off doing girly things together when they want to hang out because Katara is just too intense for the things Toph would like to do.

This isn't even in the show, but it's basically a response to Tales of Ba Sing Se to try and even out Katara and Toph's one-sided dynamic, where Katara calls the shots of their entertainment... and even then, Toph doesn't really get what she's looking for. But Katara does get that out of Toph because all she wants is a girl to do girly things with and Toph provides that in the end, no matter how much of a tomboy she may be. Toph might just want a friend who loves the things she loves, and who knows, Katara could be that person! But the story never leads her in that direction so we never see that happen. And that's why that particular friendship never really... clicked for me. Their dynamics don't really feel enjoyable to me as they were written in the show, even though they very much could have been.

That's one thing I'll always give ATLA: the character potential and synergy they captured with that cast could be absolutely incredible. Team Avatar is so iconic because they really could work well off each other. A lot of teams in other media just aren't this good (... one of my main reasons to not enjoy Voltron and drop it in season 1 was my absolute failure to find any synergy between those characters, it felt like they all hated each other and I honestly did not enjoy their dynamics in the least), but Aang, Katara and Sokka have great synergy due to their different personalities in Book 1. Same when Toph joins them in Book 2. Zuko ABSOLUTELY could have been better in the group than he was if Book 3 hadn't devolved into the Zuko Woobifying Show by the second half, where the only writing priority was making him friends with everyone, and making them all feel sorry for him and have compassion towards him. But, broken down to his core traits, Zuko's personality would have resulted in solid chemistry with everyone else's if they'd gotten off that agenda anyway! So ultimately, ATLA has a big win in this respect that a lot of TV shows would LOVE to recreate but they simply haven't struck the right kind of balance in character traits.

Hence why the way they wrote Toph and Katara's dynamics kind of feels like a betrayal to me. Those two could have been a lot of fun, they have EVERYTHING it takes to be entertaining characters with not a ton of things in common and yet building a solid friendship that hinges on their differences. I've seen a fair few examples of that kind of dynamic in other media, and it absolutely would be possible with Toph and Katara. It's really unfair that they couldn't capture their dynamics in such a way that both characters would SHINE, rather than constantly resorting to conflicts between them that never seemed to truly be resolved.

So: Toph should not be a problem for Katara. She should enhance her character and doesn't because of writing failures. One of the core failures is "mom friend Katara", of course: there's nothing inherently wrong with Katara stepping up and taking care of people she loves, but there's something very wrong with it when she's suddenly portrayed as this motherly figure when she's doing things that Sokka had been doing just fine in Book 1. Main reason why this is the case? Sokka got dumbed down to full-time class clown for whatever reason in Book 2. While he has good moments, a lot of times they went WAY overboard with making him a source of comedy this season and that, too, contributes to mom friend Katara. Since Sokka is being so meh? We even feel relieved that Katara is there to keep things together because nobody can expect the other three to do it, right? But... Sokka was doing it in Book 1. And there's no real development to explain him NOT doing it anymore once Toph joins in besides "Katara is now the mom friend and Sokka is just here to be funny". It's not organic development: it's forcing tropes that just don't fit. And while Katara's mothering doesn't feel as unpleasant as it could here, it ultimately forces a new interpretation and portrayal of her character that honestly isn't all that interesting, most of all when the other characters are constantly portrayed as "more fun" while she's just here to keep them in line.

It just isn't the same Katara we met in Book 1, and it shows in spades. Book 1 Katara would have been hyped to join Aang and Toph in chaos while Sokka screams at them to behave themselves. Book 2 Katara is the one trying to keep the other three in line, and there's genuinely zero development that led things to that stage. It's not organic storytelling. There's no growth that leads to that, and so, it feels off.

But the core problem of all these flaws in Book 1 and Book 2 is that they roll together and snowball into something far greater that then proceeds to just... disrupt everything we thought we knew or understood about Katara. We've been told she's a kind person above all else, someone who cares about people close to her, someone who embodies hope and strength and love...!

... And then Book 3 starts, and we're actually facing a Katara who shifts into a wholly different person with the speed of a whiplash that we're left not knowing who tf this is anymore.

"Mom friend Katara" absolutely comes back in Book 3, why lie? She takes care of people, she tries to provide, she tries to be nice and sweet and then also enforces discipline on Toph (particularly) when she's being irresponsible!

But the reason why The Runaway is such an unpleasant episode is because Katara's behavior is dialed up to a thousand, and the conflict between her and Toph feels WAY too similar to what it was when they were barely getting to know each other in The Chase. Why are they STILL clashing over such things? There are occasional glimpses of friendliness there in The Runaway, sure! But they're not so strong that you actually feel like that friendship supersedes their conflicts and their propensity to bicker and argue and hurt each other. Toph blatantly calls her out on her mothering and fully canonically confirms that Katara is The Mom Friend™. Where Toph is annoyed but eventually complies with doing what Katara wants to do in Tales of Ba Sing Se, this time Katara makes a huuuuuge fuss over Toph's misbehavior and her scamming Fire Nation people. And you could argue that Toph has every right to do it, or that Katara is right to be worried, just like Sokka used to worry about such things in Book 1...

But what we get is a stale dynamic that repeats the same problems we saw in Book 2, as well as Katara coming off as rather hypocritical because she, too, did dangerous shit and picked dangerous fights where she shouldn't have, and ignored everyone who told her not to do it: she gave Toph that kind of grief over things Katara was willing to do back when Toph wasn't in the group (see the pirates thing), and she will try to stop Toph from having fun on her own terms when nobody has ever tried to stop Katara from doing that in hers. Of course, any Katara advocate would read this and go "you're missing the point: Katara was sad and upset that she was being LEFT OUT! That's why she was so mad about this!" Then the irony of the matter is that this argument STILL reflects poorly on Katara. She gave her friend a tough time, called her a wild child and a crazy person, went through her personal belongings because "she could tell Toph was hiding something from her", so she fully disregarded Toph's privacy... all because she couldn't say "Wait, you guys went scamming Fire Nation people? Damn, why didn't you wait for me! I would've gone too!", and there you go, problem solved! Katara's not left out anymore!

Yes, of course, that's not how it WORKS, people can struggle to identify what they feel...!

... And now it's my turn to say that that's not the point.

The point is that Katara said and did hurtful things to her friend. Things she eventually regrets, yes, but that she didn't have to do at all. This is the same person who fed Appa a bunch of food that made it look like he was sick, all be it to keep the group from leaving the Jang Hui river village so she could go out of her way to heal the injured and sick without telling anyone what she was doing. That, too, was a choice she made with no concern regarding how the rest of her team might feel about it: was she doing something nice? Sure! But it's not fundamentally different from Toph doing whatever she wants with zero regard as to Katara's feelings on the matter. Katara KNEW she was stalling their journey and that Sokka wanted them to move on: she didn't care about his feelings or priorities, and the story eventually frames Katara as being in the right for feeling that way. Here, she's in the inverse scenario, only it's with Toph rather than Sokka, and instead of realizing that she, too, has made choices that were irresponsible/dangerous/risky and STILL went all out with them, down to fighting whoever opposed her choices? Katara just doubles down until she, again, breaches boundaries and overhears Toph and Sokka's conversation, WHICH IS ANOTHER CAN OF WORMS DUE TO THE SOUTHERN RAIDERS FOLLOW-UP...

The thing is, Katara as a mom friend is not even a good thing. It's not conducive to fun or interesting storytelling, not in Book 2, not now. It doesn't make Katara a more interesting and dynamic character. The way she's portrayed isn't so she looks tragic for taking this role, it's all about forcing these kids into tropes that don't necessarily add up to who they have been so far. Katara's mom friend status is NOT treated with any compassion. It's not handled as a sore, difficult subject outside of the ONE conversation Sokka has with Toph that Katara overhears. And it's not centered on Katara's tragedy, on how she overcompensates for her mother's absence, it's centered on Sokka accepting her as a motherly person and encouraging Toph to do the same thing. The people who saw further depth in it probably haven't looked at the script itself in a long time: you CAN see more to it, but that's not the point of the scene. That's not where it's going. And the fact that such a tragic situation is what conduces Katara to take up the mom friend role actively makes it look like... she shouldn't have it. Why would she be the mom friend if she's just overcompensating for Kya's death? If she's taking up responsibility by thinking that no one else will (a blatant lie because, again, in Book 1 there's NO SIGN of this behavior and it's Sokka who's in a role of responsibility compared to her), it suggests that EVERYONE ELSE ought to step up and stop "relying" (and Sokka very much uses that word) on Katara being the mom friend. It's not a healthy thing. It's a coping mechanism that seems to be actively damaging Katara: and the story doesn't acknowledge it that way.

So... "mom friend Katara", dialed up to a thousand in Book 3, absolutely has a connection with why her character loses its sheen by this point in the story. There's no attempt to deconstruct this coping mechanism by Katara. No indication from the rest of the team that maybe Katara should get to be a kid just like them and stop being so uptight (even though VERY often she's not that uptight but the show very much tries to pretend she is). It's Katara's initiative to do a scam, it's not Toph or Sokka or Aang who think she needs to join in on the fun, she basically inserts herself in it. So basically, those three take the route of saying "that's what she's like, we just gotta bear with it", instead of actually helping her. If we'd seen that? Mom friend Katara would actually be a fun element to witness deconstructed by the story. And I'm not blaming either Katara or the other three for this:

This is EMINENTLY a writing problem.

Mom friend Katara is not a good trope. It could be if the point was to help her break free from it. It's not. It's simply weak writing that can't handle two girls with proactive, aggressive personalities and a ton of agency, a lack of creativity in realizing how much potential there could be in making Toph and Katara the absolute best of friends. It's seriously a disservice to the two of them that this trope literally blooms over Toph joining the show and then NEVER gets resolved or chased away. And when you have characters like Sokka or Aang kind of joining the bandwagon of "yeah, Katara's a mom!" when the two of them traveled with her in Book 1 and she WASN'T that at all? It makes matters infinitely worse.

So, if you ask me? This is the first thing that makes Katara feel more unpleasant than ever before in Book 3.

The second thing is even worse.

We return to accountability, as well as to illogical flow of thought when it comes to the writing of Katara: in Book 1, we see a hopeful girl who never speaks ill of her father or betrays any manner of displeasure or distrust towards him. No sign of her being conflicted by what Hakoda is doing: the focus is entirely on Sokka's feelings on the matter once it finally comes up in Bato of the Water Tribe, and Katara is a secondary matter, if even that.

This would be fine if Hakoda hadn't come up at all as a subject throughout Books 1 and 2. If Katara had never had the potential opportunity to see her father in any of these instances and had backed out from them for bigger reasons than... plot reasons.

For reference: she's excited, just as Sokka is, when Bato says he can bring the kids to meet their dad again. They're HYPED. We see no sign of Katara being upset at Hakoda for leaving at this point. The only portrayed reason why she and Sokka decide not to go see Hakoda is because they think Aang needs them more and they decide to forgive him for hiding the map. Katara, from the get-go, is not as angry at Aang for hiding the map as Sokka is. Clearly, Sokka wants to see Hakoda far more intensely than Katara does: even so, there's no sign anywhere here that implies that Katara harbors resentment or dissatisfaction towards Hakoda.

Book 2 gives us a similar situation: Katara declines going to see Hakoda and offers to be the one who stays in Ba Sing Se so Sokka can go see Hakoda himself. Sokka is soooo thrilled and thanks her and calls her the best sister ever and Katara very much says she is, indeed, the best. Which she's allowed to, worth noting, I'm not saying her reaction to Sokka's praises was bad, it's actually funny: but what I AM saying is that she knows how much this matters to Sokka and that's why she makes the offer she does. It's also VERY convenient! Because logic dictates that, if Sokka stays behind, he realizes the Kyoshi Warriors aren't themselves far faster than Katara does (even though, to be fair, Katara didn't really have much time to realize it at all), and we wouldn't have Aang suffering over Katara's imprisonment because the one in chains would be Sokka and then Aang might just go "oh okay it's just Sokka, I can go cosmic if it's not Katara"

... yeah I'm being sarcastic I actually don't think Aang wouldn't have saved Sokka, but they very clearly had Katara stay behind first and foremost for this specific purpose...

But Katara's acknowledgement that this is a good thing for her brother makes you REALLY wonder how much of a secret grudge she was supposed to feel towards her father at this stage of the story. The truth, in my opinion? She wasn't actually supposed to resent Hakoda as she did, let alone quite so harshly.

My sister personally told me that she thought Katara's anger at Hakoda was a fine storytelling choice when I told her I didn't like it. She told me Katara herself most likely didn't realize how hurt she had been by her father's leaving, that it wasn't until she was around Hakoda again that she understood she resented him at all, and that she had a lot more pent-up rage and frustrations than she had EVER acknowledged, and they burst out frequently in Book 3. Which, you know, is one possible explanation that tries to make this whole thing more palatable. From a human standpoint? This is valid.

... From a writing point? Not so much.

A Katara who struggles to understand her heart (which... is odd, tbh. As far as they portray her, Katara tends to know exactly what she's feeling, why she's feeling it, and she acts on her emotions rather than brains more often than not) would be portrayed as confused over her own rage at Hakoda. She would not have been written as a snappy teenager who hates her dad. She would have snapped at him and then apologized by reflex, unsure of what's come over her. We would see Sokka trying to mediate between them too, probably asking Katara what's her deal, and she would have no idea how to explain it. Katara would be avoiding Hakoda, knowing she loves him, not knowing why she seems to hate him now, afraid of saying things she shouldn't. Every time she snaps at him, she should worry about what she did, she should fear for Hakoda's feelings, she should reflect on what's going on inside her heart...!

... But that doesn't happen. And that knocks SO HARD on the concept of empath/compassionate Katara that it basically turns her into a whole different person.

As I've said countless times so far: it's not about Katara being perfect. I don't WANT her to be perfect. But I DO want the show to acknowledge that she's not. I want the flaws to REALLY read as flaws. I want other characters to react to those mishaps on Katara's part, and I want HER to reflect on what she's doing and realize she's messing up, just as she does when she hurts Aang's feelings in the Waterbending Scroll, which is most likely the best situation where Katara actually owns up to the exact mistake she made and feels genuine, palpable, obvious remorse for it. But when you feature Katara lashing out at Hakoda, and everyone just staying quiet because "uuuuh, awkwaaaard...", it feels off. Aang asks Katara, outright, what's her problem with her dad! And Katara goes "What? What problem?" She's acting like she's not even aware of the fact that her behavior is out of place, basically gaslighting Aang into pretending that she didn't do anything rude or mean to Hakoda. Aang literally saw it with his own eyes and is the ONLY person to bring it up.

To make matters worse? Katara has been with Hakoda for WEEKS. It's not like they just crossed paths two seconds before Aang opened his eyes. The implication is that she's been behaving like this, or her behavior has been deteriorating towards Hakoda with no one worrying about it or trying to make her reason with it. for that long. Sokka didn't do anything. Hakoda just took the teenage rants and left her alone because that's what she wants. And when the one person brings up that she's not acting like herself? Katara pretends nothing's wrong and acts like everything's fine and she's not acting any differently from herself. Whether she actually is just lying to Aang or ALSO lying to herself is a matter of debate... but what it suggests is she's unwilling to confront the gravity of her choices and how she can be hurting her father with them.

This is NOT to say that Katara has no right to be angry about Hakoda abandoning her in the Tribe. She has every right to be upset and feel forsaken. Their mother died, and Hakoda left with all the men of the tribe, and Sokka was left behind, tasked to protect everyone, and Katara apparently felt responsible for the whole village too: as valid as Hakoda's quest to fight in the war might be, it's not out of this world for Katara to harbor frustrations and resentment over what happened.

What IS out of this world, and particularly, not appropriate to her character, is that her way to convey those feelings was something she gave herself to, completely, only to reason with it once Aang was missing so that the episode would conflagrate her problems with Aang and Hakoda into the same thing.

This is basically a dark expansion of what we've seen in Katara's treatment of Sokka since Book 1: where it was typically "humorous" when she was a jerk to him and paid no price for it, this time it's not humorous. This time, you're supposed to see her being a jerk and then go "aaaaw, poor dear," even if you're not supposed to get mad at Hakoda because he is very much a decent dad. The show was trying to have its cake and eat it too with this situation, because Katara DOESN'T apologize to Hakoda for being unfair to him: HAKODA APOLOGIZES TO HER. Hakoda acknowledges the pain he caused Katara and the damage his leaving has wrought upon his children by apologizing and explaining how much he missed them... but Katara does not acknowledge the pain she inflicted on her father by acting out when he wasn't doing anything wrong. Is this teenager behavior? You could chalk it down to that, but that's precisely why teenagers can be a pain in the ass! And that's very much how Katara is being portrayed if she's unwilling to acknowledge she acted out and hurt someone she loves!

Her problems and resentment towards Hakoda magically go away after that single conversation. After this? She loves him. No hard feelings left. If her problems with Hakoda were this deep and difficult to navigate and work through, either she bottled them up in the rest of the show and stopped them from affecting her father... or she just got over it that quickly. Which would be very unrealistic because Hakoda apologizing for leaving doesn't change the damage Katara suffered through because he was gone. A single apology doesn't fix everything that people read into Katara's deep anguish in this scene and episode. And yet that's very much how the show portrays it: Katara is 100% fine in every single other interaction with Hakoda she gets past the first episode of Book 3. Does that make sense? Is that good writing? No, actually: it's literally digging up a problem, making it up last minute with zero lead-up to it, where the ONLY way to read "lead-up" is to pretend that Katara always had ulterior motives to avoid going to see Hakoda, even though we NEVER were shown that she was hiding anything, something that could be VERY easily shown in the story if they'd always had this in mind. The truth is that they didn't. They made it up for this episode, forced it in there, didn't even write it right because nobody reacts to Katara's behavior reasonably except Aang, and she gets away with it without even having to apologize. That's... not good form for any character, let alone Miss Responsibility and Empathy, is it?

This is why it's such a problem that Katara acted as she did towards her father. It's not because this is an unthinkable flaw: it's because there's very much no lead-up to it, kind of like there's none with Korrasami's big reveal in LOK's finale. It's because there's no follow-up to it either. It's because we don't see Katara living up to her supposed core character traits, where she should have a realization that her choices and actions and behavior have hurt someone else, someone she cares about. None of that happens.

And I will say: it's different when it comes to her clashes with Zuko and her reactions to him in the second half of Book 3. This is basically the MAIN thing the fandom gives her grief for and I hate them for it: she has every right and reason and justification to show no empathy or compassion towards a person who, as far as she could tell, took advantage of her compassion in Ba Sing Se, of Aang's compassion frequently across Book 1, and paid them back for all of it by joining forces with Azula and showing no concern to help Aang when Azula almost killed him. I am no fan of Iroh's... but Iroh jumped in to help Katara and Aang escape, at risk of being captured. Zuko stood beside Azula and did NOTHING to help those two leave. He showed zero concern for Aang's survival. He saw his sister potentially murder someone and had ZERO REACTION. So, no offense but full offense: Katara's unwillingness to trust Zuko is JUSTIFIED. Not only is it justified? It's CORRECT. It's the only writing choice that makes sense. Sokka getting over it relatively quickly feels off to me, no matter if the Boiling Rock adventure isn't as bad as others might be. Aang not holding a grudge for too long kind of fits because it is Aang... but Katara being that mad at Zuko? That's 100% fine. It fits. It works. And anyone pretending that what I said about Hakoda applies to how she treated Zuko is just completely biased in Zuko's favor.

Katara and Zuko do not have a secret magical powerful soulmates bond in canon. Their one instance of bonding comes after multiple instances of the exact opposite thing. Katara and Sokka were 100% down for leaving Zuko to freeze to death in the North Pole, and the ONLY reason why Zuko survives is because Aang can't let that happen to him. It's AANG'S compassion that saved Zuko. Katara felt none, AND SHE DIDN'T HAVE TO FEEL ANY. Let's not forget that!

Moving on to Book 2, Katara actually makes her first offer of kindness to Zuko and Iroh in the Chase when she offers to heal Iroh after Azula's attack. Zuko's reaction is to lash out violently and yell at her to leave: who, exactly, would feel inclined to think this poor beautiful sad boy just needs love when you OFFER HIM kindness and his reaction is, in a manner of speaking "go fuck yourself I'll handle this on my own"? And it's worth bringing it up because it feels like the fandom is hilariously misled into thinking the Gaang magically knows what Zuko is up to and how he's growing and evolving, as if they were part of the audience: they're not. The last time Katara saw Zuko before Ba Sing Se is literally when Zuko refuses her help. We're also talking about Fire Nation people: Katara has every right and every reason to believe that Zuko is refusing her help, not out of personal, internal strife he's dealing with and has no idea how to handle... she very much can read this as "inferior Water Tribe peasant, you will not heal my uncle with your wretched waterbending!" Because... let's be real, that's what Zuko looked like to Katara across Book 1. She has no real reason to think he's any better or different from that until their catacombs scene...

... And he stabs her in the back and joins Azula there. Right after "bonding" with her.

So let's be VERY clear on that respect: Katara has no real reason to forgive Zuko. She has no real reason to feel empathy outside of the show constantly trying to push that she's kind and compassionate with no boundaries, even if she forsakes that kindness and compassion at random whenever the plot requires it. But her death threats to Zuko? They're completely fine by me. I'd be pissed if she had acted any differently, and if anything I hate how easy Zuko had it to befriend everyone but Katara.

... Not to say I'm happy with how he befriended Katara either, but anyway...

As this isn't Zuko meta, we're not going to get into the true core glaring issues in The Southern Raiders, because ultimately, that episode paints Zuko in a disgusting light that his fans are constantly gaslighting themselves about. He was not beinga heroic good dude helping someone he connected profoundly with. His behavior leaves so much to be desired and proves he hasn't unlearned a lot of toxic things he had internalized. He didn't unlearn them in this episode, either. But the GREATEST sin Zuko commits in this episode, without a doubt, is bringing Katara on a journey that ultimately did NOTHING for her. The only person benefitting from it was Zuko himself. I've seen people pretend that Katara finally found closure: she did not do such thing. She learned what kind of scum killed her mother, but she did not forgive him nor did she kill him. Closure would mean peace. Katara did not find peace with the situation. She's shown troubled, sitting at that pier, miserable, when Aang talks with her, she's STILL angry. That's not closure. It never was.

What it was, however, was the journey where Katara thanked Zuko and forgave him because..! Uh... because...

... Why, exactly, did Katara forgive Zuko here?

He brought her to her mother's killer: she found no closure from it. In fact, she learned the VERY disturbing truth that she hadn't realized so far: HER MOTHER DIED SPECIFICALLY TO SAVE HER. Her mother sacrificed herself for Katara's sake. She CANNOT find peace with this reality in a single afternoon because holy shit, who would? Katara KNEW her mother had died. It's not until Yon Rha tells her what happened that she understands what happened in the igloo. Katara herself, her waterbending skills, and the target she painted on her own back because of something 100% out of her control, something that is NOT evil and that the Fire Nation was hellbent on destroying, are the reasons why Kya was murdered. This is DISTURBING SHIT to deal with. And the show completely sidelines this revelation and the dark impact it could have on Katara, which, seriously, is HUGE, way worse than what happened with Hakoda, because it very much could have triggered a profound self-hatred by Katara towards her own skills because how tf could her bending cause her mother's death?! Not to mention the obvious: who was that source? Who told the Southern Raiders that there was a waterbender? Who the hell is responsible, beyond the Fire Nation, for her mother's death?

There's A LOT to unpack here.

And none of it matters because Katara is just supposed to forgive Zuko for exacerbating and worsening her trauma regarding her mother's death :') funny how that works.

This IS the point where Katara should make a display of darker sides of herself that she didn't know or understand. THIS is where Katara turning dark like Aang did after Appa vanished would make PERFECT sense. With this revelation about Kya that's beyond disturbing: not with Hakoda... and certainly not with Sokka.

The cusp of Katara's worst is, by far, her behavior with her brother in the Southern Raiders. I know a million excuses have been made for this moment: my problem is NOT the fact that she lashed out at him as she did and said something DEEPLY hurtful. It's the fact that KNOWING, SEEING HE'S IN PAIN...

... does not matter to her one bit.

Instead of a trite scene with Zuko spouting shit he does NOT mean (aka "violence wasn't the answer... but lol go kill my father okay??"), we deserved a scene with Katara and Sokka talking this out. People pretend it's fine as it is: it's not. Katara has spent the ENTIRE show disregarding her brother's feelings in a myriad of ways: this time, it was way more painful and way more hurtful and SHE KNOWS IT. It's not funny. She's not amused. She's not being a shithead little sister. She's ANGRY. She's UPSET. She has every right to be! What she DOESN'T have a right to do is hurt her brother DELIBERATELY and then escape every consequence from doing that.

There's very much no way to spin that moment into making Katara a decent sister. There's no way she remains true to her core values of being empathetic, kind and wholesome when she will insidiously, vindictively hurt her brother this way. And what I said earlier about her overhearing Toph and Sokka in the Runaway? It actually gets a follow-up in this scene: Katara telling Sokka that he didn't love Kya as she did is basically her WEAPONIZING the information that was NOT meant for her as her alleged evidence that Sokka didn't care about Kya as much as she did. As if his inability to retrieve Kya's memory was NOT a manifestation of trauma, as if it were something he's FINE with! He's not! How guilty must he feel for that? Does that matter to Katara at all? Why... nope. Because all that matters at that point is her own rage, her own feelings, her own fury. Which is, then, entirely against the character we've been told she is.

The lack of apology or follow-up to this horrible moment will never stop being one of the absolute biggest misfires in one of the WORST written episodes of this show. Yes, I said it. The more I ponder The Southern Raiders, the more I realize it's an immensely flawed speedrun to establish a friendship that simply doesn't add up. Katara and Zuko becoming friends after this journey requires some wild, absurd leaps of imagination that, boiled down to basics, don't make any sense. There's no reason for Katara to decide she'll forgive Zuko after she regains enough clarity. Why does she forgive him? Because he proved he'd rather make her happy than defend his nation anymore? Ironically, at no point does Katara show any appreciation of the fact that Zuko is setting aside his firebending supremacist attitude completely for her sake. So maybe that's not it.

Ah... is it because of how he, and he alone, was ready to help her go on this journey of revenge...?! Why, ironically, the only reason why ONLY Zuko goes on this journey is incredibly artificial and fake: this IS intended as Katara's "field trip" with Zuko. None of the field trips make sense, from a logical standpoint, as duo journeys. I've mentioned it to a few people: Sokka and Zuko could have brought Toph with them to the Boiling Rock, a metal location where her abilities would be VERY useful, used her as a false prisoner and turned her in as a captured ally of the Avatar's, who 100% will bait him into coming here to rescue her so that the Fire Nation can get him next! A cover as strong as that one might actually get them further along on that rescue attempt than what they did in canon. But this CANNOT BE... because it was Sokka's field trip with Zuko so nobody else is invited, even if they're very much not doing anything else (as is the case with Toph). Aang? Why didn't everyone join the firebending discovery with Zuko and Aang? They weren't doing ANYTHING in the Western Air Temple at the time. They very much could have gone with them too. But they don't. And that's exactly why Katara's trip works exactly as it does: it's the solo journey with Katara and Zuko, and the ONLY way to make it work is to show Sokka and Aang completely opposed to the concept of finding Yon Rha. I'm not saying I think Sokka and Aang would have been on board if they're allowed to remain IC... but they could have wanted to go on this trip with Katara regardless of not agreeing with what she wanted to do. Hell, as is OBVIOUS: Kya is Sokka's mom too. His opinions, his feelings on this subject, should matter just as much as Katara's do, and fuck anyone who pretends otherwise. These two are NOT supposed to be the well-known unhealthy siblings Zuko and Azula, who each got one parent in their corner and therefore the other parent treated them like they were worthless or a monster. Hakoda and Kya were parents to BOTH their children, and any narrative or interpretation that attempts to say that ONLY Katara's opinion on Kya matters is immediately ruled out, for me, as absolute bullshit spouted by someone not worth listening to. Point blank.

Also, the fact that Zuko USES Sokka to gain this information about the southern raiders, and then doesn't even extend the chance to Sokka to join them? When Sokka is basically his new best buddy? That... does not make sense. It basically portrays Zuko as a disloyal asshole who takes advantage of his friends for his purposes and tosses them aside, disregarding their feelings whenever it suits him.

So Sokka's treatment at the hands of this episode is just deplorable. Both Zuko and Katara are HORRIBLE to him... but Katara is our focus here, she's actively hurts Sokka and then proceeds to not care. Because that's how she has operated so far, and that's how she always will.

Hence: we have a long, long tradition of Katara not treating Sokka fairly all across the show. The reasons why it's not a fair or balanced relationship at all is because Sokka typically pays the price for being a dick to Katara: either she inflicts the punishment herself, such as when he's disrespectful in the Drill and she smacks him with the slurry, or the narrative inflicts some magical punishment instead that CONSTANTLY proves that Sokka is not allowed to be a dick without facing consequences for it. Does he ALWAYS learn the lesson? Sure he doesn't! But the consequences for it NEVER stop. He doesn't get away with being a jerk to his sister. That's forbidden. But Katara? She's allowed to get away with it every single time! And the reason why it gets worse and worse is because we went from relatively silly/comedic things, in which Katara did not apologize because "it's funny that she didn't apologize", to NOT funny things at all, such as this scene in Southern Raiders. Even just a troubled glance at Sokka, or a slight hesitation after seeing how hurt he is, would be enough for me: there's NOTHING. She doubles down and keeps charging ahead. Zero thoughts or concerns given to her brother.

If this isn't why you have issues with Katara, well, I don't know why it might be the case in your case x'D But I absolutely attest that the combination of "mom friend", "selective compassion particularly when it comes to her brother" and "absolute imperviousness to consequences for her mistakes" are the things that fully caused my initial appreciation of her character to shift into ambivalence and then into full blown dislike once I reached Book 3.

Worth noting: THIS IS A COMPLAINT ABOUT THE SHOW'S WRITING. Boiled down to basics, written by any more competent hands, I don't think Katara would have acted the way she did often, ESPECIALLY in episodes like The Awakening or The Southern Raiders. I categorically refuse to write Katara in my stories as someone who gets free passes for EVERYTHING she does. I also refuse to portray her as the mom friend, particularly in Gladiator. There's a lot of depth you can give this character! So much you can do, so much worth exploring... and canon just settled for stunting her and then only bringing her out to play in ways that make her unpleasant, not particularly bright and extremely resistant to character development even after allegedly learning lessons (see how her initial behavior around Hama, who shows red flags often, isn't all that different from how it was with Jet? There's only a handful of moments where it looks like Katara MIGHT be wary, and yet they're quickly overcome by her excitement, which Hama manipulates in her favor until she does the bloodbending reveal). So I'm NOT saying Katara had no potential... but I am saying the show itself failed her, big time, because of how she was written. A quick glance through the transcript of the Puppetmaster to confirm my memories that Katara shows no sign of concern over Hama when Sokka finds her suspicious reveals that, after Hama shows them her comb and that she's from the Southern Water Tribe, Sokka, and Sokka alone, apologizes for suspecting her of being sketchy. Nothing from Aang, even though he was part of it too. Nothing from Toph, either. And certainly nothing from Katara. Only Sokka apologizes. As usual.

So... what does this tell you? What does this tell any of us? That Katara's development is... erratic, at best. That it's not linear isn't a bad thing, but that it contradicts itself non-stop, that her core traits come and go willy-nilly as the plot demands it, that her motivations to do things (like forgiving Zuko) don't add up to her experiences or to any lead-up we've witnessed, is most certainly not good.

If I were to rewrite ATLA, the main characters I'd want to rewrite into making a lot more sense than they do, and making their arcs actually logical, are Zuko and Katara. I'd definitely add a few rewrites for Iroh, particularly to make him WAY more accountable for shit than he ever was, and to show he's not universally loved and shouldn't be, since people would have very reasonable grievances with him. I'd also rewrite a handful of things with Aang, too. Toph, full-stop, deserves a growth arc of her own beyond getting stronger and getting used to having friends. Girl has the range. They just never let her explore it. And of course, I'd change a fair few elements of Azula's writing as well. But I feel like no characters would warrant a deeper intervention than Zuko and Katara, precisely because they constantly fail to live up to all the stuff people keep pretending they're flawless exhibits of.

And this is one more issue we've got going on with Katara:

The fandom ABSOLUTELY has been unfair to Katara. A lot of people hate her for no reason. A lot of people who potentially have unexamined racism making their hearts' choices for them and they despise her just because she dared not have fully-white skin. A lot of people pick completely ridiculous things to get angry at her, such as people who HATE HER because she's "rude to Zuko". Just, fuck off. That's about the stupidest reason to hate this character and stupid reasons for that have been heard plenty.

But Katara's fans have become... reactionary. They appear think that any criticism to her character NEEDS to be fought off with "she was right tho" or "she has every reason to act this way" or "she's HUMAN she's allowed to make mistakes you heathen!! That's what a flawed character is like!"

Here's the kicker, though: if you have justifications and excuses for every little unpleasant thing Katara EVER does? You're basically taking a dump on her character yourself and saying she IS flawless.

Flaws in characters are bad things that cannot be justified. They can be funny! They can be annoying. They can be infuriating. But they're things that inconvenience other characters, that hurt them, that show they're not above or beyond doing harmful things! All of what I listed in this crazy long post are Katara's flaws. The reason why I don't like the way these flaws were handled are all the things I already have talked about: no accountability for flaws is basically saying that these flaws don't matter. No follow-up, no lead-up, means Katara is allowed to be as much of an ass as she wants to be and nobody cares: THIS IS NOT FAIR. This is not how ANY character should be written. This is the core reason why I've spent years feuding with Zuko and Iroh: they get away with shit they should NOT get away with, EVER. They're not held accountable for so much they should be. This happens to Katara too. particularly in her dynamcis with her brother. And when people see those flaws and just start listing reasons why it's actually okay? All you're doing is dehumanizing these characters to pretend everything they EVER do is fine.

Also worth noting... character flaws are the way characters grow. If a character is DEEPLY flawed, you know what kind of work you have cut out for you as a writer. If you're writing a story heavily steeped on character development? Then those flaws are VITAL to the work you have to do in order to develop these characters!

But when Zuko is unnecessarily violent and you're told "it's because his culture and family are!", you rightfully assume that as he drifts away from Fire Nation ideology, Zuko WILL grow less violent. Then, you watch how he picks an unnecessary fight with Aang in the finale because everyone's being lazy, an EXTREMELY violent fight at that, and you contrast his earlier behavior with it and... where's the difference, exactly? How did he grow or learn better if violence is STILL his immediate reaction to anything he doesn't like?

Thus, when Katara's flaws get overlooked, ignored, disregarded? What kind of development does Katara get, if none of her flaws are addressed in a way that makes it look like she's genuinely learned any lessons? At least, none of the worst, biggest, glaring flaws were addressed. None of the things that she SHOULD be troubled by and that she shouldn't be happy with herself over, especially after seeing how she hurts people with her actions. This isn't cool. This isn't a fun way to write a character. And it's so glaringly unpleasant when you can so very easily contrast this with the well-known terrible flaw Sokka displays early on: sexism! And then he gets his ass kicked by Suki and he learns to respect the Kyoshi Warriors... and we never see him displaying that particular flaw again. THAT is what growth looks like! What can we point to with Katara that remotely compares to this? That she accepted Zuko? Yeah, no, that sincerely could not count any less. Her personal arc CANNOT be about Zuko. That she got over her mom's death? She didn't. So that's not it either. That she helped Aang save the world? So her personal arc was about Aang and not herself? Was her whole role in the story to play Aang's cheerleader, then? Because if that's it... she was doing that just fine at it since day one. She's the only person who faithfully believed the Avatar would return well before Aang turned up in her life, if the first episode's introduction is to be believed.

So... what, exactly, was Katara's arc? If it's just her waterbending skills, then she's as stunted as Toph, unexplored and underdeveloped and left to just strengthen her fighting skills while Aang and Zuko and Sokka are getting full character arcs, even if very lowkey but very much effective in Sokka's case, where they develop and grow (or they should) into the men they're supposed to be to end the war! Why don't Katara and Toph get similar arcs? Why aren't they challenged on a level that actually provides them with lasting, solid, provable growth, where you can look at them where they started out and see how they ended up and conclude their journey was beautiful?

I insist... writing. Weak writing. Failures to understand/develop characters properly. And of course, lack of accountability in storytelling. I wrote that one focusing mostly on Zuko... but it's very much applicable to every character who fails to own up to the things they should and deserve to face consequences for.

Anyway... this is what I'd say about Katara atm. I'm not 100% sure this is everything because I might have overlooked some stuff that also made Katara's character kind of backfire (while I'm no Kataang hater, I 100% agree that the ship should have been written better too, and after writing them whenever I have, it's honestly kind of ridiculous how such an easy ship could get fucked over so badly by weird writing choices...). Whether you agree with these assessments or not, ultimately, there are valid reasons to feel offput by Katara and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Most of all when you DID appreciate and cherish the character once before, but her fans just jump to the conclusion that you must be a mindless hater to think she's anything but flawless (this, while claiming they love that she's flawed, then they proceed to reveal they have no idea what a flaw is...).

(final note: SORRY IT TOOK ME FOREVER TO ANSWER! Super lengthy answer to make up for it, I hope :((( sorry)

[jenniquinn]

Can I Stay? Eddie Munson X Fem Reader

Part One:

It was like all your senses were heightened. He was asleep, that asshole. You thought he would change but that last slap was the last straw. You grabbed the bags you packed. One for you and one for your son Finnick and a diaper bag and bag for your daughter Gracie. You run the bag to the car before waking your son. "Come on baby we have to go" you pick him up and put him in the car before grabbing your 5 month old daughter.

Once they are buckled you peel out of there. There was no going back. You drive for a few hours and you finally make it to your hometown Hawkins, Indiana. You don't know why but you drive to the trailer park and head to Eddie's. To Eddie who you haven't seen in six years when you left with your ex Peter. You park in front of the familiar trailer and get the kids out. You take a breath and knock.

Wayne opens the door and takes in the sight of you and the kids. "Hey what are you doing here" he asks and you cry. He looks at your face and sees the bruises. "Can I stay here? We have nowhere to go" you tell him and he nods moving away from the door so you can walk in. You go to the couch and sit with Finnick and Gracie. "What happened" he asks and you shudder "I got tired of being his punching bag" you say. "How have you been Wayne" he smiles. "I've been good darling and who are these cuties" you smile "this is Finnick and Gracie" you smile looking down at your kids. Tears hit your face again.

"look I'm happy you're back but I don't know how Eddie is going to take it. He is still very mad at you" he tells you and you go to speak but the door opens and you see him. Eddie. He doesn't notice at first "whose car is outside" he asks and suddenly he sees you. He wants to yell but sees your kids. Fuck if that wasn't a knife in his gut. He always thought you would have his children. "What are you doing here" he finally speaks to you. "We had nowhere else to go" you say looking at him and he finally sees the bruises.

"He hit you" he asks and you nod slowly. The urge to kill Peter hits him with a burning rage. "Are you ok" he asks and you just nod. "I told her she could stay here" Wayne says and Eddie looks shocked but nods. "We won't be in your way. I just have to find a job and save for a place. But if it's too much we can sleep in the car" you tell them and Wayne shakes his head. "There will be none of that. You are always welcome here. I hope you know that" he tells you. You nod. "I have nowhere else to go Eddie or I wouldn't be here" you tell him. He nods "it's fine I'm just glad you guys are safe now" he says walking away. Why did that hurt you didn't know.

You know leaving him the way you did would hurt him but he didn't know the truth. He didn't know that Peter had threatened Eddie and Wayne. You knew he would stick to his word. He told you that if you didn't leave with him that he would hurt Eddie and Wayne, Peter knew they were the only family you had. He also knew that you would do anything to protect them. So you decided to sit Wayne and Eddie down and tell them the truth. You walk to where they are "can I talk to you two" you ask and they nod. You look back at your babies who were asleep on the couch and walk into Eddie's room.

You rub a hand across your face and take a breath "I figured it was time to explain why I left. Peter threatened to have you killed if I didn't leave. I was so scared he would do it that I couldn't chance it". You look at Eddie and he's mad "why didn't you tell us" he asks. This was it you needed to tell them. "That's not all" you start and you get nervous. "Peter isn't Finnick's dad" you look at Eddie. It takes a minute but you watch as it hits him.

He sits on the bed " so he's mine? From that one night" he asks and you nod. "The night I told you how I felt. When you said the same thing then two weeks later you were gone" he's trying to process it. "I wanted to tell you but he was so mad when he found out I wanted to leave him for you. He said if you ever found out that it would be the end, not just for you but he would hurt Finn and I couldn't chance it." You wipe your tears.

Eddie stands there with wide eyes. He thought the boy looked like him, but didn't want to think it was true. He had a kid, a son. He gets why you couldn't say anything but that doesn't do nothing for the pain searing through his body. Years gone, years he could have known his son if it wasn't for that jackass Peter getting into your head. He sighs "it's ok, I get it but no more running. Me and Wayne will be here for you whatever you need" he says and you smile. Suddenly a knock is heard at the door and you freeze. Eddie looks and there is Peter waiting for you.

[kay-wren]

I'll Come Running - R.C. - Chapter 56

Those were the last words Barry heard before his eyes watered and his ears started to ring as the life was literally choked out of him. Jessie observed his lifeless body hanging from the ceiling for just a moment, eventually peeling her eyes away to look at her husband, who was undoubtedly in a state of shock. She slightly laughed as she noticed his mouth hung wide open and his eyes popping out of his head. She walked over to him and physically shut his mouth for him, which brought him back to reality. She gave him a kiss on his cheek, which at the moment felt like a kiss of death to him considering how unpredictable his wife was.

"Earth to Cameron." Jessie joked as she got a little closer, wrapping her arms around Rafe's neck and swaying back and forth like nothing had happened. Rafe finally swallowed the lump in his throat and wrapped his arms around Jessie, now looking her in the eyes still with shock.

"What the hell was that?" Rafe asked, his eyes still wide.

"What, you didn't like it?" Jessie retorted with furrowed brows and a slight smile.

"Oh I didn't say that." Rafe whispered as he leaned in for a kiss. Truth is, he loved it, a lot more than he should have. Maybe it was the alcohol or the weed, but the adrenaline rush was hard to deny for the both of them. Jessie just giggled against his lips and eventually pulled away. "I just... where did that come from?" Rafe asked as he nodded, hinting at the scene behind them.

"Rafe... I told you... I was- I am in a gang. In the wise words of JJ... I've knocked some heads." Jessie tried to lighten the mood, it seemed to have worked.

"Well yeah but..."

"But nothing, Rafe. We did what we had to do. You and me against the world, remember?"

Rafe stood there and contemplated the scene in front of him for a moment, still not believing how easy that was for Jessie. He looked back at her and smiled.

"Right, baby."

That was enough for Jessie to crack another smile and push herself off of his large frame.

"Alright, so we're gonna need lime, salt, and worms." Rafe mouthed as he clapped his hands together and stood looking at Barry's lifeless body that was still clinging to the wall.

Jessie looked surprised, but also relieved that Rafe was finally thinking strategically.

"How do you know this?" Jessie asked with knitted brows.

"Jess... you're not the only one that's had to hide dead bodies."

It was then that Jessie realized he was right... he was doing Wards dirty work long before she ever entered his life. Who knew what horror stories he had locked up in his mind? She shrugged it off and helped Rafe get the body out of the restraints.

- - -

Rafe and Jessie now had the body wrapped securely in an old rug, making sure to sprinkle it with the remnants to decompose it faster. They were now carrying the body out into the woods miles from Tanneyhill. As the two of them struggled, Jessie got a phone call.

"Shit!" She complained as she looked over at Rafe, signaling to him to set the body down. She caught her breath for just a moment long enough to answer.

"Hello?"

"Holy shit, Jessie?! Thank god, I thought ya'll were both goners! Are you guys okay?!"

"Ugh, JJ, it's so good to hear your voice." Jessie sighed and smiled as she wiped a little bit of sweat off her forehead and looked over at Rafe who now decided to start digging. "Yes we're fine. Are you guys okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, we just made it to Nassau. This place is huge! Charley's running around the house right now and Sarah's trying to stop her from breaking shit."

That was exactly what Jessie needed to hear. Although she had worked really hard at being laser focused on the situation at hand, of course she still had her precious daughter in the back of her mind.

"Ugh, I'm so glad. We'll be there as soon as we can okay?"

"Sounds good... is everythiiiiiing?" JJ was trying to ask the very obvious question, but thankfully he knew not to go into specifics over a phone that could see easily be tapped and tracked.

"Everything is just fine. We gotta go. We'll be there soon." Jessie answered, hoping that her brother could read between the lines.

"Good, let us know if you need anything."

"I will, Jayj, thanks. Tell Charley I love her!"

Jessie hung up the phone and breathed a sigh of relief as she looked back at Rafe, who seemed to still be focused on digging.

"Is Charley okay?" Rafe asked through labored breaths as he heaved the shovel into the ground. Jessie noticed the sweat on his face that was now illuminated by the moonlight. To her he looked beautiful.

"Yeah, she's fine. They should be getting her settled in."

Rafe simply nodded his head in satisfaction and continued to breath hard as he dug the trench needed. Jessie stood there awkwardly twiddling with the skin on her fingernails.

"Why're you so nervous?" Rafe asked, less as a question and more as a statement, not bothering to look up from shoveling. He could always feel the tension radiating off of Jessie even when she didn't mean for it to be.

"I'm just... ready for this all to be over with. I'm ready to see Charley." Jessie admitted. Rafe thought that confession was easier than expected. He didn't complain. He was grateful he didn't have to pull it out of her like usual. He stopped what he was doing and wiped the sweat off his face as he walked over to his wife. He looked at her with lust. Now he was the one that seemed calm, cool and collected. He cupped her face with aggression and moved his other hand to her coat pocket.

"If you're so nervous why don't you just relieve some stress?" Rafe said as he showed Jessie the joint in his hand. She completely forgot that she took her fair share of those from Barry. Despite her longing for one, she figured it was best if she didn't. After all, they didn't need to make this a habit. She simply nodded her head. Rafe shrugged in response.

"Suit yourself." He said as he stuck the joint in between his teeth and lit up with her own zippo. He must've dug that out of her pocket as well. His sleight of hand was impressive.

Jessie couldn't believe what she was seeing. It was like a switch had flipped within Rafe. All the times before it took a very slow burn to lead up to this type of behavior from him, but now it just seemed natural. Jessie didn't know whether to attribute that to the adrenaline or something else. Then again, she was the one who told him not to be weak...

She had to brush off the thoughts and continue with their plan. She watched intently as Rafe dug the hole with the smoke billowing out of his mouth.

- - -

The couple finally made it back to Tanneyhill around midnight in Rafe's truck. However, once they rolled up they quickly realized they didn't have a plan after that. Despite Rafe turning the truck off neither one of them moved from their seats. They both were a little drunk and stoned, which didn't help their inability to commence the next phase.

"What do we do now?" Jessie finally spoke up as she looked over at Rafe, who was undoubtedly zoned out. How he even made it home she had no idea. Rafe finally looked over at her and shrugged.

"I'm not tired... are you?" He asked, to which Jessie replied with a head nod indicating she wasn't. Rafe looked back at the big empty house.

"Well the plane can't get here until the morning... and neither one of us wanna go to sleep..."

Jessie didn't know where Rafe was going with this, but she could see he was deep in thought as he stared at the house.

"What're you thinking?" Jessie asked hesitantly, leaning forward a little more to try and get a better read at the smirk on Rafe's face. He finally turned to face her with a smile.

"My bike is still here..." Rafe said in a hushed tone. "Remember when we used to ride?"

Jessie couldn't help but smile herself. She let out a playful scoff as she sunk back into her seat. Of course she remembered.

"You and I are way too drunk and stoned for this shit." Jessie joked.

"Baby, that was always our favorite time to ride!" Rafe replied with a pleading tone. He was so unserious... just like he used to be. Jessie couldn't help but love that side of him. She missed it. Riding late at night on Rafe's bike years ago was the peak of their relationship. Nothing was wrong when they were riding, even if they were nowhere near sober enough to be doing it responsibly. But Jessie hesitated this time, because they most certainly had responsibilities now.

"Rafe Cameron..." Jessie flirted as she leaned over the console to play with his shirt. She looked him up and down with lust. "We have a daughter to raise. Do you remember how many times we almost killed ourselves doing that shit?" She only half joked despite her clear smile and joy filled eyes.

"Jess, come on, I won't do stupid shit, I promise." Rafe responded, this time lazily putting his hand up as if to swear. Just like years ago, Jessie knew better than to believe him. Their adrenaline always kicked in on those rides, making them feel invincible... untouchable. She gave him a knowing look.

"I promise!" Rafe reiterated through a flirty smile. "Come on Jessie... you and I have just about eight hours to ourselves... no responsibilities... only you and me, taking the edge off any way we can. Our daughter is safe and sound asleep in the Bahamas along with the rest of our tenants, I mean... family." Rafe joked, trying to lighten the mood. Jessie just gave him a side eye and a smirk. Still Rafe continued with his speech as he grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips. "Just you and me."

Rafe knew Jessie would always come running back to the nostalgic feeling she chased every day since she found out she was pregnant, and Rafe chased it every day since she left. Now was another opportunity to run wild with no responsibilities and little consequences. Jessie breathed deeply as she eyed Rafe, who had her hand to his lips, clearly begging at this point. She could tell how much he missed it, and she couldn't lie because she did too.

"Fiiine." Jessie finally gave in through a smile.

"Yesss!" Rafe whooped and hollered as he finally got his way. He looked like a little kid with how happy he was, and Jessie felt then and there that it was worth it to give in just for that. She'd always give in to Rafe.

Jessie exited the truck considerably slower than Rafe, and by the time she made it halfway through the yard she could already see Rafe coming back around the corner on his bike. Of course, she heard it before she saw it. Rafe stopped right in front of her with a shit eating grin.

"You're lucky we don't have a daughter sleeping, otherwise you would've just woken her up." Jessie nudged Rafe playfully.

"Yeah, well the one thing we don't have to worry about is being quiet anymore. No more trying to sneak past the Warden!" Rafe replied enthusiastically as he revved the bike harder as Jessie placed herself comfortably behind him. She made sure to put a hand on his shoulder to signal him to wait. He looked back with a curious expression. She rolled her eyes with a playful smile as she searched for something in her jacket pocket.

"I wasn't going to tell you about this but..." Jessie began as she pulled a bag out of her pocket. Rafe recognized it immediately. Although this time, he wasn't upset... not even shocked. "You know I had to search the rest of Barry's pockets... and what's a ride without mixing drugs, right?"

Rafe snickered, as he knew she was right. Every single ride they were slightly strung out on more than one substance, it made it more fun. Not enough to make them pass out or lose control, just enough to enhance the experience. Rafe turned around enough to grab Jessie's face and give her a kiss.

"You're a genuis." He said with a boyish laugh as he ripped open the bag and rubbed a little bit of the powder onto his gums. He figured he was being responsible by not snorting an entire line given the weed and alcohol he had already consumed. Jessie did the same and stuck the coke back in her leather jacket. With that, the both of them were off.

The two of them rode around for hours, Rafe loving the adrenaline rush of straightening out sharp curves and doing burnouts and wheelies along county roads. Jessie remembered the feeling just as much, as she let the wind whistle through her hair and extended her arms to feel the night air catching her fingers. She especially loved holding onto Rafe a little tighter when he did something especially stupid, like seeing just how fast he could go. She thinks he tapped out at 102.

"Let's go to our spot." Jessie suggested as she leaned over Rafe's shoulder so he could hear. He simply nodded, knowing exactly what she meant.

Just a few minutes later and Jessie could see the familiar scene in sight. As they rounded the corner she caught a glimpse of the moonlight shining on the large rocks covering the hidden cove they always loved to swim at. It was the one place they could count on that would hide them from tourists, judgemental Pogues and Ward Cameron especially.

They both hopped off the bike and started winding their way through the small caves and cracks in the rocks, eventually finding the all too familiar water fall that cascaded beautifully into a perfect swimming pool size body of water. The spot was always buried so far in the depths of the rocks that no tourist cares to venture there, and it seemed that no Pogues or kooks knew about it. Hell, the only reason Rafe and Jessie knew about it is because of a night just like this one, when they were too strung out to care about the consequences of going too far into the tunnels.

Rafe and Jessie both breathed a sigh of contentment as they looked up to see the cracks of light coming through the top of the rock. Jessie looked over at Rafe with a smile and they embraced. With no words needing to be said, Jessie pulled away with a smirk on her face. Rafe knew exactly where this was going.

Jessie tossed her beloved jacket aside and undid the button of her jeans, allowing them to peel away from her skin as she kicked them off along with her socks and shoes. Rafe was too busy watching her to remember that this would be the point where he undressed as well. She noticed his distraction and laughed.

"Some things never change." Jessie joked as she stood there in just her underwear and tank top looking at a fully clothed Rafe. He raised his eyebrows as he snapped back to reality, making a silent "oh" with his lips. He quickly followed suit by unbuttoning his shirt. He removed his gun from his waistband before stripping down to just his boxers. By this point they were both in nothing but their underwear.

"You know it's a little different when we didn't already come in swim suits." Rafe laughed as he looked down at the water.

"I don't need a swimsuit." Jessie shrugged nonchalantly.

"Yeah but then you're gonna be riding around in wet underwear." Rafe replied back.

"I didn't say I needed underwear either." Jessie responded barely over a whisper as she leaned over and planted a sweet kiss to Rafe's lips. The adrenaline zipped through his body once again as he realized what she meant. He felt her slip her fingers in the band of his boxers, hinting she wanted them off. Rafe certainly played into it and wrapped his arms around Jessie, now fondling with the hook on the back of her bra. He effortlessly snapped the fabric, eventually taking the rest of what she had on with it off. He followed suit and they both got in the water.

The moment wasn't heated, wasn't overly sexual... it was simply intimate. It was something the both of them needed. They contently swirled around the clear body of water, which was just the perfect temperature. It always was considering it was almost always untouched by the elements.

The moment was perfect, neither of them talking for fear of ruining it. This time there would be no figuring out a plan, no serious problem to resolve, just the two of them enjoying the short day and long night that was given to them.

They couldn't ignore how much they loved the feeling of letting go, and they relived their teenage years as best they could that night, knowing that it was oh so fleeting.

[andromedaexists]

Chrysalis & Requiem || Quinton Li

★★★★★

TW: ALCOHOL & DRUG USE, DEATH, ABUSE (EMOTIONAL & PHYSICAL), VIOLENCE & GORE, DEATH (MURDER), TRAUMATIC EVENTS, SELF-HARM & SUICIDAL IDEATION

Good News: We are starting off the year with a 5 star read! Bad News: I am going to be sick

I'm trying so hard to explain the absolute roller coaster that this book took me on, but I don't think I can. I think the closest imma get is:

I guess, I should start from the beginning. This is an ARC!! I am on Quinn's ARC team (and hopefully eventually street team if I can spare the time) and I got this review copy in exchange for an honest review!

Because the book doesn't release until March, I will be keeping this spoiler free. Sad for me, as you guys know I love giving the full run down on the book.

When I started this book, I was a wee small child (i started it yesterday). I didn't know what the universe would hold for me, I didn't know the emotional turmoil I would be put through.

The beginning was a bit hard to get into, as most books are for me these days. I'm incredibly sick at the moment and I just graduated from college last month, any story where I have to learn new things is hard. And you do have to learn new things for this book, I mean it is a fantasy novel.

But once I hit like 20% I was hooked. I stopped reading for the night at 24% and thought that I would be able to meter out my consumption (wrong) only to wake up this morning and blast all the way through to the end.

I am a huge murder mystery person, and when I started this book I thought that might be a detriment. But I can assure you, it isn't. You think that because you saw the murder that you know what's going on. You don't. At all.

I had my theories, about halfway through I had my theories. The group chat will probably never forgive me for reciting the "I've connected two dots" scene from Unsolved but I mean, I'm not the only person reading the book in that chat so I couldn't tell them what my theory actually was because they aren't to that point yet!

Then I hit 60%. And I really started to struggle. This is my fault, the content warnings at the beginning of the book say "This book contains references and themes to alcohol/drug use" and I guess I just didn't realize that meant we would see the POV character being out of her mind drunk for an extended period of time. As someone who really struggles to be around alcohol due to my past, this was nearly enough for me to put the book down. But I'm glad I didn't

Because then, at 72% in:

And again, not too long after:

Until finally:

And honestly, I don't think I can explain anything better than this. I highly recommend this book for y'all, but please please please be mindful of the content warnings. Actually, imma put them here too

This book contains references and themes to alcohol/drug use, blood, confrontation to abuse, death, emotional abuse, escalating violence, gaslighting/manipulation, gore, lifechanging injury, murder, corpses, visions about traumatic events, panic attacks, paranormal/occult content, self-harm, sexual references, suicide ideation, and trauma.

now for the part some of you are waiting for: some of my favorite quotes!

Thorns falling away, petals outstretched, bleeding red onto white roses—revelation would be hers and hers only.

We leave behind love when we die.

Beautiful, beautiful, so beautiful. They would be beautiful together.

Girls like you have secrets. I'm going to peel you apart and reveal every part of you. I will consume you.

To create is to be alive.

and then this one, an epigraph for part four of the book:

Everything is more beautiful because we are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again. — Homer, The Iliad

Y'all know I'm a sucker for a good Iliad reference and this one. This one wrecked me. I sure wrote a lot for someone at a loss of words, so I'm going to end this here and go curl in a ball and cry and try not to throw up. I am sick and this book is to blame.

Thank you Quinn, truly. I'm so fucking disgusted I love this book so much

[k4tisblog]

08 MEDIA DIARY: Dan & Phil & Privacy

HELLO INTERNET!!!!!!!! If you didn't know me in 2012-2017, you might not know about my little fixation on these two British men on YouTube. Meet Dan Howell and Phil Lester. They started out as teenagers making silly videos in their bedrooms. Dan inspired by and a fan of Phil, made his own content and - come 2009, ended up meeting Phil.

(Moral of the story: Parasocial relationships work! Sometimes!)

Chaos ensues, they bond for life.

Now you can never really think of one without the other.

Without getting too much into it, yes. You know the internet. There was HEAVY speculation on their relationship and sexuality. I never got into it myself, but it was a huge part of the "phan"dom in the early days. Inescapable. Them openly denying that they were gay while their fanbase wrote insane erotic fanfiction (think: hamsters, peeling of skin), made "evidence" edits, and leaked footage from their private lives - It was a wild ride, and dare I say invasive at times. They did come out as queer at the end of June 2019! In Dan's 45-minute-long video titled "Basically I'm Gay", we get to know a lot of his personal battle with his sexuality, yet while still barely scratching the surface of it all.

"Obviously we were more than friends, but it was more than just romantic. This is someone that genuinely liked me. I trusted them. And for the first time since I was a tiny child, I actually felt safe. And the relationship we formed at that point was something that I needed in my life. We are real best friends, companions through life, like actual soulmates." is what Dan says about Phil, choosing not to elaborate further. He sets a boundary with his audience, stating that he wants to keep his personal life private (and so does Phil).

I respect that dearly, and I am glad that the fanbase has matured a bit more over the years to abide by that boundary (at least from what I've gathered. I hope... Looking up their names seems to say otherwise). Learning what to keep private and what to turn into content is a fascinating practice. Especially when you're a celebrity whose entire brand revolves around your person, stories, and hijinks. There will always be people who you can't control - those who view you as a commodity, a story to unpack and watch unfold. I feel like none of us are built to be seen by this many people at once. On a personal account, everytime I've encountered a brush of virality I go a bit cuckoo and I find myself withdrawing into a shell. It really does take a certain strength/dissociation to be perceived by so many.

Anyways, they uploaded a video on their shared gaming channel recently! "A Fan Perfectly Recreated Our House in Roblox". Self-explanatory, and also not clickbait! It was fun seeing their old apartment perfectly recreated as they occasionally showed clips of videos, reminiscing about their old content.

...Pretty jarring to see their real street views outside their windows, though! (O_o) ( 8:38 ) A bit funny, but also not funny at all. I giggled, had a bit of a haha hehe, but I also worried. There are definitely people out there who stalk creators by going to places they frequent, or even their own homes just from clues online.

Everyone is a content creator to some extent, so we need to be mindful! Digital footprint, guys! Moral of the story is shut your blinds and throw away your phones and delete yourself off the face of the internet and change your name and live off the grid and. I'm kidding... I also wrote this at 1.25am and am unsure how to end it. GOODNIGHT INTERNET!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Goodnight Chris.

[addictedtostorytelling]

Okay…that may just be one of my favorite chapters of “An Opposite of Echoes” to date - the sweet conversation between Sara & Grissom in the car, Sara’s conversation with Greg, and poor Grissom - I forgot he had the budget report to do too.

But now I’m suddenly becoming very aware that this series is just getting started as Sara mentions when her next therapy appointment is & when the ultrasound is (and the ever present hint about twins…in my mind I’ve already decided - she’s having twins).

I know you’re a busy person, but tell me that next installment in the Accidents universe isn’t going to be a year away once this story wraps to…please?

hi, @chelsshearman!

aw, shucks! i'm glad you enjoyed this week's installment so much! after putting sara through the ringer in the previous chapter, i thought it would only be fair to give her some quality time with her boys so she could recuperate a bit in this one.

though grissom definitely doesn't get the same kind of reprieve, poor guy! 😂

i'm happy to know you liked reading those conversations. i always have fun getting to "peel back the curtain" and show some of the between-the-action interpersonal moments with the team we so seldom get to see in canon.

it's wild to think there are only three updates left to go before this fic is completely posted—literally just a few more hours' worth of time within the universe of the story!

i will tease: the next chapter contains a couple of my personal favorite scenes, and i'm excited to share them with you and hear your thoughts, if you care to tell them.

as for when you might expect the next installment of the accidentsverse once "an opposite of echoes" wraps up, i honestly can't promise anything in terms of a timeline.

i have three to four more multichapter fics (tentatively) planned to span the rest of the pregnancy and the baby's or babies' birth. the first one would cover the events of christmas and its aftermath (i.e., the next few weeks in the story world immediately after "an opposite of echoes"), including the skype call with betty, sara's therapy appointment, and the 8-week ultrasound. the next one (or two, depending on how i ultimately split things) would cover some major events later in the pregnancy, and the last one would bring us through to the delivery day and the first little while postpartum.

though i know what these stories will cover content-wise, i can't tell you when to expect them.

i am a notoriously slow writer for a variety of reasons both process- and circumstance-related, and i learned long ago that whenever i try to predict when i'll be ready to publish something, i inevitably end up being wrong (and, unfortunately, never in a good "oh! i finished this story much sooner than anticipated!" kind of way).

i do intend to devote myself to "something in you i believe in" for the foreseeable future after "an opposite of echoes," and that fic will be my priority until it's completed, so i'm not likely to publish another big accidentsverse multichapter fic any time soon.

of course, since the accidentsverse is my happy place and still very much where i am currently living in my imagination, i'll say: though i can't state exactly when it might happen, since i always have little scenes and vignettes from this 'verse playing through my mind, there is a good chance i'll end up posting some fill-in-the-gaps-between-the-big-planned-multichapter-fics one-shots sometime before 2024 is out!

i just can't stay away from this geeky little family for long!

anyway, in the meantime, i hope you enjoy the end of the story. thank you so much for reading and for taking the time to share your thoughts and encouragement! 💙

p.s., re: the possibility it's twins: we'll have to see. sara will definitely be holding her breath until that ultrasound, for sure!

[brainrattlers]

Play It Cool - Tyson Jost (39/n)

Pairing: Tyson Jost x OFC (AJ)

Word Count 4272

Need to start from the beginning? Here's where it all began! https://at.tumblr.com/brainrattlers/play-it-cool-tyson-jost-1n/p7no8u1hzuza

Want to catch up on last chapter? Check it out here https://at.tumblr.com/brainrattlers/play-it-cool-tyson-jost-38n/0i8kcvjvk4vq

Warnings: Language, Tyson being cute (you know, same ol' same ol'.) Author's notes: Hey all, sorry about the lack of update last week. Apparently when the Sabres have a bye week, I took it off too. (Real talk, stupid stuff like work and some personal crap came up and I'm still dealing with that. I had half the chapter written for last week and then battled some burnout for a bit. Took a breather to find some motivation.) Tyson's still on the road after AJ's roadie, but she's back in Buffalo, getting the apartment unpacked.

Waking up in Winnipeg, Tyson was conflicted. He had a little extra pep in his step at practice (or strides, as the case may be on the ice) as AJ was his last two games, but he couldn’t help but still wish she was going to be at the game the next night. He was glad she was safe on the ground in Buffalo though, probably up to some sort of shenanigans. It was one of the things he loved most about her.

AJ was dragging. She made it back to Buffalo in one piece after leaving a blizzard in St. Louis, and making her connecting flight just in time to head back. Her ride from the airport actually dropped her off at the hotel one last time, where she piled the few remaining items in their tiny space into Tyson’s Grand Cherokee, did one last sweep of the room, and checked out at the front desk.

The hotel was officially no longer home.

Parking the Jeep next to her own car in the building’s garage in their parking spots, AJ inhaled deeply. Contemplating a nap in Tyson’s vehicle crossed her mind, as her body was exhausted from the stress of the flights earlier. Finally though, AJ got the motivation to get out and start unloading the vehicle, and getting it all upstairs. After four trips up and down and up again, the vehicle was empty, and everything Tyson and AJ had was in the apartment. In boxes strewn everywhere, but in the apartment.

Grabbing her suitcase, she headed for the bedroom pulling out her ziploc bag of toiletries from the flights, and found the box that had the towels in it. Peeling out of her clothes, the hot water of the shower melted away the grime she always felt after a travel day, leaving her feeling loose and, well, still exhausted. Throwing on a pair of joggers and a hoodie, current time AJ was so happy that past AJ put sheets on the bed before she left for the roadie. Pulling back the sheets, she climbed into bed, melting into the feeling that was Tyson’s bed from Minneapolis, from Denver. It felt familiar, it felt right, other than it was missing Tyson.

With a quick snap of a selfie snuggled into the pillows and blankets, AJ sent it to Tyson.

AJ: Home, can’t wait for you to get here. <1 attachment>

Tyson: I will be dreaming of that tonight, and every night until I’m back.

The smile didn’t fade from AJ’s face as she fell asleep, hugging Tyson’s pillow close to her.

After snagging dinner with a few of the guys, Tyson headed back to his own hotel room, coming up with a few ideas of his own in regards to the new place. Just like the last place in Minneapolis, Tyson was letting AJ come up with how to arrange things - she had more of an eye for it than he did. But there were a few things that he wanted to make happen if he could. Trying to recall how AJ had her space set up as far as her computer gear goes previously, the gears started turning in his head as he pulled up the floorplan AJ had originally sent him when she first toured the building. Eyelids getting heavy, he opened a new note on his phone, jotting a few ideas down before giving up for the night.

Fluffing up the extra pillows on the bed next to him, Tyson curled up with them in the hopes it would feel like AJ back home.

“Just a few more nights…” Tyson whispered to himself as he drifted off, dreaming of coming home to AJ after this roadie.

Sunlight streamed in the windows on the east side of the apartment as AJ hadn’t yet hung curtains yet, and it woke her up. Looking at the clock on her phone that was sitting on a box next to the bed, she figured out she literally just slept thirteen hours. Considering her day previously started with an hour and a half of sleep and a ride to the airport at 3:15AM, she didn’t feel bad about it. Rubbing her eyes, there were a lot of boxes to go through in front of her. AJ detoured to get a quick breakfast at the E Cafe around the corner, and was now fueled to take on the morning.

First on the docket was setting up some tech so that the internet worked throughout the rooms. Plus, AJ was tired of listening to music on the tiny speaker of her phone. Within a few minutes, she had set up the modem and router, plugging everything in with a chuckle.

“LET THERE BE WIFI!” AJ boomed, seeing her phone pick up the signal.

Next up was getting a few speakers throughout so music could be heard in all rooms as she traveled around unpacking. With tunes playing, AJ stared at the living room trying to decide which wall the television should be. As she moved the TV stand, the bookcases followed to flank it. Struggling slightly getting the television onto the stand, the cables were hidden, and she turned it on to make sure everything was still working.

In doing so, a lightbulb clicked on in AJ’s head.

Heading to the guest room, AJ pulled a large object from the bed, and placed it on the papasan chair. From behind it in the kitchen, a photo was snapped. Looking at her watch, Tyson should have been awake and probably heading to the arena.

AJ: Well SOMEONE made himself at home. <1 attachment>

Tyson was grabbing a coffee at the hotel before hopping on the bus when his phone buzzed in his suit pocket. Opening up the message, he found Maple the Bear sitting in the chair, clearly not helping unpack boxes.

Removing Maple from the chair, AJ brought him back to the guest room, setting him down next to the giant panda bear that AJ had won for Tyson at the Minnesota State Fair. This gave her an idea for later, but for now, she had to unpack more.

Tackling closets and bathrooms, and finding homes for all of the kitchen gadgets the two amassed took up most of the day. A few texts were shared back and forth, giving Tyson updates on what all AJ was accomplishing, and asking for input. More ideas were coming into his mind, but again, would have to wait until he was back in town. One thing though, he could pull off that night.

AJ’s phone buzzed with a message that wasn’t from Tyson, and it wasn’t from Jess or Nate.

Hi, this is Kevin with Instacart, I have a delivery downstairs for you from Tyson.

Shaking her head, AJ threw her hair back in a messy ponytail and put on some shoes to get downstairs. Kevin was in the lobby, holding a couple bags awkwardly. She dug her wallet out to give the poor soul a tip for having to carry it all inside. Balancing all the bags in her hands, AJ took the elevator back upstairs and down the hall. Once inside, the bags were set on the counter.

Produce, vegetables, meats, boxes of pasta, milk, frozen meals, eggs, cheese… and beer. A six-pack of Blue Moon, to be exact. That made AJ smile, because she could definitely use one this evening with all the unpacking she’d been working on. As food made its way into their new homes on shelves in the pantry, or in the fridge and freezer, she contemplated what she was going to make for dinner, but honestly, really didn’t want to despite the sweet gesture of Tyson sending groceries to her. In fact, she hadn’t quite unpacked all the pots and pans yet, but was getting ready to as it was going to be nice not having to use the same kettle and pan over and over again like they did for months at the hotel.

Just as she was finally coming to terms with it needing to be done, the sound of AJ’s phone vibrating against the kitchen counter snapped her back into reality.

This is Tina with DoorDash, I’m in the lobby with something from Tyson for you.

“What did he do this time?” AJ stared at her phone, smirking as she headed for the door again.

The elevator whooshed down to the main floor, doors opening to let AJ see Tina standing near the desk with a large pizza box. Trading the box for a couple dollar tip, she saw that Tyson had Gino & Joe’s delivered. It smelled delicious as she made her way back up to the twelfth floor again. Opening the box lid, she gasped and giggled.

The pepperoni were in the shape of a heart, filled in with mushrooms. Upon further inspection, a note was scribbled inside the lid.

Hi Eggo, no need to cook tonight, you’ve been working hard. Love you, see you soon. <;3, Tyson

It was nearly 7:00PM, the day went by so fast. Tyson would be getting ready for the game against Winnipeg.

AJ: Tyson Jost, what am I going to do with you? I mean other than love you forever. Thanks for sending everything, especially dinner.

Tyson: I can think of a few things you can do when I get home (winking emoji) Love you

AJ: Kick some ass tonight, I’ll be cheering you on from the sofa with Maple!

Tyson was envisioning AJ sprawled out on the overstuffed gray sofa, box of pizza and a Blue Moon on the coffee table. All the snapshots she’d sent through the day put together a pretty good idea of how things were situated. During his warmup doing a little jogging before getting his gear on, he daydreamed of the next steps in his plan.

Back in Buffalo, AJ settled in with the pizza that she put in the oven to keep warm. Pre-game coverage played on the television. She’d forgotten how comfortable it was to have space, to sprawl out, and to have the big screen TV again - they’d become accustomed to the significantly smaller TV and sofa. Remembering the lamps were set up with wifi plugs, she asked Alexa to turn them off. The glow of the screen illuminated the pretty much set up living room, leaving her to enjoy the pizza and game.

In Winnipeg, Tyson was trying to find the back of the net with six shots on the night, but nothing made it in. Was a solid game for him though, and another W for the team as the points are starting to get important, being on the edge of a wildcard spot for the playoffs.

Between the physical exhaustion from unpacking all day, as well as having a couple beers, AJ’s eyes weren’t staying open. Putting the remaining pizza in the fridge, AJ found her way to her sink in the bathroom (she claimed it anyway, Tyson would just have to deal with using the other one.). After washing her face and taking out her contacts, she grimaced as her stomach wasn’t feeling quite right, although it was a similar feeling that she’d been having the last few weeks, chalking it up to stress and all the crud going around. Popping a few antacids in her mouth, she curled up in bed trying to get comfortable.

A game of Sudoku was interrupted with a notification on her phone from Tyson.

Tyson: One more stop, and I’ll be home. Miss you so much, can’t wait to see what the apartment looks like!

Seeing the words made AJ relax a little bit, her stomach unknotting some.

AJ: Can’t wait to have you back here, it’s lonely in this big space all by myself. Thank you again for dinner, and all the groceries. You’re way too good to me. (heart emoji) Sweet dreams babe, and safe travels in the morning in case I’m not awake yet (sleeping emoji)

Finishing up her game of Sudoku, AJ put her phone down on the box next to the bed, and slept off and on all night, eventually getting up around 6am. Digging her headphones out of her backpack still packed from her flight, AJ headed to the gym downstairs. Her stomach still didn’t feel right, but she powered through a few miles on the elliptical.

Water and crackers seemed to be what was on the menu for breakfast after she got back upstairs and took a shower. Food just didn’t sound good. Sitting at the breakfast bar, AJ scrolled through a few things on her phone - Twitter, Instagram, Reddit. It was too early to text Jess to ask about her thoughts with her stomach, so instead she looked up a few doctor offices in the area. It was time to be an adult and get whatever this is checked out. Once 8AM hit, she started calling a few offices to see if she could find a doc accepting new patients. Somehow she lucked into getting an appointment later that morning as someone canceled at a decently rated doctor in the neighborhood.

In the meantime, AJ looked around at the boxes in the kitchen still, so she started putting in new shelf paper in the cabinets and putting dishes and cooking utensils away. The empty bins started stacking up in the corner, and more floor space was found. And the alarm on her phone let her know when she needed to head off to the doctor’s office.

Halfway across the country, Tyson was landing in Minnesota, and the team made its way to the Xcel Energy Center to have a practice. It was a weird feeling for him being back after the way things ended. No awkward interactions happened though as the Wild were practicing at TRIA Rink that day. A few players asked Tyson for recommendations on places to eat, which he provided, but he wasn’t joining for the night. He had plans with a couple of his former teammates before things would get heated the next day.

It was nice to get caught up on what all had happened in the last couple months, swapping stories. Some of them may not have been Tyson’s teammates very long, but they were still friends all the same. Before he knew it, it was already 9PM, and he had wanted to check in with AJ before she went to bed. He had checked his phone, already seeing a note from her.

AJ: Hey babe, I’m exhausted and going to bed. Hope you’re having a good night, say hey to the guys for me!

Doing the math, she had gone to bed way earlier than the normal late hours he was accustomed to her keeping. Not wanting to wake her up though, he just let it go even though he really had wanted to talk before bed. But figuring unpacking was taking its toll, he pushed down any concern that may have been growing. He sulked a little bit still as he fell asleep in the hotel room bed in a city they used to live in months before.

AJ grumbled at the light shining in the bedroom as the sun crept up in the sky. Still laying in bed, she grabbed her phone, pulling up Target’s website looking at the selection of curtains. Her few plants would love the light from the east side windows, but she needed to be able to sleep a little later in the mornings than the sun was allowing her. As she scrolled through room-darkening curtains, she was interrupted by Tyson wanting to facetime. Before she answered, she scrambled to get her hair down and in relative place and a lopsided smile graced her face.

“Hey babe, how's St. Paul?” AJ was trying to sound chipper despite feeling off still.

Tyson squinted before smiling again, taking in a very tired looking face, “It’s good, hoping to have some good luck tonight. Are you okay? You went to bed early for you last night. I wanted to tell you to have good dreams of me.” He pouted, then smiled trying to keep the feeling light.

“Yeah, I think the last week and change is just catching up with me, I…” AJ didn’t want to worry Tyson, and decided to keep her doctor’s appointment to herself, “I think I just need to get caught up on sleep. But to do that I think I’m going to have to venture out to Target soon and get some curtains. This place has so many windows! So bright in the bedroom…”

An idea hit Tyson’s mind, but he kept up with the conversation. AJ got out of bed and showed some of the spaces she’d unpacked items in, giving an idea of how things were going. He was looking more and more forward to getting home, the place that she was working so hard to create for them to feel comfortable in.

“You know I’ll help when we get back tomorrow, leave some work for me!” Tyson was trying to delegate some of the unpacking duties to himself to allow AJ some rest.

While she tried to hide her bedhead, AJ forgot that the dark circles were still under her eyes. They were a little worrisome to Tyson. But knowing he was going to have to leave soon for a short practice, he encouraged AJ to go back to bed and hide under the covers. He was more than happy to come home and take care of whatever boxes were left in the next few days. Tyson had to make a compromise that he’d allow her to supervise at least.

With a sleepy smile and a kiss blown at the screen, AJ agreed, and closed out the call, finding her way to the kitchen to take some meds and then found solace in the sheets and blankets of their bed. Within minutes, she was sound asleep - it was the best sleep she’d had in days.

The bright light of day was definitely dimmed by the time AJ woke up, unsure of what time it actually was. Frantically searching for her phone that got buried under the blankets that cocooned her, she found it was late afternoon. Her nap lasted almost a full night’s worth of sleep. The bedroom was still out of sorts, so her task for the remainder of the afternoon was at least to get nightstands set up and unpack some clothes into their closet and her dresser. The thought of putting Tyson’s clothes away crossed her mind, but she figured she’d let him put things where he wanted. With most of the bedroom under control, it occurred to her that she had yet to set up her computer rig, which bothered her a bit. Normally this would have been one of the first things she’d set up, but she just wasn’t feeling it. She wasn’t feeling a lot of the things she was normally interested in lately.

Instead of ignoring it longer though, AJ pulled her desk around in the office, and started setting up monitor arms to mount the multiple displays for her computer. Her cameras and mic were set up. Finally, all of the cables were in place, and her computer was plugged in. Sitting down in her chair, something clicked and things felt right in those moments. Firing up some Fortnite, she lost a few hours, and didn’t realize it until Tyson was texting after the game.

Thankfully, she didn’t miss much. And honestly, not watching the game may have done more good for her mentally than she realized. Had she watched the game, she probably would have just gotten angry at the coaching staff again - the whole idea of “getting better, not bitter” was something she was still working on. Tyson wasn’t even upset at her lack of watching, it was a quiet night, and a loss in a shutout. No one was particularly thrilled with how the game played out. The only thing on Tyson’s mind though was getting home the next morning. A fresh start was something he was craving, and those grand ideas he had for the apartment and AJ just kept getting bigger.

It had been a long, emotional day for Tyson, playing back in St. Paul and all, and honestly he was ready for bed. And despite sleeping most of the day, AJ was yawning as well. Both called it a night, excited that with just one more sleep, Tyson would be on his way back to Buffalo.

While he was up early, AJ slept in again, as it was a bit of a dreary day along Lake Erie. Pulling herself out of bed, she made her way to the kitchen to take her meds again, and started picking up a few things around the place. Boxes were shifted around so that there was more of a walkway between rooms. Her Snow Queen pothos was a little dry, so she watered it a bit. Fidgeting, AJ took a shower and put on some clothes, realizing she’d been in pajamas for almost two days. The text she’d been waiting for finally came in.

Tyson: I’m at the airport, come pick me up?

Hopping in her black Soul, AJ floored it heading to the airport. It’d only been a couple days since she saw Tyson in St. Louis, but it’d been a week since they literally were sharing the same space. Navigating the maze of the airport pickup area, Tyson stood with a tired smile, backpack and Normtec bag in hand. Popping the trunk, he tossed his things in before climbing into the front passenger seat.

With a quick kiss, the two were off, heading back downtown. Making up for all the longing and lack of touch, Tyson’s hand never left the top of AJ’s as she held onto the gearshift. He noticed she didn’t look as tired as she had, a good sign. Pulling back into her spot in the garage of their building, AJ carried Tyson’s backpack, while he carried the few remaining items he had with him as they headed back up to the twelfth floor. Key in the slot, the door unlocked.

“Welcome home, Tyson.”

That glint of mischief in Tyson’s eyes was bright as can be as he set his bag down in the hall and picked AJ up, carrying her into their new space. She squealed, pleading with him to put her down. After finally doing so, he grabbed his bags and put them near the door, taking in everything that AJ had set up. Sort of keeping her promise, there were still a few boxes in the living room as well as the bedroom that needed to be put away.

After giving a mini tour, AJ flopped onto the sofa, watching Tyson still exploring the rooms. Her eyes closed briefly, until the sound of Tyson’s voice, laced with concern, brought her back.

“Hey Eggo? What is this?”

Taking a look at what Tyson was talking about, AJ saw him standing next to the breakfast bar in the kitchen, holding a bottle of prescription pills. The look on his face was definitely one of concern.

So much for trying to keep a secret.

Instead of covering it up further, AJ decided to just put it all out on the table.

“First, this isn’t your doing, this is me. Do not blame yourself when I tell you this,” AJ was worried about what Tyson was going to say, so she was stalling as much as she could. “But a few years back, I had some issues. Nothing BAD, but… you know how this past summer was hard on you? I had a period like that too in college. But where you handled it healthily, I… did not. My roommate found me on the floor of our dorm room crying, room completely flipped upside down. I couldn’t find stamps to mail something, and… yeah. I’m not proud of it. But my roommate and some friends convinced me to see a doc, and I got on anti-depressants. I was on them for a while and was doing pretty well, so I was able to get off of them. But the past few weeks, and again, this isn’t anything you did, but some similar feelings were creeping in, so I decided to go to the doctor about it, before it got to that point again.”

Unsure of what to say, Tyson just listened to AJ talk. When she was finished, he thought for a moment before opening his mouth.

“I didn’t even know you were depressed,” Tyson felt crappy. He couldn't even tell his fiancee was not feeling right. “Is there anything I can do? Or anything I should know?”

As she was owning up to things, AJ continued.

“As far as the depression goes, not too much. The meds will hopefully help get me out of this funk I’ve been in. It takes a couple weeks for them to kick in though. Mainly, just sometimes I want a hug, or maybe need to vent and someone to listen. Pretty much the same ol’ things I normally ask for. But I do have to tell you that there are a few other things going on too. Since I’ve been so tired, and not just from this ridiculous roadie I went on with y’all, but like exhausted tired - I’m having some labwork done to see if anything else is going on that needs to be checked into.”

Tyson nodded, realizing that he wasn’t imagining that AJ had seemed to be more tired lately. And to be honest, he was relieved she was being an adult and getting it checked out. The two talked some more about what she’d been feeling, and what the doctor said in advance of the blood work she had done. It was just going to be a waiting game until Monday when her labs would be completed and maybe would have some answers.

Apologizing for darkening the mood with all the mental and physical health talk, AJ tried to change the subject a little with some talk about some things she wanted to do eventually for the apartment. The smirk came across Tyson’s face as she showed him some ideas she’d found online. He made mental notes of what he was being shown. Those gears in his head kept turning.

Interrupting everyone's thoughts though was the sound of AJ’s stomach growling. She hadn’t eaten much and clearly it was trying to make that fact well known. Excited to do so, the couple finished putting away Tyson’s travel items, and headed to the kitchen to whip up a late lunch together. AJ had to show him where some of the pots and pans were, but he was picking up fast. Tyson made some chicken and vegetables as AJ made a simple sauce to go with it all poured over some brown rice. The two had ample space to move about the kitchen. AJ even had Alexa turn on some music so the two could have their first dance in their new home while the food heated up.

With Tyson holding onto AJ’s hips, and her hands resting behind his neck, the two just swayed and smiled, locking eyes until AJ rested her head into the crook of Tyson’s neck and shoulder. The feeling of his fuzzy cheek against her forehead made everything negative on her mind disappear as they lost themselves for a few minutes and a couple of songs. The sound of Alexa’s timer burst the bubble, but AJ was okay with it as the food smelled amazing as she grabbed the plates from a cabinet, and dished up some for both of them.

Lunch wasn’t eaten in silence, as the conversation led to them talking about the next few weeks. One more game at home, and then it would be the All-Star Game break. A lot of teams had their bye week before the weekend of the game. Instead, the Sabres’ bye week was after. A few of Tyson’s teammates were heading to the Bahamas. He’d been invited, but with all the commotion of moving, he decided against it. AJ thought he’d probably head back to Edmonton to see the family. Instead, he surprised even AJ.

“I was thinking, what about a staycation?”

Looking for Chapter 40? LET'S GOOOOO https://at.tumblr.com/brainrattlers/play-it-cool-tyson-jost-40n/rn7wesgrzqa7

[sireliottgovernersmith]

Mina’s Lament

___________________________________________

This is a ghost story revolving around Jeongyeon and Mina. This is part one so hope ya’ll like :~)

___________________________________________

"Jeongyeon how's the place?!" Nayeon asked through the phone. I took the phone away from my ear.

"It's—uhh, well...good." I look at the house then look back at the picture she sent me and realize something.

"I think you got scammed unnie." I say through the phone, glaring as if she could see me. "Oh really? Well technically i recommend it and it was your choice to follow it...sooo" I ended the call before she could piss me off even more. "Wai-"

I put away my phone with a huff and proceed to grab my luggage and enter the house. The front had these large stairs that made the place look like it was a grand entry, it was pretty but a pain to go up to.

I hauled up my stuff up the gruesome stairs.

"Finally!" I breathed. Without the bags it would be a breeze.

The doors of the house looked just as old as the stairs. I was almost too scared to touch the handle. I let out a chuckle "Is there some sort of curse living here or something?" I joke. I open the door and get greeted by darkness. The wooden floorboards creaked as I took a step as if it were groaning. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and something faintly floral–like flowers that were left to dry for years, nice but odd.

Dust particles were floating lazily in the faint light streaming through the tall, narrow windows laced with grime. The entry opened into a cavernous room, with walls lined by faded wallpaper peeling at the edges. A patterns of some sort of fruit dulled and cracked by time. Creepy!

To my left there was another grand staircase that spiraled upwards, its banister was carved with intricate details now worn smooth. At the base of the was an abandoned vase. Still holding dried flowers; brown and brittle, their petals curling inward like the house itself was swallowing them.

"I shouldn't have ended the call with Nayeon... I need someone with me." I cry out. My voice resonated in the eerie living room and I jumped up.

Nayeon!

—

I've finally settled into my chosen room and the dust greeted me like an old friend. My first reaction was to clean and so I did.

I found a broom and cleaning brushes in a supply closet in the hallway and began the mission. Cleaning this retched house would calm down my nerves.

I start downstairs in the living room, making sure to get rid of the cobwebs, dust mites, grime and those old ass flowers. Even though it's just a vacation home I want to breathe fresh air not dust.

After about 3 hours I've managed to clean the areas i would mostly be staying in. Why would I clean this whole ass house?

I climb up the spiraled stairs to go to the bedroom, but I can't help but feel like there's actually something eerie about this place, the last creaky step of the staircase takes me out of my paranoid thoughts.

—

Next day

"I told you a place where you could stay but you wouldn't listen to me." My best friend, jihyo reminded as she took a sip of her smoothie.

Me, Momo, Jihyo and Nayeon are at a new café spot in Seoul, a place I'm glad to be right now since its surrounded by bright lights and people; a contrast to my horror of a vacation home.

"And also I didn't get scammed, The reviews lied to me, okay." Nayeon retorted to what I said literally yesterday. She was eating a muffin.

I scoff. "Well that place is scary and I don't want to go back" I pout.

Momo snickers at my face and continues eating her creamy pastry.

"I'm serious guys! That place gives off creepy vibes and I don't want to be there alone!" I grab onto Momo's arm who was sitting next to me. "Yah! Let go."

Jihyo clears her throat. "Now that you mention it I did hear some news about the house." Jihyo says with her finished smoothie, eyeing Nayeon. "Ohh your right..." Nayeon speaks up in a faint tone while scratching the side of her head.

"Hear what?" I ask and let go of Momo's arm, I hear her breathe out 'finally' and I side eye her and watch as she laughs and now drinks her americano, her second order.

Without missing a beat, Nayeon says, "So... I heard the house might be haunted," her voice oddly casual. I stiffle a snort "There's no way you actually believe that crap." Jihyo smirks "hey, it's true, the story of the house claims it belonged to a foreign coup-"

"Let me tell it." Nayeon interrupts her. "I already started talking, pabo." Jihyo quips.

They both glare at each other. Momo turns to me "let's get another order while there still fighting" she says with a grin. I smile back "with whose money?"

"Okay! Pay attention!" The two have finally found common ground and Nayeon is the one telling the story. The people in the next booth turn their head to ours, "Sorry..." she apologizes quickly.

"Hah!" Jihyo teased. Nayeon sighs, "As I was saying.."

—

1977 in Gyeongju province, South Korea lived an ordinary foreign couple who moved in to their new home. Kunpimook Bhuwakul and Myoui Mina: fiancés. the neighbors say that they were a timid couple; always staying together in their big home, they were rarely seen apart, a couple wrapped in an air of intimacy– or perhaps isolation.

Out of no where, the reserved man people once knew was erased. The male started acting strangely whenever he would come into the neighborhood from work or any other outings. People say he would get drunk very often, his disheveled appearance would even spook bystanders, his actions affected heavily on his partner, The female would be seen with markings, bruises all over her body and would be covered with bandages. She dismissed all the rumors of being abused and said it was simply "easier his way." So no one questioned it.

4 years pass with their engagement frozen in time, the thought of Mr & Mrs was never brought up. One fateful evening in the neighborhood Bhuwakul stormed out the doors of his shared home with his hands full of luggage and a ticket to get the hell out of that place. He moved swiftly through the dimly lit town so no one knew he would be leaving.

The very next day, his fiancé, Myoui Mina was found dead, peacefully laying in her bed drenched in her own dry blood. Her face oddly serene.

The police couldn't find the male partner anywhere, he had covered any trace he had even lived in the very house.

To this day,

To this day, locals swear that late at night, you can hear soft footsteps pacing the halls of the old house, accompanied by the faint sound of weeping. Some say it's Mina, searching for the man who left her behind. Others believe it's Kunpimook, forever trapped by the weight of what he did—or what he failed to do.

—

"...woah Nayeon, I didn't know you could be so descriptive" I say in awe.

We had all been listening intently to the odd story.

"I have goosebumps, that was actually pretty scary." Momo laughs.

I hit Momo on the shoulder "Don't laugh! I have to live there." I say to her with a pout.

"Too bad~" Momo says in a melodic tone, trying to hold back laughter.

"Maybe we could go ghost hunting so Jeongyeon won't be afraid" Jihyo speaks up with a grin.

Momo and Nayeon both laugh at her suggestion.

I can't but slightly shift in my the booth and look around the café nervously. The story definitely put me at unease.

[dipperdesperado]

WRITING STORY COLLECTION CHAPTER 12 - Retooling

Sandra looks back from the driver's seat. Fuck. Is everyone okay?

Grohl takes a deep breath. "As good as I can be, given the situation."

Everyone is worse for wear. Riley and Zoe just give a small nod to her.

"We'll be out of the woods soon. Promise," Sandra says, flooring it.

As the tires start to skid on a turn, a couple more military patrol vehicles skirt around the bend.

Sandra looks through the rear view mirror. "Looks like we got company!"

The team looks back and sees the lights from two cars peering back at them.

"Shit! Do we have anything in here to fend them off?" Zoe says.

Her and Riley start frantically looking around in the back.

As the cars start to close the gap, someone leans out of the passenger window with a megaphone. "Pull over! We will not let you get away!"

Fucking hell. Sandra cranes her neck towards the back. "Did y'all find anything?"

"Nothing's in here!" Riley replies.

Grohl starts to climb towards the back. "Look for secret compartments or something. There has to be at least a couple of weapons here."

Holy shit. We're really about to have a shootout. "Has anyone here ever shot a gun before?"

The car is silent. Great.

"Okay, well, if you find one, I'll give you a crash cour-"

The car lurches forward as one of the pursuers ram it.

"They're on us!" Zoe yells.

"Yeah, we know!" Grohl replies. "The fuck are we gonna do?"

"I have an idea, but it could go horribly. If I explain it, you might try to talk me out of it. So, just let me do it."

Zoe looks up from trying to peel back floor panels. "That sounds dangerous and like it could backfire."

"Probably, but it's better than trying to have a shootout with the cops."

"Okay, do it," Riley says. Zoe and Grohl nod.

Sandra nods her head and takes a deep breath. She looks through the mirror and sees the two cars speeding up toward them. Her eyes dart back to the team. "Y'all might want to hold on." She breaks and swerves the vehicle to be perpendicular to the road. The pursuers, still barrelling ahead, try to break but slam into the side of the vehicle. Their cars crumple at the front, with one of the people, the guy who was hanging out, getting flung out. The crash rocks the vehicle, but since it's military-grade transport, it ends up mostly unscathed. The force shakes everyone up, disorienting them for a bit.

"Is everyone okay?" Sandra says, shaking off the dizziness.

Everyone stumbles up. They all give nonverbal cues to let Sandra know they're not dead.

"Great. Let's get outta here."

Sandra drives off as smoke and fire create a blockade on the road behind them.

The team arrives at the hideout from way back before they met the informant.

"We made it, folks!" Sandra says, climbing out of the vehicle.

Zoe jumps out of the back and stretches like she just woke up. "Oof! That was insane. I'm really glad we didn't have to really fight too much with those guys."

Riley and Grohl are right behind her, hoisting a bagged-and-tagged General.

Riley puts one hand on Zoe's shoulder. "Look, if we had to, it would've been fine," He gestures towards Sandra. "We have Lady Liberty on our side!"

"Shut up, and let's go inside."

Once inside, Grohl and Riley affix the General to a chair, and everyone rotates taking showers. Once Grohl, the last person, comes out of the bathroom, everyone else is sitting at a table, with freshly uncanned food. "Oh wow! I don't think I've ever been this excited to see canned beans!" he says, a sly smile on his face.

"Haha. Sorry I wasn't really able to stock up any farm-to-table options, hope this is to your liking," Sandra says, sliding him a can as he sits down.

"Seriously, thanks."

"Okay, so...what next? We definitely can't really pursue the story the same way," Zoe says, swallowing down some beans.

Sandra shifts in her seat. "Well...I was thinking about it...and it seems like...we're going to need some backup."

Grohl squints. "Back up? Like what?"

"We should go talk to the Blades."

"Whoa whoa whoa. Those guys are actual terrorists!" Riley says, standing up.

Sandra laughs. "Yeah, 'terrorists' who actually saved our lives the last time we were in a pinch... I mean, why were we so willing to take him," she says, gesturing to the General. "But a group that's fighting the system directly is too extreme?"

Zoe gestures at Riley to calm down. "I mean, we're probably already considered terrorists at this point."

Grohl groans.

Sandra's eyes light up. "Exactly! And this way-"

"Whoa whoa", Zoe says, stopping Sandra. "I still have my reservations. I mean, I barely remember them getting us out of that prison, but I still don't want to know if we should go in that deep!"

"What?! What I'm telling you is that we are already that deep. I mean, ask the guys we've beat up, the two cars that crashed into us."

Grohl chimes in. "It's one thing to escape. It's another thing to attack." Riley and Zoe nod.

"But if we don't attack, then we're going to get attacked!" Sandra says, now standing up herself.

"I hear ya, but I just figure there's another way to broach this." Riley says, shrugging.

"So all of y'all feel this way?"

Everyone nods.

Fine. "Okay. how about this. We go to the Blades, connect with them, and see if they can help us out. Even if we don't work with them directly, it's better for us to have them in our corner than to not. Is that cool?"

After a small huddle, the rest of the group gives their approval. Sandra smiles.

"I do have a question." Grohl says.

"This feels like it's going to be more of a statement, but go on."

"Why don't we just connect with Liberty? I'm sure they could help us out."

"Liberty's vibe is more subterfuge and self-defense. The Blades are more diverse in their tactics."

Zoe sighs. "That makes me worried again."

Sandra shrugs. "I feel like we'd rather need that energy and not have it than have it and not need it. Anyway, let's get some sleep... we'll head out in the morning to meet them."

"Good morning," a soft voice says, almost like a dream.

...huh? Sandra gets a tang of iron in her nostrils and jolts up. Sitting next to her bed is SLASH, in their full glory. Sandra reaches behind herself, to try and grab something from under the bed.

"Hey hey, there's no need for that. I just wanted to talk."

Sandra sights. I probably couldn't take them anyway. "What-how are you here?"

"I had a feeling that your crew would do something insane eventually, so I've kept tabs. You all went dark for a bit until you ended up somehow getting to that research facility."

"How'd you know where we were?"

"A story for another time. Either way, with all of the noise you all have made, I'm not so sure you can go back to your normal routine. With that in mind, I'm hoping we can work together, since our goals are more aligned than ever."

"The enemy of my enemy...Interesting."

"Well?"

"Good thing I just convinced the team to work with y'all. I had the same idea--let's work together!"

"Great. Really your people, and meet us outside in an hour. Grab whatever supplies you want or need--we're going to have to raze this site."

"Raze??"

"This place is compromised now...you've probably come back to this place too many times. You'll need to find another base."

"Fuck. Okay. And what do you mean, we?"

"Some of the other Blades are taking care of that transport vehicle... You left a trail... and so we're going to help clean it up."

"Thanks."

"Yeah. Meet us outside, in a few. And...take another look at that military guy you have locked up...he wasn't looking too good when I came in."

Sandra nods.

[mypoisonedvine]

contains adult themes such as sex and sexuality, drug use, violence/assault, and misogyny; other things to be prepared for include complete irrelevance to the canon of stranger things, 17-year-old jason is trying to bang 15-year-old elle which makes me wanna peel my face off (but it's accurate to the film), reader is adopted and has some issues with her bio parents, mileven and lumax with background robin/vickie, and dad!hopper being MVP as per usual

note: significant sections of dialogue were lifted directly from the film, because why mess with perfection? I still took liberties with it, but for some of those really iconic scenes, please know that I'm not the reason those lines are so hilarious. credit for the scenes I transcribed go to Karen McCullah & Kirsten Smith, the screenwriters of 10 Things I Hate About You, who of course themselves based the work on The Taming of the Shrew by William Shakespeare.

length: 20k words

for @get-your-fics midsummer night's writing challenge!! thank you for hosting rosie!

As his hand slid up her creamy white thighs, she could feel his huge member pulsating with desire…

Mike was looking down at his hands, interlaced in his lap, until Ms. Kelley shut her laptop.  She smiled at him politely, and he smiled back.  “So!” she began, checking his file again.  “Michael—”

“Just Mike,” he nodded.

“Right.  Well, we’re glad to have you at Hawkins High— it shouldn’t be too different from your last high school!  You were well-behaved your freshman year, correct?”

“Uh, mostly… one or two tardies, that’s it,” he assured.

“Great!  That means if you see me again, something’s gone horribly wrong.”

“Huh?”

“This is where kids with behavior problems get sent.  Deviants, misfits, sluts, weirdos, creeps— they all have to come in and chat with me to get their shit straightened out.”

“Their what?” Mike repeated.  “Are you— am I in the right office?”

“Not anymore, my novel isn’t gonna finish itself,” she announced.  “So scoot.”

He didn’t, at first, too stunned.

“Scoot!”

He jumped up, trying to process what conversation just occurred, only to bump into someone as he backed out of the doorway.  “Watch it!” a firm voice warned him, and he spun to look up in ill-suppressed terror at the guy he’d just collided with.

Mike was too intimidated to even choke out an apology; it’s hard to say where to start with what scared him most.  Maybe the chains, maybe the leather jacket and denim vest, maybe the glare?  Yeah, it was definitely the glare— that was what made Mike cower and dart away before it could get any worse.

“Ah, Mister Munson!” Ms. Kelley greeted with faux sweetness.  “I see we're making our visits a weekly ritual.”

As her smile fell, Eddie’s grew.  “Only so we can have these moments together,” he cooed, taking another step inside.  “Should I hit the lights?”

“Oh, very clever, trailer park boy,” she offered flatly as she examined the incident report already in his file.  “Apparently you exposed yourself in the cafeteria?”

“I was just joking around with my bandmates,” he promised.  “It was a bratwurst.”

“Bratwurst,” she repeated, raising an eyebrow and glancing down— ostensibly at his handcuff belt buckle.  “Aren’t we the optimist?”

A hint of Eddie’s resolve faded as she tilted her head and smiled at him cheerily again.

“Next time, keep your dangler in your Wranglers, mkay?” she suggested, chipper yet hollow.

Eddie shook his head as he left, leaving Ms. Kelley to return to her desk and re-open her computer.  Examining her screen, she erased one word and replaced it.

…she could feel his huge bratwurst pulsating with desire…

~

“Hey!  Mike, right?” 

Mike turned, seeing another sophomore standing in front of him with a high top on his head and hightops on his feet.  “Yeah!” Mike answered.

“I’m Lucas,” the other student offered with an extended hand for a shake.

Mike sighed with relief as he returned the handshake energetically, noticing Lucas’ basketball uniform.  “You know, normally they send down one of those audio/video geeks.”

Lucas nodded; “Yeah, I know— I know what you mean.”

Right on cue, Dustin Henderson rolled by with the A/V cart.  “Hey, Lucas,” Dustin nodded, “where should I put the radio equipment?”

Lucas coughed and brushed Dustin away.  “Lucas?” he shook his head, pretending he had no idea who that could be, as he ditched a bewildered Dustin and guided Mike along down the hall.

As they walked past a crowd of popular seniors, Lucas motioned towards them.

“So, over here, you’ve got your basic beautiful people,” he explained, “unless they talk to you first, don’t talk to them.”

“Is that your rule or theirs?”

“Watch,” Lucas offered, nodding in their direction.  “Hey there,” he greeted.

“Who are you talking to?” Steve ‘the Hair’ Harrington asked with a sneer.

“See?” Lucas smiled at Mike, who shook his head as they moved along.  “Anyways, you’ve got your Diet Coke drinkers,” he explained as he motioned toward a crowd of students all holding red cans.  “Very edgy, don’t make any sudden movements around them.”

Mike nodded in understanding, trying to keep up— literally, since Lucas kept walking quickly, but also in terms of the explanation of Hawkins High’s social dynamics.

“You’ve got your basic stoners—”

A senior with long black hair and bloodshot eyes caught Mike’s attention.  “Hey, nice threads, man,” the stoner complimented with a smile, “Ocean Pacific?”

“And your surfers—”

Mike gawked at the muscular, tan guy with a blonde mullet and, for some reason, no shirt on.  “Does he walk around like that at school?” he wondered aloud, but Lucas didn’t notice.

“— even though the closest they’ve been to the ocean is when they drink Ocean Spray cranberry juice.”

As Lucas laughed at his own joke, they walked through the courtyard.  

“And this is our fearless Hawkins High basketball team!” Lucas explained, setting his hands on one of the player’s shoulders as they passed their lunch table.  “Go Tigers, huh?”

The players scowled at him as Lucas’ hand was shrugged off; he crossed his arms.

“Yesterday I was their up-and-coming star,” Lucas recalled with a roll of his eyes.

“What happened?” Mike asked.

“Patrick McKinney started a rumor that my Converse were fake,” Lucas explained with a sigh.  

“So they’re freezing you out?” Mike realized, offended on his behalf and concerned that everyone here was that superficial.

“I’ll get back in, don’t worry,” Lucas assured, but Mike wasn’t really worried about him so much as himself.

It was right then that Elle Hopper walked by, carrying with her the essence of youthful beauty and ingenue-ity.  Her busy patterned jumpsuit was every bit as colorful as her spirit; she laughed lightly with the redhead at her side, a few words of a conversation about a trip to the mall floating through the air.  

As time seemed to slow just for her, she tossed her hair over her shoulder, sending a wave of the scent of candy-sweet perfume right in Mike’s direction.

“Oh— wow,” Mike sighed like the wind had been knocked out of him.  “Who’s she?”

“She’s out of your league is who she is,” Lucas warned.

“And?”

“And she’s got this super scary dad— won’t let her or her sister date.  Ever,” Lucas announced firmly.

“How bad could he be, is he a hardened criminal or something?”

“Worse,” Lucas shook his head, “he’s the sheriff.”

“That’s worse?” Mike frowned.

“A criminal will just kill you.  The sheriff will actually get away with it.”

~

“So,” Ms. O’Donnell began, “what did everyone think of The Sun Also Rises?”

Bethany Walters raised her hand instantly, and you rolled your eyes— because of course she would.  “I loved it,” she cooed when she was called on.  “I was soooo romantic!”

You grimaced, unable to stop yourself from commenting (a habit of yours).  “Romantic?  Hemingway?!  Please— he was an abusive alcoholic misogynist—”

The rest of the class was already groaning and rolling their eyes, a few mutters of not this again here and there, but you kept going.

“— who squandered half his life hanging around Picasso trying to nail his leftovers.”

Yes, it was just like you to say something like that when Bethany was just trying to express a perfectly harmless opinion, but it was just like Jason to take it further.  “As opposed to an unlikeable, self-righteous loser with no friends?” he quipped.

You weren’t planning on saying anything, but thankfully Ms. O’Donnell stood up for you anyway.  “Quiet, Jason,” she scolded lightly— she was never that hard on him, because he was the star of the basketball team, but she also didn’t let him bully you that openly in class.

“I guess in this society, being male and an asshole makes you worthy of our time,” you concluded, shooting Jason a look over your shoulder, who simply smirked back at you.

And if it was just like you to say something snarky and politically-charged, and just like Jason to use it to insult you, then it was just like Eddie to show up late as if it were no trouble at all.  “What did I miss?” he asked with a smile as he burst in.

You answered instantly, without looking back: “The oppressive patriarchal values that dictate our education.”

“Great,” Eddie nodded, spinning on his heel and walking right back out again.

“W-wait!” Ms. O’Donnell called out, but Jason spoke again and took her attention away.

“How about we make a new rule— don’t come to class if you can’t handle your PMS,” he suggested jokingly.

“Jason!” she snapped.  “Watch your attitude.”

You smirked to yourself smugly, but that moment of righteous indignation didn’t last long.  

“And you,” she added, turning her attention to you, “go to the office.”

“What?  Why?!” you protested.

“Because— because you’re being disruptive!” she decided.

Sighing, you got up from your seat and slung your backpack over your shoulder.  As Jason snickered at you gleefully, you ‘accidentally’ let your textbook swing into his face, smacking that shit-eating look right off of him.

It was only a minute-or-so walk to the office, where you heard Ms. Kelley calling out to her assistant as you walked in. 

“What’s another word for engorged?” she asked her, stumping the receptionist.

“Tumescent?” you offered.

“Great!” she smiled, typing at her laptop; you had some inkling what she was using that word for, though you wish you were blissfully ignorant to her erotic exploits.  “So, were you terrorizing Ms. O’Donnell’s class again?”

You frowned.  “Terrorism is a pretty strong word for simply expressing my opinion.”

“How about the way you expressed your opinion to Billy Hargrove?  By the way, his testicle retrieval operation went quite well, if you were wondering.”

“In my defense,” you smirked, “I didn’t know he actually had balls when I kicked him.”

“The point is,” he sighed, less amused, “you tend to make a bad impression on others, and that’s not actually something to be proud of.  People see you as—”

“Opinionated?”

“The term used most often is ‘heinous bitch’,” she corrected.

The words themselves didn’t bother you too much— yes, they were sexist, but that was nothing new here— but the knowledge that people were actually saying this to Ms. Kelley gave you pause.  Were you really so traumatizing that they had to discuss you with the counselor?

“So, you might want to work on that,” she offered.  “Bye!”

You scoffed.  “As always,” you began as you stood, “thank you for your excellent guidance.  I’ll let you get back to writing about aching cores and quivering members.”

As you turned, quietly proud of yourself for standing up to her, you heard her ponder to herself, “huh… quivering member, I like that…”

~

In the parking lot, you and Robin were walking side-by-side to your car (since she’d gotten a ride from you today, and also every other day for the past year and a half) when you were nearly run over by Jason screeching up to the curb in his car; it was just like him: shiny and new, overvalued, a fabulous body with subpar machinery under the hood.

“Hey,” he nodded at you, flashing that taunting grin, “didn’t anyone ever tell you that you dress like a bog witch?”

“Aw, do you really mean that?” you beamed excitedly, and he frowned at his failed insult as he pulled his car up a little further.  If only he would’ve kept driving straight forward forever— he would’ve gone over the edge of the quarry eventually; but instead, he stopped… in front of your sister.

“Hi, ladies,” he greeted suavely, “care for a ride?”

You and Robin watched from beside your car— it was just like you, too: classic, older on the inside than it was on the outside, and debatably in need of a polish— in horror as Elle and Max hopped into the back of Jason’s convertible with all the girlish glee of two ingenues in over their head.

“Well, that’s a… charming new development,” Robin frowned.

“It’s disgusting,” you spat, hopping into the driver’s seat and turning the engine over.  As you pulled out of your spot, you nearly slammed into one of those varsity basketball dweebs speeding by on his bike.  “Hey!” you shouted at him, leaning out your window.  “Didn’t your mommy tell you to look both ways before riding that thing in the street?”

The kid cowered and biked away, and you shook your head as you pulled it back into the car.  

“I swear, these kids are getting dumber every year,” you sighed.  “I think there’s a little too much chlorine in the Hawkins gene pool.”

As Lucas pulled over by the curb by Mike, the new student stared at you and Robin driving away in the beat-up vintage.  “Are you okay?  She almost hit you,” Mike noticed.

“Oh, that’s nothing with your beloved’s older sister,” Lucas scoffed.  “I’m lucky I still have all my parts.”

“Wait, that’s Elle’s sister?!” Mike realized.

“Uh huh, in the legal sense,” Lucas agreed.  “Sheriff Hopper adopted them both when they were little— I assume he found his first daughter abandoned by a tribe of rampaging bitches or something.”

That was just one of many theories about how exactly your dad came to adopt you and your sister, though the real story was much less interesting; speaking of him, he usually got home from the station after you returned from school, with him working later in the afternoons and all.  When he returned home that particular day, he found you reading Jane Eyre on the sofa, and he smiled at you.  

“Hello, honey,” he greeted.  “Make anyone cry today?”

“Not yet,” you returned, “but it’s only four-thirty!”

He hummed and leaned in to kiss you on the forehead as you turned your page.  Right about then, Elle walked through the door— and you knew that she thought she would’ve just made it in time to beat Dad home by the cringe that crossed her face when she saw him.  “Hi Daddy!” she beamed, trying to play it cool.

“And where have you been?” you asked, getting a grimace from her for your shameless sell-out.

“Nowhere,” she dodged.

But Dad missed the exchange entirely, still going through the mail.  “What’s this?” he asked when he saw a massive white envelope.  “It says Sarah Lawrence?”

You hopped up off the couch at lightning speed, snatching the letter away and shredding it open like a kid on Christmas— but not you, some other generic kid, because even when you were little you liked to open presents carefully (it helped you temper your expectations).  “Oh my god!” you shrieked when you saw a massive congratulations.  “I got in!  I got in!!”

“Honey, that’s great,” your dad offered, “you can use that to negotiate better scholarships at Indiana State!”

You frowned.  “I know you want me to stay here—”

“We decided that you would stay here,” he countered.

“You decided.”

“So, what, you’re just gonna leave?” he realized with a saddened frown.

“We can dream,” Elle mumbled to herself— but not quite enough to herself, because you caught it and you raised your eyebrows in challenge.

“Why don’t you ask Elle who drove her home?”

“Don’t change the…” Dad trailed off, turning to Elle as he took the bait completely.  “Who drove you home?”

“N-now, don’t get upset, Daddy,” she pouted, “but… there’s this boy—”

“Who’s about as sharp as a marble,” you interjected.

“And I think he might ask me—” Elle continued, but this time your dad interrupted her.

“I think I know what he’s going to ask you.  And I think I know the answer: No!” he announced proudly.  “It’s always no!  You know the house rules: one, no dating until you graduate.  Two, no dating until you graduate!  Pretty simple stuff!”

“Daddyyyy,” Elle whined, making you roll your eyes at her.  “It’s so unfair!”

“You know what’s unfair?” he returned, looking at you too.  “Last week I had to drive a girl to the hospital, she went into labor alone in her car on the side of the road— and she’s fifteen.  You know what she said to me in between bouts of screaming in my backseat?”

“I’m a crackwhore who should have made my sleazy boyfriend wear a condom?” Elle assumed.

“No,” Dad frowned, “she said I should have listened to my father.”

“Oh, she did not,” Elle scoffed disbelievingly.

“Okay, no, she didn’t— but she was probably thinking it!” he insisted.

“Can we focus on me for a second please?” Elle pouted.  Like everything isn’t already focused on you, you thought to yourself.  “I’m the only girl in school who’s not dating.”

“No you’re not— your sister doesn’t date,” your dad reminded her.

You chimed in quickly: “And I don’t intend to.”

“And, why is that again?” he asked you with a pleased smile.

“Have you seen the unwashed champions of idiocracy that go to that school?!” you replied.

“God, where did you come from?  Planet Loser?” Elle spat.

“As opposed to Planet ‘Look at me! Look at me!’” you offered in your best passé, vapid voice with your eyes rolled back halfway.

“Okay, here’s a solution,” Dad decided suddenly, making you both perk up.  “Old rule’s stricken, new rule: Elle, you can date—”

She lit up immediately.

“When she does,” he finished, pointing at you.

“B-but, she’s a total freak!  What if she never dates?!” Elle whimpered.

“Then you’ll never date!  Oh, I like that,” he announced proudly.  “And I’ll get to sleep at night— the deep slumber of a father whose daughters aren’t out being impregnated.”

His police radio went off and he sighed.  

“I don’t have time for this right now,” he decided, directing his attention at you specifically for a moment: “We’ll talk about college later.”

Elle tried to get him to stay with a whine, but he was gone, and she was pissed at you once more.  “Can’t you find some loser sad enough to wanna go out with you so I can be normal?” she pouted.

“Sorry,” you shrugged, “guess you’ll miss out on some fabulously witty banter with Jason.”

“You suck!” she exclaimed as she stormed off.

“You suck!” you imitated her quietly before you went to your own room.

~

Mike’s patient, anxious waiting paid off when Elle sat down at the library table, setting down her books with a sigh.  

“Can we make this quick?” she asked, sounding a little exhausted already.  “Tammy Thompson and Tommy Hagan are having a horrendous, public break-up in the courtyard.  Again.”

“O-oh, yeah, okay,” Mike agreed, still a little stunned that he was sitting across from the object of his affection.  “I thought we’d start with pronunciation…”

“That’s the worst part,” Elle pouted, “I feel like I’m trying to cough up a loogie.”

“Well, then how about we start with cuisine?” he suggested, heart racing even though he’d practiced this a thousand times in the mirror at home.  “We could go to that French place on the square, maybe Saturday night?”

“You’re asking me out?” Elle realized, gentle shock lifting into a wide smile.  “That’s so cute!”

Mike’s eye twitched.

“What’s your name again?”

“Uh, it’s Mike,” he answered, “listen— I know your dad doesn’t let you date, but I thought if it was for French class—”

“Wait a minute, Mark,” she interrupted.

“Mike.”

“My dad just came up with a new rule!  He says I can date if my sister does,” she recalled.

“Really?” Mike perked up.  “Well, then let me ask you, do you like D&D?  ‘Cause we should totally do a oneshot together—”

“Uh, big problem, Mick,” Elle reminded him, “my sister is a perfect specimen of freakazoid.”

“Yeah, I noticed she’s… antisocial,” Mike offered sympathetically.  “Any idea why?”

“I don’t know,” Elle considered, glancing upward as she thought about it.  “She used to be, like, really popular, but it was like she got sick of it.  I’m pretty sure she’s just incapable of human interaction.  That or she has a brain tumor or something.  Either way, she’s a bitch.”

“Well, yeah,” Mike agreed half-heartedly, “but there’s plenty of guys who wouldn’t mind going out with a… difficult girl.  I mean, she’s not ugly; and people do crazier stuff all the time!  Jump out of airplanes, ski off cliffs, swim with sharks… it would be like extreme dating.”

Elle knitted her eyebrows together.  “You think you could find someone that extreme?”

“Why not?” Mike shrugged.

“And you’d do all that for me?” she pressed softly, reaching out to brush her hand over his arm.

Mike would do anything for her to touch his arm like that again.  “I-I mean, I could look into it…” he offered as his brain short-circuited.

And so he was determined. Which was why he and Lucas weren't actually paying any attention in science class that same day.

As they pretended to make progress on their frog dissection, Mike and his new friend were really scoping the room for local talent to potentially date Hawkins’ resident mega-bitch.  Their search so far had only turned up men like themselves: that being men afraid to get the Hargrove treatment and have their future generations compromised.  Turns out guys are generally pretty protective of their nuts.

“I told you it was impossible,” Lucas sighed, “no one will go out with her.”

Mike’s attention was taken by the partners two tables over— a massive, freckled kid with a leather jacket, and his buddy with a mess of rocker hair and a custom denim jacket; the latter was fooling around with butterfly knives, before using them to impale the frog carcass, because apparently the little pins provided just weren’t doing it for him.

“Hey, what about him?” Mike wondered, watching with a tilted head.    

“Woah, no, you don’t want to mess with that guy,” Lucas shook his head, “don’t even look at him.  He’s a criminal, he deals the harder stuff around school— you know, more than just pot.  I heard he lit a state trooper on fire.  He just did a year at Rikers.”

“Hey, well at least we know he’s horny,” Mike shrugged.

“I’m serious, he’s unhinged!” Lucas warned.  “He sold his own liver on the black market for a new set of speakers.”

Meanwhile, the metalhead had taken out a cigarette and was leaning down to light it on a Bunsen burner.  The display should’ve deterred anyone, but it made Mike smile optimistically.  “He’s our guy,” he insisted.

~

The basketball team was joking around at lunch as Chance shared an X-rated story from his date the night before, and Lucas took a deep breath as he waited for the perfect moment.

When all the guys laughed at something Chance had said, Lucas quickly slipped in and tried to blend in as he laughed along.

“Oh my— oh my god,” he got out breathlessly as he laughed, “wow, Chance, you’re hilarious.”

He wiped his eye, still laughing as the rest of the table’s reaction died down and they all glared at him.

“Are you lost?” Jason asked coldly.

Lucas sighed.  “No, I just… I thought maybe it was all water under the bridge by now.”

“It’s been less than forty-eight hours,” Andy noticed.

“Wow, nice counting, Andy— tomorrow we’ll work on shapes,” Lucas encouraged flatly.

Andy nearly jumped across the table, but Jason put a hand on his chest to hold him back.  

“Actually, truth is, I came here to… make a suggestion,” Lucas added, making Jason’s eyebrows raise.

“Go on…”

“You want Elle Hopper, right?  The sophomore?” Lucas continued.

“Yeah,” Jason shrugged, “she’s cute.”

“But she can’t date until her sister does,” Lucas went on.  “Your problem could be solved if you found someone to take her out.”

Jason laughed.  “Does anyone hate themselves that much?”

“Probably not, but people do like money…”

As Lucas bounced his eyebrows up and down, Jason seemed to put together what he was implying.  “You want me to pay someone off to date her?”

“I mean, I don’t want you to, but it’s an idea,” Lucas corrected.

“Do you know anyone that desperate for cash and unfazed by the prospect of emasculation?” Jason returned.

“Meet Eddie Munson,” Lucas beamed, motioning to the opposite end of the cafeteria where Eddie was ‘subtly’ trading a bag of pills for a twenty-dollar bill with another student.

“Munson?  The Freak?  I heard he ate a live duck once,” Jason grimaced.

“Everything but the beak and feet!  Clearly he’s a great investment,” Lucas beamed, but Jason remained suspicious.

“What’s in this for you?” he wondered.

“I think you know,” Lucas sighed, “I want back in— I know I’m still on the team, but I wanna be really on the team again.  I miss you guys!”

“You miss your chance to be popular,” Jason corrected.

“Also that!” Lucas agreed in a continued upbeat tone.

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do,” Jason agreed cautiously.  “Now, back to the loser table with you.”

As Jason shooed him away, Lucas moved across the way to the table where Mike was watching it all go down disapprovingly.  “Why do we need to get him involved again?” he wondered with a shudder.

“Calm down, he’s just our money man,” Lucas soothed.  “We let him think this is all his idea, meanwhile he’s busy dealing with Eddie and you have time with Elle.”

Mike sighed, concerned, but knowing he was out of other options.  Still, in a battle for ‘the girl’, he didn’t feel equipped to face a popular, handsome senior.

But when Eddie looked at Jason, he didn’t see a popular, handsome senior; none of that mattered to him.  He just saw: douche with a quaff.  So, while he was out taking a smoke break on the stands by the soccer field, he was surprised to see that very quaffed douche approaching him.

“Hey,” Jason offered Eddie with a nod— that very nod that made girls want him and guys want to be him, but it was powerless on Eddie, who just glared back at him while exhaling a cloud of smoke.  “How are you?”

Eddie blinked forward, barely aware of the Tiger-pride-green blur beside him.

Jason stammered as he tried again to break the ice.  “I, uh, had some great duck last night—”

“Do I know you?” Eddie wondered.  “Shit, are you buyin’?”  He didn’t seem the type, but hey— as long as he had cash, he was Eddie’s type, customer-wise.

“Uh, no,” Jason shook his head nervously.  “Well, actually, yes— but—”

“I don’t sell roofies, Romeo,” Eddie warned him.

“I’m not buying drugs!” Jason barked, a little too loud for something that’s supposed to be secret.  “I’m buying a date.”

Eddie’s eyes widened.  “Listen, Carver, you’re a good-looking guy, but—”

“No no!” Jason rushed out, face turning pink.  “Not for me!  For her!”

Jason pointed down the field to where you were running drills, sweating and determined, grunting as you kicked the ball across the grass.  “The Hopper chick?” Eddie noticed.

“Yeah!”

Eddie laughed sharply, and so did his friend beside him.  “Yeah, sure thing, champ— I’ll get right on that,” Eddie agreed sarcastically.

“Look, until someone goes out with her, I can’t bag her sister,” Jason explained with a sigh.

“What a shame,” Eddie stuck out his bottom lip, “how many years of therapy will you need to cope with this trauma?”

“I know you don’t care about me,” Jason crossed his arms, “but I’m thinking you care a bit about Andrew Jackson?”

“That racist son of a bitch?  He was a piece of—” Eddie began, but then Jason pulled the twenty out of his pocket and brandished it proudly, making Munson shut his mouth.

“Whaddaya say?” Jason prompted.  “For a crisp twenty, you could take out the lovely Miss Hopper—”

As they glanced down the field, the guys winced at the sight of you roughly body-checking another player, who fell to the ground with a cry.

“For a crisp thirty—” Jason began again, summoning a ten from his pocket.

“Well, now, let’s think about this,” Eddie pondered aloud.  “You’re paying me to take her out, but I’ve gotta actually take her somewhere: we’ll say the movies.  That’s fifteen bucks for two tickets.  We get popcorn, that’s… fifty.”

Jason scoffed.  He knew there was more than a little inflation going on in those numbers, but he also knew that the freak had him under his thumb in these negotiations.

“She’s gonna want Junior Mints, what do you know, we’re looking at seventy-five already,” Eddie smirked.

“What kind of gold-plated Junior Mints are you buying?” Jason rolled his eyes.

“What kind of girl is this chick’s little sister?” Eddie countered.  “Is she really worth it, or are you just blowing hot air?”

Jason was powerless to even such an obvious trap— he could never say no to a dare.  Eddie was really saying, are you chicken?  And Jason could probably be talked into fighting a bear while only armed with a butter knife if it was all to prove he was not, in fact, chicken.  “Fifty,” Jason spat, “final offer.”

A bill was produced from Carver’s designer wallet, and Eddie’s ring-covered fingers snatched it away and stuffed it into his pocket.  “Pleasure doing business with you,” Eddie offered with a sarcastically-saccharine smile, but Jason only rolled his eyes and wandered off.

Just then, Coach Hastings blew the whistle.  “Good hustle, girls, good hustle!” he offered to the team.  “Take a water break!”

Seeing the group of players disperse, Eddie waited until you were on your way to the cooler to snuff his cigarette and jog up beside you.  You shot him a look before he even said anything.  “Hey there, girlie,” Eddie greeted you, “how ya doin’?”

“Uh, sweating like a pig,” you answered, wiping your face on your uniform, “and yourself?”

“You sure know how to get a guy’s attention, huh?” he laughed nervously.

You seemed amused, but in more of an at way than a with way.  "My mission in life," you quipped.  "But, hey, clearly I captured your attention.  Lucky me."

He grinned as he watched you chug your water.  "So I'll pick you up Friday then?"

You choked, laughing as you nearly spit the water right onto him.  "Yeah," you agreed sarcastically as you wiped your chin, "sure, Friday."

"I'll take you places you've never been before," he promised lasciviously.

"Like where, the crackhouse on Miller Street?" you rolled your eyes.  "Do you even know my name, screwboy?"

"I know more than you think," he challenged.

"Well, for that to be true," you returned, "you'd have to know more than the average eighth-grade dropout."

You turned to leave, walking away with a shake of your head.  "Well that's easy!" he laughed as he called after you.  "I did eighth grade twice!"

From across the field, Mike and Lucas watched you ditch Eddie with cringes on their face.

"We're screwed," Mike sighed.

"Now wait a minute, where'd all your optimism go?  I wanna hear you upbeat!" Lucas beamed.

"We're screwed!" Mike repeated, a forced, cheesy smile glued to his face between two thumbs-up.

"That's better," Lucas approved, patting Mike on the back.

~

As you exited the local records store, empty handed due to the continued lack of good punk records available, you sighed at the sight of Eddie Munson leaning against your hood.

"Nice ride," he noticed.  "Vintage fenders?"

"Are you stalking me?" you asked instead, brushing past him to try to unlock your door, but he slid in front of you with crossed arms.

"I was in the laundromat," he assured, tilting his head to the washateria across the street, "I saw your car, that's all."

"Funny, you don't strike me as someone who washes their clothes," you mocked.

"Well, if you must know, I was there to make a sale," Eddie admitted.

"And what are you here for, blocking my door?" you wondered.

"To say hi!"

"Hi."

You tried to reach around him again to get the key in the lock but he put his hand over it.  "Not much of a talker, are you?"

"Not much of a listener, are you?  I'm not interested."

"Are you scared of me?" he asked— not a threat, not hopeful or disappointed, just a genuine question.

"Why would I be?"

"I dunno, most people are."

"Well, I'm not."

"Okay, you're not scared of me— but I bet you've thought about me naked," he purred, leaning in a little closer.

"Am I that transparent?" you gasped, faux worry dropping into deadpan disdain.  "I want you, I need you, oh baby, oh baby."

Just when he let you get into your car, finally, Jason Carver and his dick-compensation-mobile pulled up and screeched to a halt right behind you, blocking you in.

"The fuck?!  Is there some kind of creep convention going on at the record store?" you groaned, laying on your horn.  "Carver!" you barked as he hopped out and strolled by you.  "Move your gaudy-ass car!"

"No, thanks," he smiled at you as he walked along towards the storefront.

You felt helpless, until you got a dangerous idea— and fed up as you were, you couldn't resist it.  Flooring it in reverse, those vintage fenders of yours piercing right through the cherry-red paint and imported metal underneath.

Jason sure whipped his head around fast and gaped his mouth at the damage.  "You bitch!" he screeched.

Hearing Eddie's belly laugh, you looked at Jason and offered him only a flippant shrug and a "whoops!"

"WHOOPS?!" your dad repeated, pacing around the kitchen as you sat at the table.  "My insurance doesn't cover teen angst!"

You shrugged again.  "Then tell them it was a seizure or something."

"Are you punishing me?" he wondered.  "Because I don't want you to go to Sarah Lawrence?"

"Are you punishing me for standing up for myself?" you countered.

“No, but I’d prefer you didn’t do it in such an expensive way!”

You scoffed.  “I’d prefer that you stopped making my decisions for me.”

“Well—” he began, but he was cut off by his police radio sounding off.  

“Chief Hopper, come in— Chief Hopper, this is dispatch, we have a 10-54…” the nasal feminine voice came through.

You both sighed and he picked up the radio.  “Chief here, I’ll head there now.”  He turned to you with a pointed finger.  “We’ll discuss this later,” he promised, or threatened, depends on how you look at it.  As he left, Elle stormed in, fuming at you.

“Did you just maim Jason’s car?!” she yelped.

"Allegedly," you grinned.  "Looks like little miss princess is gonna have to ride the bus with the unwashed masses.”

~

As Eddie shut his locker, he was startled by Jason glowering on the other side.  “Shit,” Eddie blurted out.

“When I shell out fifty, I expect results,” Jason frowned.

“I’m working on it,” Eddie insisted, brushing Jason off as he grabbed his books and shut his locker.

“Standing by while she violated my car doesn’t count as a date,” Jason reminded him.  “I don’t get any if you don’t, so you better figure out how to charm this chick or—”

“I just upped my price,” Eddie decided suddenly.

Jason had just turned to walk away, but that made him look at Eddie again.  “Excuse me?”

“A hundred bucks a date, in advance,” Eddie announced.

“Forget it,” Jason dismissed.

“Then forget her sister,” Eddie shrugged.

Jason hesitated, wondering if Elle was really worth all the trouble.  Maybe she wasn’t, to him— but the street cred he’d get if he deflowered her was.  He groaned as he reached for his wallet, and Eddie grinned proudly.  “You’d better be as smooth as you think you are, Munson,” Jason warned as Eddie snatched up the bill.

The interaction still had Eddie in a particularly bad mood during shop class, making Mike even more hesitant to approach him;

“Wh-why can’t you talk to him?” he asked Lucas.

“I talked to Jason,” Lucas replied.

“Yeah, but you know Jason,” Mike reminded him, “and Jason isn’t… unstable.”

“Just go, chicken,” Lucas rolled his eyes, shoving Mike forward— and he stumbled, but made his way over to Eddie’s workstation.  

When he got a glare from under a curly fringe, Mike just blurted it out: “We know what you’re trying to do… with Hopper?”

“Yeah?  And what are you gonna do about it?” Eddie challenged.

“Uh— help you!  We wanna help you,” Mike explained quickly.

Eddie wrinkled his eyebrows together, standing up straighter and crossing his arms.  “Why, exactly?”

Lucas appeared behind Mike, resting his hands on his shoulders.  “You see, my friend here is… mildly obsessed with her sister, Elle.”

“What’s the deal with this girl, her tits shoot fireworks or something?” Eddie scoffed, and Mike nearly jumped on him for saying that— as if that fight wouldn’t be pitifully uneven.

“Mike’s love for her is… a little purer than that,” Lucas promised, “especially purer than Jason Carver’s.”

“Look,” Eddie leveled with the two of them, “I’m in this for the cash.  Carver can plow whoever he wants.”

“Okay, there will be no plowing!” Mike exclaimed, voice cracking.

“Listen, Eddie— uh, Ed,” Lucas smiled, “this whole thing— we set it all up!  We told Jason to pay you off, so Mike can get the girl.  Mr. Popular is just a pawn.”

Eddie seemed to like that; maybe even someone as detached from the popularity hierarchy could still enjoy a little humiliation for the star point guard.  “So, are you gonna help me tame the beast, then?” 

“Are you talking about Hopper, or your hair?” Lucas joked, though he dropped his smile when Eddie glared at him.  “O-okay, yeah, we’re gonna do some research, we can find out what she likes and stuff.  We’re your guys.”

“In a strictly non-prison-movie way,” Mike added anxiously.

~

Mike and Elle were walking around the old bridge— she promised to show him the prettiest place in Hawkins, he thought about turning it into a line but he resisted the urge, and he delicately broke the pleasant silence.  “So, have you heard about the party Steve Harrington is throwing at his parents’ lake house?”

“Yes,” Elle pouted, “and I really really wanna go, but I can’t.  Not unless my sister goes.”

“I’m working on that,” Mike promised, “but she’s not going for my guy.”  He paused before he continued, narrowing his eyes.  “She’s not a, uh…”

"A friend of Billie Jean?” Elle finished.

“No, I’m not asking if she’s a Michael Jackson fan,” Mike corrected, “I meant—”

“I know what you meant!” Elle rolled her eyes.  “Billie Jean King?  Tennis player, women’s rights advocate, giant flaming lesbian?”

“O-oh,” Mike stuttered, “I don’t really watch tennis…”

“Or the news, apparently,” Elle sighed.  “The point is, no, I don't think so.  I found a picture of Rob Lowe in her drawer once so she's at least got some interest in men.  Jury's still out on her bestie Robin Buckley, though…"

"But that's the kind of guys she likes?  Pretty guys?"

Elle shrugged.  "All I know is she said she'd never date a smoker."

“Okay, no smoking,” Mike nodded, “what else?”

“Listen, I try not to get too deep into my sister’s twisted psyche,” Elle sighed.

“But we need to know more!” Mike insisted.  “We need to go behind enemy lines…”

Even though it was his idea, Mike felt a little out of his depth watching Elle go through your room; it looked sort of how he imagined it might, except for missing a giant cork board with pins and red yarn outlining your plan to cause men as much suffering as possible.

“Okay, here we go!” Elle announced excitedly as she rifled through a drawer.  “Class schedule, reading list, concert tickets… ha!  Black panties!”

Mike cleared his throat as she held up the offending pair of lacy underthings.  “What does that tell us?”

“That she wants to have sex some day.”

“Couldn’t she just like the color?” Mike wondered, flustered.

“You don’t buy lingerie unless you want someone to see it,” Elle insisted.

“Oh,” Mike nodded, perking up slightly.  “So… can I see your room?”

Elle blinked quickly, getting a bit tender all of a sudden.  “No… a girl’s room is very personal…” she explained shyly.

“Right,” Mike agreed nervously.

~

Two sophomores didn’t exactly blend in at The Hideout— it was a dingy old hole-in-the-wall, with grimey old bikers getting drunk in every corner… and Eddie, shooting pool by himself in the back.  He straightened up when they approached him, nursing his beer with a raised eyebrow.

“We have information for you,” Mike explained.

“Don’t say it like that, it sounds weird,” Eddie frowned, “she’s just a girl, not a… spy or something.”

“Right,” Lucas agreed as Eddie took another sip from the brown bottle.

Mike narrowed his eyes.  “Should you be drinking alcohol when you don’t have a liver?”

“What?!” Eddie scrunched up his nose.

“Nothing,” Lucas shook his head.

“The first thing is she hates smokers,” Mike explained.

Eddie groaned.  “I’m gonna have to quit?  Fuck, this is getting more unpleasant by the minute—”

“Just for now!” Lucas bargained.  

"And there’s another problem: Elle said that her sister likes, uh, pretty guys,” Mike added.

There was a tense pause, until Eddie’s eyes widened.  “Are you saying I’m not a pretty guy?”

“H-he’s very pretty!” Lucas smacked Mike on the back.  “He’s gorgeous, look at him!”

“S-sorry, I wasn’t sure,” Mike mumbled awkwardly.

Eddie brushed off the insult quickly, taking a big puff off of his cigarette— maybe he appreciated it more, knowing he’d have to cut back for a while after this.  Meanwhile, Mike pulled out a folded up piece of heart-shaped mini-notebook paper (borrowed stationary from Elle, obviously) and read the list aloud.

“Okay, ‘likes: Thai food, feminist prose, and—’” he cleared his throat before he continued— “‘angry girl music of the indie-rock persuasion.’  Here’s a list of CDs that she has in her room.”

Eddie looked at the list in disdain.  “So I’m supposed to, what, take her out for noodles and spoken word and sit around listening to chicks who can’t play their instruments?”

“Have you ever been to Club Nina?” Lucas wondered.

“Her favorite band is playing there tomorrow night,” Mike explained, and Eddie sighed as he pressed his lips together.

“I can’t be seen at Club Nina,” Eddie shook his head.  “First of all, that’s rival turf, second of all—”

“She’ll be there, she’s already got tickets for her and Robin,” Lucas pressed.  “Just… tolerate it, for a night.  And maybe don’t deal any drugs there.”

“Can I at least do some drugs there?” Eddie frowned.

“As long as you’re not too out of sorts to do some major seducing,” Mike offered.  “She has a pair of black underwear!  If that helps.”

“I mean, it couldn’t hurt, right?” Lucas elbowed Eddie playfully, who jerked away.

As stupid as it was, Eddie found himself still wondering about your alleged black panties as he walked into the club to look for you the next night. He found you horribly frustrating, sure, and the feeling was mutual, but picturing you in something like that was... not too terrible.

Eddie noticed the looks he was getting from the girls at Club Nina, and they weren’t exactly approving; a man invading their space was bad enough, but a metalhead in the land of the soft-rockers was turning heads.

He ignored it for the most part and sat down at the bar, ordering something light enough that he could keep his wits about him, but hard enough that he could tolerate this whole situation.  Believe it or not, he didn’t actually like getting repeatedly insulted and degraded by you— it wasn’t even the sexy kind of degrading, just your incessant hatefulness chipping away at his dignity.  But damn, he could feel the added weight of Carver’s money in his wallet, and he liked that.

Thankfully, it didn’t take too long for you to show up at the bar, ordering two waters like the lightweight you were.  He pretended not to see you, but you didn’t offer the same courtesy, making a groan of disgust at him.  “If you’re planning on asking me out again, just get it over with,” you pleaded distastefully.

He looked at you with an irritated frown, pointing at the band behind him.  “Keep it down, maybe?  I’m trying to listen.”

That seemed to throw you off, and he enjoyed your moment of bewilderment.  “Did you leave your cancer sticks behind?” you asked.

“Yeah, permanently,” he nodded.  “Turns out they’re bad for you.”

He shrugged, and you dropped the sarcasm for a split-second.  “You did?” you pressed, surprised.

“You know,” he changed the subject instead, “these guys are no Adolescents or Souixsie and the Banshees, but they’re alright.”

“You know Souixsie and the Banshees?” you repeated, flabbergasted.

“Why, don’t you?” he joked.  He got down another sip of watered-down liquor, before turning to face you directly.  “You know, I was watching you before,” he admitted, yelling to be heard over the crescendo of the song, “I’ve never seen you look so sexy!”

Of course, that was right about when the song ended, and Eddie looked around the club as he realized the entire swarm of alt chicks had heard him.  As they laughed at the scene, he smiled awkwardly and watched you get visibly embarrassed— good to know you had emotions other than rage, contempt, and boredom.

“Why don’t you come to Steve Harrington’s party with me?” he challenged, and the moment faded as the next song began.

“You never give up, do you?” you frowned, starting to walk away and back into the dancing crowd.

“Was that a yes?” he wondered.

“No!” you shouted back to him.

“Was it a no?” he added.

“No!” you said again, and he smiled.

“I’ll pick you up at nine-thirty, then!” he called to you, but you were lost to him again— for now.

~

Elle and Max, dolled up in their finest party gear, crept carefully across the foyer towards the front door.  Elle knew all the creaky floorboards to avoid, yet even in their silence they seemed to trigger Chief Hopper’s sixth sense.  “You should have used the window,” he announced as they deflated.

“H-hi Daddy,” she greeted as if all were normal.

“Hi,” he returned as he looked at them.  “Where are we going?”

“Um, just a small study group of friends,” Elle insisted, and Max nodded along.

“Otherwise known as an orgy?!” Dad barked.

“Mr. Hopper— Chief, sir— it’s just a party,” Max soothed.

“And Hell is just a sauna!” he returned.

As you came walking down the stairs into the middle of the argument, oblivious, your dad snagged your attention.  

“Are you aware of this party?” he asked.  You simply shrugged, on a mission for snacks.  

“People expect me to be there!” Elle complained.  “I have friends waiting for me!  Daaaddddyyy!!”

“If your sister’s not going, you’re not going,” he stood fast.

Of course, that turned her ire towards you.  “Why can’t you be normal?” she whined.

“Define ‘normal’,” you challenged as you crossed your arms.

“Going to Steve’s party is normal!”

You scoffed.  “Steve’s party is just a lame excuse for all the youthful morons of Hawkins High to drink beer and rub up against each other in hopes of distracting themselves the pathetic emptiness of their—”

Elle and Max interrupted to finish your rant: “meaningless, consumer-driven lives,” they groaned in unison.

You hadn’t realized you were so predictable, and your shock gave Elle an opportunity to make one more plea.

“Can you just, for one night, forget about your crusade against all things enjoyable and just be my sister?  please?  C’mon,” she begged, stepping up closer, “please, do this for me.”

It was more sincere than you were used to from her, and it reminded you of simpler times, of when she thought you were the coolest big sister ever and she was your favorite person— before she was spoiled by the world and you were soured by it.  Those memories were what convinced you to somberly nod.  “I’ll make an appearance,” you agreed, and she squealed as she hugged you joyfully.

“Oh god, it’s starting,” your dad mumbled to himself in a daze.

“It’s just a party,” Elle promised him, but he stiffened up suddenly.

“I want you to wear the belly,” he announced.

Elle whimpered out her “Daddy, no!” but it was too late, he’d already gone to fetch it from the closet, and you watched with schadenfreude as he pulled out the padded faux-pregnancy jacket.  

“Not all night,” he promised, “just around the living room for a minute while you contemplate the weight of your decisions.”

She held her arms out in defeat as he slipped it on over her dress, smiling proudly at his work.

“Every time you even think about kissing a boy,” Dad lectured, “just imagine wearing this all the time.”

“You’re such a space cadet,” she sighed.

“Okay, we’re going now,” you announced as you headed for the door, but he stopped you.

“Wait a minute: no drinking, no drugs, no kissing, no tattoos, no piercings, no getting in vans, no— no ritual animal slaughter!” he enumerated.  “Oh god, I’m giving them ideas…”

You startled when you opened the door and saw Eddie standing there, fist raised as he was about to knock.  “What are you doing here?” you asked him flatly.

“Nine-thirty, right?” he smiled, “I’m early.”

“Whatever, I’m driving,” you insisted.

He leaned to the side to look over your shoulder, raising an eyebrow.  “Who knocked up your sister?”

~

Lucas held on tight to his drink in a plastic cup as he attempted to keep Max Mayfield’s attention for at least a few minutes at a time.

“You know, I’m on the basketball team,” he reminded her with a grin.

“Right,” she mumbled, unimpressed, but he was a little too tipsy to notice that his lines weren’t working.

“Do you, uh, play any sports?” he asked.

“I skate, if that counts,” she shrugged.

“Oh, rollerblading is cool!” Lucas beamed, but Max rolled her eyes and walked away at his incorrect guess of what kind of skating she meant.  “Ever been to Rink-O-Mania?” he called after her, sighing when he realized he’d officially struck out.

You brushed past him, knocking into his shoulder as he pouted.  Eddie was still following you, for some reason, dodging dancing girls and kissing couples along the way.

Jason clicked his tongue at you as you passed by.  “Lookin’ fresh,” he cooed, in that way that was mostly mocking yet probably a real come-on if you went for it: Schrödinger’s pick-up line, if you will.

“Oh my god, did you feel that?” you looked around at the air.  “My pussy just dried up so fast it actually dropped the humidity in here!”

Jason seemed a little too interested in an update on your genitals, but you were already walking away, trying to lose him and Eddie now.  “Hey, is your sister here?” he asked you loudly.

“Stay away from my sister,” you warned.

“I will,” he promised, “but, you know, I can’t guarantee that she’ll stay away from me…”

You shook your head as you shoved your way into another room of the Harrington’s massive lodge, accidentally stumbling upon two jocks wrestling and throwing punches on the floor.  A crowd had gathered around the scene to cheer them on, and you sneered in disgust at the uncivil display.

“Hey, hey!” Steve himself appeared, trying to break it up.  “Take it outside!”

One jock pulled the other up by his shirt, and the two of them went tumbling back— right through the window.  They didn’t even stop swinging as they fell onto the grass, and Steve’s face went blank with numb shock.

“Th-thanks,” he mumbled to himself, and you gave him a pat on the shoulder as you passed by.

“At least we’re on the ground floor,” you offered him quickly, but a tap on your shoulder pulled your attention away.  

“Hey,” Jason smirked as he let you get a good look at him with his arm around your sister’s shoulders, “look who found me.”

You weren’t even angry— which was a nice break, really— you were just worried now.  “Elle, wait,” you called to her as they walked away.          

“Please don’t address me in public,” Elle requested with a roll of her eyes.

“I just wanna tell you something!” you pleaded.

“I’m being a normal teenager for a night— you should try it,” she suggested, and the two of them disappeared into the crowd again.

Just in time for your impending breakdown, some guy walked by holding a tray of shots.  “Shots, anyone?  Ladies?”

You grabbed one with each hand and tossed them back in rapid succession.  You reached for a third when Eddie reappeared, snagging it out of your hand.  “What are you doing?” he asked, concerned.

“I’m getting trashed, dude,” you offered in a fake party-boy voice.  “Isn’t that the point of all this?”

Eddie shrugged.  “Think the point is to just… be yourself.”

You snorted.  “You might be the only person who thinks I should be myself.”

At the same time that you were ditching Eddie again, Mike was finding Lucas.  “Have you seen her around anywhere?” he asked as he scanned the crowd.  For all his excitement to find her, he seemed to get overwhelmed when he saw Elle coming down the stairs with Max.

“Come on, man, relax,” Lucas assured as he patted his shoulders.  Mike took a deep breath.  “Just be yourself.”

Nodding, Mike summoned his courage and approached the girls.  “H-hey, Elle,” he greeted politely.

“Hey,” Elle returned, “Mike, um— do you know Max?”

Elle grabbed the redhead and shoved her towards Mike so she could try to break away.

“Oh, yeah,” Mike nodded, “we have Math together, right?”

Max hummed as she crossed her arms; “Great,” she offered unenthusiastically.

“You, uh, look really amazing tonight,” Mike offered Elle, and Max cringed as he failed to take the hint.

“Oh— um,” Elle stalled, and Jason descended the stairs to slip his arm around her.

“And we all know I look amazing,” he interjected, making the girls giggle and Mike roll his eyes.  “C’mon, Elle, let’s go— there are jell-o shots in the kitchen.”

He was already turning her around to guide her away, forcing her to look over her shoulder to wave at Mike: “See you around, okay?” 

Mike watched helplessly as Jason took his dream girl from right in front of him— the blonde even offered him a thumbs up on his way out, to add insult to injury.

Eddie found you again in the study, starting to work on another drink.  “Hey hey hey,” he interrupted as he gently lifted it away from you, watching you whine and make grabby hands for it.  “Why don’t you let me have this one, hm?”

“No!” you pouted, jumping for it, but he held it up higher— it forced you to push yourself up against him to try to get it, and he forced himself not to notice how it felt to be close to you.

Someone walked by with their own drink, just about to have a sip when you snatched it away instead, running off before Eddie could set down the cup and catch up.  “Shit,” he hissed to himself.

As he tried to navigate past other partygoers to get to the kitchen, he heard the blasting stereo change songs to something not actually awful (in his opinion): Def Leppard.  Unfortunately, you seemed to like Pour Some Sugar On Me, too— considering you hopped up on a table and started dancing there instead.

“How’d you get her to be normal?” Jason laughed as he appeared beside Eddie— and he couldn’t decide if he was more disgusted by Carver’s glee watching you, or Carver’s chumminess with him.

“Hey!” Eddie called to you, getting through the crowd of cheering guys as quickly as he could, but you couldn’t hear him through the overwhelming sound and the haze of drunkenness.  He watched you dance, a mix of concern, embarrassment, and arousal stirring in him as your moves became more and more suggestive.  “HEY!” 

When he shouted the second time, it didn’t quite get you to look at him but it did startle you, making you whack your head on the chandelier— which in turn made you stumble and fall.  When you came down dramatically, he held out his arms and managed to catch you, looking at your startled, panting face.

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, but you looked angry at him again.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, trying to wiggle out of his embrace, but failing.

“You’re not fine,” he groaned, “c’mon…”

He didn’t exactly carry you, mostly because you wouldn’t let him, but he didn’t let you walk on your own when he saw how wobbly your legs were.

The sounds of the party faded into the distance as you walked in the grass, up to the shore of Lover’s Lake where the Harrington’s had some rustic old swings hanging from under a massive tree by the water.

“I-I just need to lie down somewhere,” you insisted, stumbling again as Eddie had to grab at your waist to keep you upright.

“No, you can’t lie down right now,” he sighed.  “If you lie down you’ll go to sleep.”

You pouted as he set you down on a swing.  “I like sleep,” you protested.

“Can’t sleep if you might have a concussion,” he explained, watching you slump against the rope beside you.

He was about to fuss over you a little more, try to keep you awake somehow, but he saw Mike storming down across the grass.  

“Hey,” Mike greeted as Eddie stepped past you slightly to meet him.  “We need to talk.”

“I’m a little busy at the moment,” Eddie informed him, gesturing towards you.

“Well— it’s over, okay?  All of this— the deal’s off,” Mike frowned.

“Huh?”

“She never wanted me,” he realized with a sigh.  “She wanted Jason the whole time.”

Eddie rolled his eyes.  “Listen— do you really like this girl?”

“Yeah!” Mike assured.

“And she’s worth going through all this trouble?” he pressed, stepping forward towards the new kid.

“I— I think so.”

“Either she is or she isn’t,” Eddie frowned, “and considering we made it this far, she must be— so you need to keep fighting for her!  You’re twice the man that Jason is, if she’s got two brain cells to rub together she’ll figure out she’s better off with you.  Capice?”

Mike puffed up his chest a bit.  “O-okay!” he decided.  “I’m gonna go for it!”

“Yeah, that’s the spirit!” Eddie cheered, slapping Mike on the shoulder before he ran off back to the party.

Eddie was smiling as he turned to you, only to lose his grin and rush over as you started to fall forward out of the swing.

“Woah woah!” he yelped as he knelt down in front of you and held your face with both hands.  “Gotta stay awake, remember, sweetheart?”

You stuck your bottom lip out.  “You’re so patronizing.”

He smirked.  “Leave it to you to use your vocabulary words when you’re totally shitfaced.”

When you fluttered your eyes shut, he lightly smacked your cheek, the rings hitting a little extra hard on your jaw as you groaned.  “What are you hitting me for?”

“Because you might have a concussion,” he reminded you.  

“And you want to add to it?” you assumed, awake enough for him to let go of your face, which he did.

“If you go to sleep now, you might not wake up.”

“You don’t care if I never wake up,” you dismissed.

He smiled at you, a little too amused by such a morbid sentiment.  “Sure I do!”

“Why?” 

He almost let his smile falter.  “If you died, I might have to go out with a girl who actually likes me,” he answered.

“If you could find one,” you snorted, eyes still shut but face curling into a proud grin at your own joke.

“See?  Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?” he teased.

You sniffled and sat up a little straighter, so Eddie stepped back and sat down on the swing beside you.

“So, why’d you let him get to you?” he wondered, looking out across the lake sparkling under the glow of a half-moon.

“Who?”

“Jason.  You’re normally so unaffected.”

“He always drives me crazy,” you admitted, “but messing with my sister is crossing the line.”

“Well, you’ve chosen some creative revenge,” he laughed, “by drinking through the Harrington’s liquor cabinet.”

You laughed along with him, a rare moment where you two overlapped— and not even in a negative emotion!  “You know what they say,” you replied.

“What’s that?” he wondered.  But you didn’t continue.  He looked to the side and saw you falling down again.

“Shit,” he spat, leaning forward and catching you at your shoulders, tilting your face up to his.  “Wake up!  C’mon, look at me, sweetheart, listen to me— open your eyes…”

He was a little overwhelmed by the way you did exactly as he’d asked, fluttering your eyes open at him, something entirely new in them that he’d never seen on you before— or maybe anyone, at least this up close.  “Hey,” you smiled softly.  “Did you know your eyes are a little bit hazel?”

He smiled back at you, examining your face, wondering for a split second if he should go for it.

But before he could, you keeled over and wretched— right on his white Reeboks.  “Shit,” he said again.

~

Elle was waiting out in the cool night air, her thin cardigan not doing much for her as she watched Jason drive off with a slew of girls in tow; he’d tried to get her to go to another party, but along with her curfew coming up, it turned out that he was sort of a dud.  For all his alleged charisma as one of the most popular guys in school, he didn’t know how to talk about anything but basketball, plus his ‘boys’ and their misadventures— usually drunken ones.  She tried to cut him some slack since he was likely a little tipsy, but she still couldn’t justify the way he talked about his ex-girlfriend.  It was just tacky!

As she waited for you to hopefully reappear soon and drive her home, Mike brushed by.  “Have fun tonight?” he asked, somewhat sharply.

“Tons,” Elle sighed, expecting him to stop and getting a little more shy when he didn’t. “Hey, um, Mike?” 

He stopped and turned, and she gave him a pitiful look.

“Any chance you could give me a ride home?”

Eddie hadn’t driven a car as small as yours in a while— and it wasn’t even small, it just felt that way compared to his van.

You reached forward and turned up the stereo, a Patti Smith song getting louder as you did.  “I should do this,” you announced.

“What?” he wondered.

“This!” you said again, pointing to the radio.  “Make music, start a band!  Aren’t you in a band?”

“Yeah, I didn’t know you knew that,” he admitted.

“Yeah, that’s what I’m gonna do, too,” you decided with firm defiance.  “My father would love that.”

“I didn’t think you were the type to worry about what your father thought,” Eddie noticed.

“Oh, so now you’ve got me all figured out?” you scoffed.

He shrugged.  “I’m getting there.”

You deflated slightly as you looked out the window.  “Nobody knows anything about me,” you admitted, “except that I’m ‘scary’ or whatever.”

He smirked slightly at your air quotes.  “I’m not known to be particularly enjoyable either.”

When you looked at him, he felt a little penetrated by your stare, so he looked back at the road ahead.

“Look at us, having a little talk about real stuff,” he blurted out, trying to break the tension.  “I mean, you’re usually so closed off and now I think you might spill your guts or something.  Oh, right— you already did…”

And you stiffened up again.  Right on cue.

Whereas your conversation with Eddie died a few minutes before you pulled up to your house, Elle and Mike’s only began when he put the car in park.  “You never wanted to hang out with me, did you?” he realized, irritation tinting his voice.

“I— I did!” Elle lied, trying to be nice.  But she was always trying to be nice, and that wasn’t enough; Mike scoffed in frustrated disbelief.

“You didn’t!”

Elle deflated.  “Yeah… okay.  Not really.”

“Well, then that’s all you had to say!  You could’ve just said you weren’t interested and none of this would’ve happened— but then you wouldn’t have gotten your night with Jason.  That’s what this was all about, wasn’t it?”

“But I—” she began, cut off by Mike’s rant.

“You know, you can’t just treat people however you want because you’re beautiful.  Lucas told me you were vapid, and I defended you!  I— I learned French for you!  And then you just—”

She cut him off with a kiss— a sweet kiss, not too short, but exactly the sort of kiss two sophomores should share in a car after a party.  When she pulled away, she smiled a little, and Mike blinked at her a couple times.

“Goodnight,” she offered softly, getting out of the car and walking up the steps to her front door.

Mike turned to face forward again, dumbfounded expression morphing slowly into a grin.  “And I’m back in the game!” he beamed, pumping his fist triumphantly.

~

As you walked into class, you tried to avoid the eyes on you— but you couldn’t, just like you couldn’t avoid throbbing in your head.

“Nice moves last night, señorita,” one of the stoners in class nodded approvingly as you came in.

“That was radical, dude,” a surfer boy offered with a ‘hang tight’ hand symbol.

And then there was Jason.  “What do you owe you for the table dance, babe?” he taunted.

Shuddering, you sat down as Ms. O’Donnell began.  “Settle down, please,” she begged the class.  “Whatever happened outside of school hours is not to be discussed now.  Wouldn’t you rather hear about your midterm assignment?”

The class groaned in unison.

“You’ll be writing a sonnet,” she explained, “in the style of William Shakespeare.”

When you raised your hand, you saw the look on her face, and you knew what she was expecting.  And you didn’t blame her.  You spoke when she pointed towards you.  “Should it be in iambic pentameter?”

She seemed suspicious of such a simple question.  “Um, no, it doesn’t have to be,” she replied.  “Why?”

“I just wanted to know…” you mumbled sheepishly.  “Is that so wrong?”

“Um, no,” she decided.  “That’s a good question, Miss Hopper… and it doesn’t.  Thank you for asking.”

She wasn’t the only one shocked by your sudden interest in her teaching, and you noticed the way the entire class was looking at you.  “What?” you scoffed, and you shook the moment off as Ms. O’Donnell began lecturing again.

~

Mike and Eddie sat beside each other as they watched your soccer practice from a safe distance.  “What’d you do to her?” Mike wondered.

“What?  I didn’t do anything— did you see how drunk she was?” Eddie shook his head.  “What made you think something happened, anyways?”

“The fact that the plan was working,” Mike answered.

“Why do you care?  I thought it was over.”

“It was,” Mike agreed, smiling, “until she kissed me.”

“Aw, that’s sweet,” Eddie congratulated, “I told you to go for it.”

Lucas, meanwhile, was running the track— and he stopped when he passed the two other boys.  “Alright, I talked to her,” he informed them, “I got the scoop.”

“What’d she say?” Mike wondered excitedly.

“Hates him with the fire of a thousand suns,” he announced with a sarcastic smile.  “That’s a direct quote.”

Eddie sighed, looking a little defeated.

“H-hey,” Mike tried to comfort him, “maybe she just needs a day to cool off?”

But the three of them had to lean away to dodge a soccer ball that came flying over, narrowly avoiding nailing Eddie in the head.  When they looked up together at the source, they caught your glare coming their way.

“...or two,” Eddie added.

~

You groaned as you sat with Robin on the bench, watching the prom committee hang up posters all over the courtyard for the wretched event.

“Can you imagine going to that brainless display of teenage vapidity?” you rolled your eyes.  

“Uh, I can,” Robin admitted, “if I had a date.”

“I thought things were going okay with Vickie,” you frowned at her.  

“Well, yeah, they’re okay, but it’s not like that, yet,” she explained.  

“You’re sparing yourself by not going,” you insisted, “the whole thing is a patriarchal sham anyways.”

“Even if you go with a girl?”

“Yes,” you groaned, “because you’re still supporting the institution.  It’s basically a mating ritual you have to dress up for!”

“Alright, we won’t go,” she promised.  “I didn’t have anything to wear, even if I knew how to ask Vickie…”

“You’re looking at this all backwards,” you sighed, “we’re not missing out— we’re making a statement!”

“Oh, great,” Robin beamed sarcastically, “something new and different for us!”

Across the courtyard, Elle was busy reviewing her Science homework at a table when Jason popped in beside her.  “Hey there, cutie,” he cooed.

“Hey…” she mumbled, focusing still on her textbook, in fact she hadn’t even looked up at him.

“Studying hard, huh?” he noticed, trying to prompt her again.         

“Can I help you?” she wondered flatly.

“Well, it would help me a lot if you say yes when I ask you to prom,” he quipped.

Elle only sighed, turning the page in her book.  “You know the deal, Jay— I can’t go if my sister doesn’t go.”

“Good thing she will.”

That got Elle to tear her eyes away from cell biology so she could look at the senior beside her.  “Since when?!” she gasped.

“Let’s just say,” Jason purred, scooting closer to her, “I’m taking care of it.”

~

Eddie chewed on the inside of his cheek as Jason rambled about the money he’d just handed him.  “That’ll cover flowers, limo, tux, the whole enchilada.  I don’t care what you do, just make sure she gets to the prom.”

Eddie suddenly handed the money back.  “You know what?  I’m sick of being a pawn in your little game, okay?”

Jason scoffed at the money.  “Then make it two hundred,” he decided, summing another bill to add onto the small pile in Eddie’s palm.

Hesitating, and then sneering, Eddie stuffed it into his pocket.  The money felt like it would burn a hole through the denim if he left it there too long— he went to the music store first, wondering if he should spent it; wondering if he should try to talk to you instead of just watching you play around on a bass you’d borrowed from the wall of instruments.

In a moment entirely out of character for him, Eddie just couldn’t muster up the courage to do it, to tap you on the shoulder and get your attention.  He could stand on tables in the cafeteria and make a fool of himself playing at the Hideout for whatever crowd of drunks accidentally stayed for Corroded Coffin’s show, but he couldn’t just… say hi to you.  You just looked so at peace sitting there on the amp, rocking your head between the big headphones that dwarfed your face; he was happier just watching you play for a few minutes, leaving before you opened your eyes and noticed him.

He watched you from between the stacks at the bookstore, too, swallowing as you flipped through Sylvia Plath.  What was it that was making him so nervous to approach you all of a sudden?  It’s not a crush, is it?  No…  no, it’s probably my natural aversion to pain.

Just when he was afraid you were about to leave and he would miss his chance, he jumped up from behind Adult Non-fiction and surprised you before you could head for the door.  “Excuse me,” he smiled, “have you seen The Feminine Mystique?  I lost track of mine.”

You looked appropriately disappointed and unamused, but he was used to that by now.  “What are you doing here?” you asked him flatly.

“I heard there was a poetry reading,” he replied, not even trying that hard to sound believable, since you’d never believe it.  You knitted your eyebrows together and opened your mouth, apparently searching for the exact words to cut him down.

“Y-you… you’re so…” you started a few times, and Eddie grinned as he realized he’d stumped you for the moment.

“Charming?” he finished for you.

And in a moment entirely out of character for you, you gave up, shaking your head and trying to step past him to walk away.  He side-stepped and planted himself in front of you.

“Irresistible,” he offered instead.

“Unavoidable,” you corrected.

“Inevitable,” he agreed with a wink.  “Love always is.”

“Love?!  Jesus Christ,” you spat, laughing sharply at how absurd it was.

“You do realize you’re not as mean as you think you are, right?” Eddie wondered, following you closely as you kept marching towards the door to leave.

You spun to look at him as you replied, “and you’re not as badass as you think you are.”

“Ooh,” he winced playfully, “someone still has their panties in a twist.”

“Don’t even for a minute worry that you have any effect whatsoever on my panties,” you snapped.

“Then what did I have an effect on?” he encouraged.

“Other than my gag reflex, not much,” you frowned.

“Gag reflex, huh?” he purred, and you grimaced as you rolled your eyes.

“God, you’re barbaric!” you announced as you shoved a book into his chest— The Feminine Mystique, of course— and utilized the moment he spent looking at it to exit the store.  He didn’t even really process that you were already gone until he heard the little bell on the door chime, and he sighed.

~

Eddie just wanted to get his lunch in peace, but those two pipsqueak sophomores flanked him as he moved through the line.  “What’s the word?” Mike asked.

“Well, you were right— she’s still pissed,” Eddie replied.

“Sweet love, renew thy force!” Lucas exclaimed, and Eddie made a face at him.

“Don’t say shit like that to me, people can hear you,” Eddie warned him.

“Look,” Mike interjected, “she’s embarrassed!  Sacrifice yourself on the altar of dignity and even the score.”

Rolling his eyes, Eddie departed the lunch line early— he didn’t want green bean casserole anyways— and left Mike and Lucas to look at each other.  “Don’t say shit like that to him,” Lucas soberly instructed Mike, “people can hear you.”

They were right, though, and the next day, he acted on their advice.

You were out on the field with the team, running drills, clearing your head in the only way you knew how.  Of course, Eddie couldn’t stay out of your head for long— or out of your way.  

You didn’t notice the speakers turning on at first; you heard it, but you didn’t think much of the static buzz of silence.  It wasn’t silent for long, though, and everyone turned their heads when they heard an electric guitar begin playing.  You looked up in the bleachers, and widened your eyes at the sight of Eddie hopping up into view as he played, a long black cord trailing behind him.  The marching band had left some of their equipment up after practice, including the microphone intended for the national anthem singer, and Eddie leaned into it as he began to sing along with his own playing.

“I gotta tell you what I'm feeling inside, I could lie to myself, but it's true—”

“Oh my god, is that—?” you heard a teammate of yours whisper to another, and they were all looking at you suddenly— and so was he.

“There's no denying when I look in your eyes,” he continued to sing, “girl, I'm out of my head over you…”

You turned around when drums and bass began to play as well, from the other side, and you laughed at the sight of the other members of Corroded Coffin— the logo made in tape on the kick-drum was a good sign that that’s who they were.

“And I lived so long believing all love is blind,” Eddie continued, “but everything about you is telling me this time, it’s forever—”

You finally recognized the KISS song and laughed in some impossible combination of disbelief and unsurprise: because of course Eddie would pick a KISS song to serenade you, but oh my god, was he really serenading you right now?  In front of everyone?

“This time I know, and there’s no doubt in my mind,” he sang passionately as he played, “forever, until my life is through, girl I’ll be loving you forever…”

The other musicians were singing harmonizing vocals, and your team was staring at you in shock as Eddie pointed at you in a break from his guitar playing; they knew before then that he was singing to you, but apparently even further confirmation continued to blow their minds.  You couldn’t believe it either, because, you know… it was you, and this was some kind of modern-fairytale bullshit, and you realized that you only never wanted it because you never thought it could happen.  Romantic surprises, sudden music, kisses in the rain?  Maybe for other girls— girls like Elle— but never for you.

Except here it was happening to you.  “I never thought I’d lay my heart on the line,” Eddie sang into the microphone, “but everything about you is—”

It came to a literal screeching halt, and everyone covered their ears at the feedback from the speakers.  Vice Principal Owens apparently didn’t take too kindly to the noise and disruption, as he appeared on the side of the field to chew Eddie out.  “What is the meaning of this?!” he yelled, and the drummer bailed first, tossing his sticks and grabbing a hi-hat and tom and making a break for it.  As the soccer team cheered and clapped for the performance, Eddie unplugged his guitar and sprinted from the Vice Principal.  “That’s school property!  That’s school equipment you stole!”

You laughed as the chase began, and Eddie caught your gaze for a second to give you a shrug as he swung the Gremlin over his back and dove off the bleachers.

“I hope you enjoy detention, Munson!” Owens yelled his threatening promise as he shook his fist— obviously incapable of keeping up with a freak on the run.

~

Coach Hastings stalked the columns of uniform plastic seats-and-desks, eyeing his quarry of quivering detention-goers.  A split-second of eye contact with one of them, before the kid jolted and stared down into his lap, made the coach smile somewhat menacingly and approach his desk.

“You look nervous, son,” he noticed with a grin, and the boy hesitantly blinked up at him.

“Yes, sir,” he agreed.

“You’re sweating like a pig,” the coach continued.

“Y-yes, sir,” the student agreed again.

“Your eyes are red!  You’ve got pot, don’t you?”

Apparently too scared (and stoned) to deny it, the kid awkwardly pulled a baggy out of his pants pocket and let Hastings snatch it away.

“I’m confiscating this,” he announced as he took it, marching back down the row and snagging a snack bag of Cheetos on his way as well.

Eddie scoffed slightly to himself as he saw it; not exactly a subtle plan, especially to Eddie, whose occupation at the school’s main dealer gave him unique knowledge of the coach’s habit.

He was just preparing to space out for an afternoon of mind-numbing boredom when you came in through the door, and he sat up slightly in surprise.

“Um, sir?” you got the Coach’s attention, meeting him at his desk at the front.  “I… have some ideas for practice tomorrow.”

“Now’s not the best time, Miss Hopper,” he replied quickly.

As he turned his back to the class, you made quick eye contact with Eddie to motion to him, pointing towards the window.  He sat up further, but tilted his head.  “The window!” you mouthed.

When Hastings turned around to look at you again, you played it off with a forced laugh.  

“Y-you know, we have that really big game soon against the Paxville Poodles…” you began again, stalling poorly.  Eddie quietly got up from his seat, just as Hastings made a move to turn around, and you unthinkingly reached out and grabbed his arm, making him look at you suspiciously.  “Your bicep is huge!” you blurted out.  “Wow— and look—” you grabbed the other— “this one’s even bigger.  You don’t take steroids, do you?  Because I’ve heard steroids can cause some shrinking of the, uh, package.”

The other students murmured and snickered to each other as Eddie crept around the back of the room, towards the open window at the front; you repositioned yourself and Mr. Hastings to keep Eddie’s path exactly behind him.

“But I didn’t come here to talk about your package!” you added.

“God, I hope not,” the coach agreed.

Eddie’s next step made a bit of noise— that damn chain on his jeans wasn’t very quiet— but you stopped him from turning to look by talking more.  “The point is, they always beat us,” you continued, “and I’ve got this plan to help us win this year!”

“Which is?”

“That… thing you taught us!” you answered chipperly as Eddie kept creeping towards the open window.

“What thing?” Hastings wondered.

“Misdirection.”

He narrowed his eyes.  “I taught you that?”

“Yeah!  You, o-or, you know, Siegfried and Roy— anyway—”

When he tried to turn his head over his shoulder, you had to reach out and grab his chin to turn his bewildered face towards you.

“They look left, we go right!  Bang, we score, we win,” you tilted your head and smiled wide.  Panic was setting in because you really thought Eddie would’ve made it out by now— he was close, but not there, and the coach was clearly losing his patience.

“But, how do we make them look left?” he wondered.  Eddie was halfway out the window, no looking back now… literally, meaning he didn’t see what you were about to do.

“Uh— like this!”

A rush of adrenaline compelled you to do it— or maybe it came right after you did it, honestly it was all a blur— and you lifted the bottom of your shirt up to your chin.  The classroom gasped, the coach’s chin dropped, and you cringed internally as you realized how far you’d gone: but you didn’t regret it, yet.  Actually, it was pretty funny, if you thought about it… not that you had exactly thought this through.

Hastings stared at you, dumbstruck and more concerned than aroused, the thoughts of what the hell is wrong with this girl? and oh god, am I gonna lose my job? obvious on his face.  The detention attendees began to whoop and holler as you dropped your shirt and Eddie was long-since freed.  “Okay!” you said with a thin voice, clearing your throat.  “Well, now that you’ve seen… the plan… I’m gonna go… and show the plan to someone else.  Okay.”

He said nothing, watching you walk away, and the classroom applauded you on your way out.

~

“I can’t thank you enough for breaking me out,” Eddie smiled as he paddled the rickety canoe.

“Oh, I do that all the time,” you dismissed jokingly.  

“How’d you keep him from seeing me?” he wondered.

You snorted a bit.  “I, uh, dazzled him with my… wits.”

Eddie shrugged and looked out at the water on every side, pulling the oars in now that you were stuck in the smackdab middle of Lover’s Lake.  “So, what’s your excuse?” he asked suddenly.

“Hm?”

“For acting the way we do.”

You considered that for a second, glancing out over the lake.  “Maybe it’s, like, daddy issues— ‘cause I don’t know my biological parents or anything.  Elle’s write her letters and stuff but mine don’t want anything to do with me.”

“Okay, maybe it’s that,” he nodded, “or…”

You sighed.  “I don't like to do what people expect.  Why should I live up to other people’s expectations instead of my own?”

He smiled, clearly proud of himself for getting you to fess up.  “So you disappoint them from the start and then you're covered, right?” he suggested, and you shrugged.

“Something like that.”

“Then you fucked it up,” he laughed.

“Huh?” you frowned.

His eyes seemed to sparkle more right before he said it— did he have some way of voluntarily doing that?  “You never disappointed me.”

You smiled a bit, but hoped he wouldn’t see that stupid, girlish emotion on your face.  “What about you?” you countered quickly.  “What’s your damage?”

“Oh, gosh, where to start,” he began, tapping his chin as he looked up and to the right like he was picturing it all, and you laughed.  “Daddy’s in prison, mommy’s… god knows where— last I heard she was in Washington?”

“Wait, the state, or D.C.?” you asked.

“I don’t even know!” he chuckled..

“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve got no clue where my mom is, either,” you shrugged. 

“I know misery allegedly loves company but, no, that doesn’t make me feel better.”

“There were a lot of rumors about what your parents were up to,” you admitted.  “Cult and traveling band were both popular.”

“Well, there are a lot of rumors about a lot of things,” he replied, “but they’re all bullshit.”

“So, the state trooper?” you challenged.

“Ridiculous,” he shot it down.  “You made out with a chick at a party?”

“Fantasy,” you rolled your eyes.  “Of theirs!  Not mine— I don’t wanna kiss anyone in public.  The duck?”

“Hearsay,” he smirked.  “Billy Hargrove’s balls?”

“Well, that one’s actually true,” you admitted, “but he deserved it!  He groped me in the lunch line.”

“Ah, don’t tell me that,” Eddie warned, “or I’ll go kick ‘em back up again myself.”  He clicked his tongue and tossed his fist as if to demonstrate.

“Why were you held back again?  I know the porn career’s a lie.”

“Do you?” he challenged.

You tried not to get too flushed imagining that.  You were strictly against porn, on feminist grounds, but… it was an interesting mental image.

He laughed first, then you followed suit.  “I missed a lot of classes, yeah, but I don’t have any good excuse.  I— to be honest, I have a lot of trouble with reading.  It takes me hours, gives me a headache… so I keep failing English.  And it’s not like I’m making ‘A’s in anything else…”

You tilted your head as you looked at him.  “Eddie, are you dyslexic?”

He raised an eyebrow.  “No, I’m bisexual,” he corrected.

“Dyslexia is a learning disorder, it causes difficulty in reading,” you explained.

“Not even gonna react to the bisexual thing, huh?” he pressed.

“Maybe you should see a doctor,” you encouraged.

“No cure for it,” he shook his head.

“For the dyslexia, dumbass!” you snapped, and he laughed.

“Okay, okay, I will,” he promised, “if you go see about getting that stick up your ass surgically removed.”

You rolled your eyes, but you still couldn’t stop a smile from filling your face.  “I thought you didn’t mind it.”

“I don’t,” he smiled.  “‘Cause I know you’re actually just a hopeless romantic under all that venom.”

You glanced down at the floor of the boat, at Eddie’s Reeboks across from your worn-out Converse.  You heard him whisper your name, so you looked up again, and he pulled you into a sudden kiss.

Kissing in a boat on Lover’s Lake— a little on-the-nose, maybe, and another one of those things you never expected to happen to you.  You never expected to like it so much, either, but you smiled into it and wrapped your arms around his neck.  Pulling you back with him, he fell into the front end of the canoe with you on top of him, kissing you harder.

Unfortunately, you both got a little carried away… and when he tried to roll you onto your back so he could lay above you, it knocked the small boat off-balance and sent you both tumbling into the lake.

You came up with a gasp, and a laugh, as Eddie came back facing the wrong way and yelling your name fearfully— like you’d drowned in the last three seconds.  Hearing your laugh, he spun around and put on a self-effacing smile before swimming a little closer and kissing you again.  You let him, even though that warm feeling in your chest was just getting hotter until you worried it would burn you up from the inside out; you brushed dripping, limp curls out of his face and grabbed him by the back of the neck to keep him close.

~

Half-dry from the journey home, Eddie walked beside you up to your front porch.  Not exactly wanting to bring in a lake-damp drug dealer, you guided him to sit next to you on the steps, and he seemed to look somewhat reverently out at the surrounding neighborhood.  “Beats the trailer park?” you assumed.

“Yeah,” he smiled, “but it’s not as bad as people think it is— I guess neither are we, though.”

“Okay, then tell me the truth,” you requested.

“The truth?  I’m afraid of the dark,” he grinned.

“No, something real,” you protested.

“Okay…” he agreed, lowering his voice and leaning in to kiss your neck.  “You’re sweet.”

You smiled, and he moved around to kiss the other side, giving you an eyeful of his fringe.

“And sexy,” he added.  “And completely hot for me.”

“You’re… very self-assured,” you giggled, “anybody ever told you that?”

“I tell myself every morning,” he agreed with a smile, “part of my daily affirmations.”

Your eyes drifted over his face— over his gentle eyes and soft lips and strong jaw— and you wondered how you never noticed how perfect he was before.

“Go to prom with me,” he said suddenly.

The moment left and you felt a little suspicious.  “Um, are you asking me, or telling me?” you wondered with a raised brow.

“C’mon, it’ll be fun,” he promised.

“No it won’t, it’ll be a circus of patriarchy and the hypersexualization of the American teenager,” you insisted.

“It’ll be fun if you come with me,” he clarified.  “I thought you liked doing what nobody expects?  The only one who expects you to go to prom is me.”

“Why do you even wanna go to the prom?!” you wondered.

“Maybe I’m more conventional than I look!” he defended.  “Maybe I only never went because I never had a beautiful girl to take.”

“I don’t buy it,” you scoffed.  “Why are you so insistent on this?  What’s in it for you?”

“Do I need to have a reason to want to be with you?”

“You tell me,” you challenged.

“You know something?  You need therapy,” he frowned.  “Maybe a shrink can help you unpack this inability to accept affection.  Were you not hugged as a child or something?”

“Right,” you snapped, “because all my problems are caused by being adopted— I forgot.”

“I didn’t— that’s not what I was saying,” he defended.

“So, what are you saying?  If I’m not madly in love with you, something must be wrong with me?”

“I think if you don’t trust me by now—!”

“By now?  One kiss and you’re totally trustworthy?” you tilted your head.

“We kissed twice,” he reminded you.

“Yeah, my mistake,” you scoffed, leaving the question of whether the number or the kisses were the mistake hanging in the air.  Shaking his head, Eddie pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his vest pocket.

“Damn it, they’re soaked,” he groaned as he opened it.

You snatched it away.  “I’ll throw them out for you,” you offered sharply as you stood up and stormed inside, slamming the door behind you.

~

Max Mayfield startled when she opened her locker, a flood of folded papers spilling out— origami stars.  She tilted her head as she knelt down, picking one up to unfold.  Because you’re funnier than people realize, it had written inside in somewhat poor, yet meticulous, handwriting.  Wrinkling her eyebrows together, she snagged another from on top of her textbooks.  Because you’re the most beautiful when you’re in class, listening and thinking.  It was cheesy, but she bit her lip as she imagined who this… extravagant secret admirer might be.  About to unfold another, Lucas leaned beside her at the lockers.

“Huh,” he noticed, “wonder who did all this just to ask you to prom.”

As he crossed his arms in front of his chest, she noticed the band-aids around the ends of many of his fingers.  “Basketball injury?” she assumed.

“No,” he denied sheepishly, “just, uh, papercuts…”

She smiled as she raised an eyebrow at him.  “So, you think this… stalker guy is asking me to prom?” she noticed.

“I— um, I assume,” he shrugged.

“That’s presumptuous of you,” she laughed.

Across the hall, Vickie was emphatically agreeing to Robin’s more tree-friendly prom invite: no letter or origami or notes or anything, just the courage to finally ask, and that was all she had wanted anyways.

All across the school, plans were being made, except for Elle: she had more options than most for her date, yet was forced to choose none because you were still resisting Eddie with what little fight you had left in you. 

After catching her glare each time you passed in the hall at school, you decided to attempt a peace offering at home.

You hesitantly knocked on her bedroom door after dinner.  “Come in,” she called from the other side, but her annoyance was obvious.  Especially when you entered and found her sitting on the bed, reading a book, ignoring you completely.

“Listen,” you sighed, “I know…”

She didn’t shut her book or look up at you.  You sat down near her feet and carefully took the book away; she crossed her arms as she finally returned your gaze— though hers was much sharper.

“I know you hate having to sit around at home because I’m not, you know, popular or dating or anything,” you informed her.

“You don’t care,” she rolled her eyes.

“I do care!” you insisted.  “But I believe you should do things for your own reasons, not someone else’s.”

“I wish I had that luxury,” Elle snapped, “but I can’t do anything because you don’t want to!  You know I was the only sophomore asked to prom?  And I can’t go because you’re too uptight and feminist-y to just go out with that Eddie guy.”

You frowned.  “How do you know about Eddie?”

She rolled her eyes.  “I’m sixteen, I’m not stupid.  And everyone heard about him serenading you on the soccer field anyways.”

Your cheeks warmed at the memory.  “Well, that’s not the point.  I can go out with him if I want, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to prom.”

“Prom is actually gonna be fun you know, it’s not this horrible institution that you think it is,” Elle promised.  “And Jason asked me and—”

“He never told you we went out, did he?” you interrupted, and Elle’s jaw dropped.

“You’re joking, right?” she assumed; you shook your head.  “You and Jason?!”

“For a few months, freshman year.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because he’s sooo cute,” you answered with a Valley-girl-voice, but it didn’t do as much to diffuse the tension as you’d hoped.

“You hate him!” Elle noticed.

“I do now.”

“What happened?” she wondered, and you looked away because you thought it might be easier to say it if you weren’t looking right at her.  Even if she hated you, you didn’t want your little sister to think of you in the way she might when you admitted it.

“Well…” you trailed off, but she beat you to it.

“No,” she sighed, “you didn’t— you did it?!”

“Once,” you interjected firmly, as if that made it any better.  “Just once, because, you know, everyone was doing it.  I wanted to be cool— I wanted to feel normal.  But afterwards, I told him I didn’t wanna do it anymore because I wasn’t ready.  Aaaaand he dumped me.”

Elle blinked at you in bewilderment.

“After that, I decided to never do anything else again just because everyone else was doing it.  I haven’t since!  Well, except, you know, going to Steve Harrington’s party and getting wasted.”

“How did I not know about this?” Elle wondered.  Apparently she confused being popular with being omniscient.

“I warned him that if he told anyone, all the cheerleaders would find out how small his dick is,” you snorted.  Elle didn’t seem as amused, though.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she wondered.

“I wanted you to make up your own mind about him,” you replied.

“Then why did you help Daddy keep me hostage here?!”

She got up off the bed and stood, frustration switching to anger, and you wrinkled your eyebrows as well.  “Because I wanted to protect you!” you replied.

“By not letting me experience anything?” she countered.

“Not everything is worth experiencing, Elle!” you snapped.  “Not everyone can be trusted!”

“I wouldn’t know!” she announced furiously.  “You were too busy worrying I’d make the same mistakes as you to let me make my own!”

She stormed out of her own room and left you alone in it with a slam of the door.  You sat on the bed for a minute, considering what she’d said.  Noticing the picture on her nightstand, you sighed at the shot your dad had taken of the two of you, years ago, in line at Disneyland.  She used to think you hung the moon back then… why couldn’t things still be that easy?

~

You glided down the stairs quickly, holding up the end of your dress, and passed Dad as he watched TV.  “Bye, I’m going to prom,” you offered him flippantly as you passed.

“Ha ha, very funny,” he returned flatly.  Of course, when he caught you and your outfit in the corner of his eye, he realized you were serious.

Before he could even ask what was going on, you were out the door.  He would’ve chased you in search of more information, but he was distracted by Elle marching by next in her sparkly, colorful gown.

“What’s that?” he asked when he saw the midriff-baring garment.

“A prom dress!” she answered joyfully.

“I seem to be hearing that word a lot lately,” he frowned.

The doorbell rang, and Elle scampered across the foyer to answer it.  On the other side, Mike was waiting in a suit with a corsage in hand ready to give her— but he stalled when he got a look at her all dolled up (even more than usual).  “Wow,” he beamed, “you look… bitchin’.”

She smiled and started to leave with only a wave to her dad, but he crossed his arms.  “Stop,” he insisted, and Elle sighed as she froze.  “Turn.” 

The young couple turned, Mike looking a bit anxious as Elle prepared for the usual.

“Explain,” Hopper demanded.

“Well, you know how you said I could date if my lovely, wonderful big sister dated?” she batted her eyelashes.  “Turns out she found this guy who’s sort of perfect for her, which is sort of perfect for me, because Mike invited me to the prom—” she squeezed her date’s hand for emphasis— “and I really wanna go and I’m technically allowed since she’s going, and I know you’re a man of your word so you’ll stick to the rule you made.  Right?”

There was a heavy pause; Mike extended his hand to the Chief politely.  “Nice to meet you,” he greeted.

Elle took his hand instead and guided him out the front door.  Powerless, Hopper stepped up to the open doorway and watched them run to the waiting limousine together.  “Back by eleven, you hear me?” he called out.  “One minute past and the entire police department will be looking for you!”

They got in the car and drove off as he watched with a sigh.

~

You’d sort of been expecting Eddie to wear a t-shirt with a tuxedo pattern printed on it… maybe that’s what everyone expected of him.  But he was wearing a real one, in a dark cranberry color that seemed to bring out that little bit of hazel in his deep brown eyes.

It was stupid how easily his one simple glance over your body could make you fight the urge to blush.  You knew you looked good, you actually felt good, but it was different to see Eddie acknowledge it.  “Wow,” he offered with a wide smile.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “uh, you too.”

He handed you a rose before you hooked your arm in his to walk inside to the decorated gymnasium.

“Where’d you get a tux?” you wondered.

“Wayne had one,” Eddie shrugged.

“Really?” you pressed, and Eddie laughed.

“Hell no, he couldn’t even help me with my tie!  I… had a friend help me get this,” Eddie admitted, internally disgusted with himself for referring to Jason Carver as a friend.  Then again, he was disgusted with himself for doing this for Jason’s benefit at all, but at least there was a real benefit for himself, too: the only girl he’d ever really fallen for walking arm-in-arm with him to prom.  “Where’d you get the dress?” he wondered.

“Oh, um,” you blinked quickly, “I guess I really was a hopeless romantic deep down after all… ‘cause I had a nice dress in the back of my closet, just in case someone ever wanted to see me in it.”

There was a little moment of pause as Eddie imagined you saving a dress like this for someone special, hardly believing it was him.

“Listen, I shouldn’t have questioned your motives for asking me out,” you blurted out suddenly.  “I was wrong.  I’m sorry.”

He’d never seen you so… humbled?  And it made his heart twist.  “Don’t sweat it,” he encouraged, “you’re here with me now— that’s all that matters.”

~

Jason was already wearing his tux— and a sparkling-white smile— as your father opened the door.  “Hello, Mr. Hopper,” he offered charmingly, even though anyone with half a brain knows to call him Chief Hopper.  “I’m here to pick up Elle for the prom?”

Saying nothing, the Chief shut the door as suddenly as he’d opened it.

~

As you walked in to the room, dancing and general merriment in every direction, you caught Elle and Mike dancing cheek-to-cheek not too far off— and your sister offered you a quick wave and a gentler smile than you’d seen on her (directed at you, at least) in years.

Robin and Vickie, as always, were dancing to the beat of their own song, ignorant and uncaring to the judgment of others; Lucas guided Max to the dance floor, and you were one of many who noticed how good the unlikely pair looked together.

You were so caught up in it that you almost didn’t notice the music changing to another song— your favorite song.  Eddie nudged you with his elbow and pointed at the stage, where the band from Club Nina joined the musicians already playing, and you gasped.  “Oh my god!” you choked.  “It’s—!”

“I had a friend help me with that, too,” Eddie grinned at you, drinking in your ecstatic excitement.  You looked like a kid in a candy store as the lead singer waved at you; first humbled, then unabashedly joyful… so many new emotions that Eddie wasn’t used to seeing you show, but he liked this one so far.  He liked how beautiful you were when you let yourself be openly happy— it reminded him of the way you looked dancing to this song at that club all those weeks ago.  He hadn’t just been putting on the moves, he really thought you looked sexy when you let go and enjoyed yourself.  And now you looked that way again, but you were dancing with him.  You looked, and felt, freer than ever.

~

Elle was on her way to freshen up in the girls’ room— because the last thing she needed now was a lifting false lash with everything else going so perfectly— when Andy and Patrick stopped her.  “Woah, hey,” Andy said as he grabbed her shoulder, “what’s going on?”

“What?” she wondered.

“Where’s Jason?” they pressed.

“I dunno, probably off somewhere picking his nose?” she replied sarcastically.

“Oh my god,” Patrick laughed.  “I knew he couldn’t do it!”

“Huh?” she asked.

“He was so sure he could pop your cherry tonight,” Andy explained, bemused, “but he was full of shit— as per usual.”

Elle stepped back.  “What a creep!” she spat, but they weren’t even paying attention anymore, just chuckling to each other about how they wouldn’t let their team captain live this one down for a while.

As for Jason, he wasn’t too far away after all— he was angrily storming through the dancing crowd towards you and Eddie.  “Hey, freak!” he yelped just before grabbing him by the collar of his jacket and pulling him aside, though not quite far enough away.  “What’s Elle doing here with that pipsqueak?!  I didn’t pay you to take out her sister just so some little weirdo could get with her instead.”

Eddie whipped his head around, praying to whatever deity would listen that you hadn’t heard, but it only took a split-second to see the look in your eyes.  And there was a third emotion he’d never seen on you before: real heartbreak.  No anger, no rage, just devastation.

“Wait,” he pleaded as you began to walk away.

“I can’t believe I was right about you,” you replied with a shake of your head, “the first time.”

Jason let Eddie go to unsuccessfully chase after you; he was disinterested in the Freak versus Bitch drama unfolding once again, much more focused on getting back at Mike Wheeler for screwing him over.

Lucas tried to intercept him, but he got shoved roughly to the ground on the way to Mike.  “You messed with the wrong guy,” Jason informed him with a sneer, “and now you’re so done.  You and that prissy bitch.”

“Watch what you say about her,” Mike warned angrily, but Jason wasn’t exactly intimidated— in fact, he almost looked amused right before his fist collided with the sophomore’s face.  Mike crumpled to the ground, not exactly a match for Jason’s strength… but then again, neither was Elle, and she was the one who swung back— right in the nose.

“That’s for making my boyfriend bleed!” she explained as he clutched his face.  “That’s for my sister,” she added as she kneed him in the gut, “and this… is for me.”

A swift kick to the crotch sent him to the ground, and Elle stepped over him to offer a hand to Mike.  He took it, looking up at her in awe as she helped him stand again.  “Uh, boyfriend?” he noticed.

It was the kind of move you would’ve been proud of, if you were there to see it; apparently ball-kicking ran in the Hopper family, and not just in the soccer sense.

“Please, let me explain,” Eddie begged as he chased you out of the gym.

“I think it’s pretty self-explanatory!” you returned sharply.  “It was all a set-up, by fucking Jason!  I should’ve known it was too…”

Too good to be true.  You couldn’t admit that, you’d already given away so much.  “It wasn’t— that was just how it started!” Eddie promised.  “But I really fell for you.”

“Yeah?  Funny what money can do to a person.”

“I never cared about the money!” he insisted, and when you spun around to challenge that, he grabbed your shoulders.  “I only cared about you.”

“You’ve got a funny way of showing it,” you sneered, and he did want to show you— he wanted to wipe that all-too-familiar look off your face and go back to how things were.  He kissed you, hard and forceful, but you pushed him off with a whine.  “I hate you!” you spat as you managed to fight him off— not that he was trying that hard to force you to stay, he knew that was wrong… though he wished he could.  He wished he could hug you tight enough to keep you here until you would listen, but you were too stubborn for it to work anyways.  It was that stubbornness that made him resent you in the beginning, then it was one of the things he fell for— and now it was the reason you were walking away, and he was just watching you go, unwilling to hurt you anymore.

~

“You’re sure you don’t wanna come?” Elle asked again, pityingly, as Mike held her hand.  You shook your head.  “Okay, well, we’ll miss you.”

It was sweet, but it was a lie; a young couple didn’t want you chaperoning their movie date.  Lies can be so sweet that way, the best ones usually are.  You watched them walk together down the sidewalk, knowing it wouldn’t cheer you up to go with them.  “Is she gonna be okay?” Mike whispered to his girlfriend, though not quietly enough.

“I hope so,” Elle replied softly.

As they left, your dad appeared and sat next to you on the steps, groaning as his older joints made it a bit more of a task.  “Where’s she going?” he wondered.

“To meet a bunch of bikers,” you offered quickly.  “Big ones… full of sperm.”

“Not funny,” Hopper frowned.  You gave him a look, and he smiled slightly.  “A little funny.”

It still wasn’t enough to make you smile back, and you looked forward at the houses across the street again.  

“So… the dance,” he remembered, “was it groovy?”

Even that couldn’t make you crack a smirk, though you wanted to.  “Some parts…”

“Which parts?” he wondered.

“The part where Elle beat the crap out of some loser,” you recalled— the stories around school were already glorious.  You were pretty sure the rumor that she pulled some Karate Kid moves and spin-kicked him in the face was just a rumor, but you liked picturing it anyways.

“Elle did what?” he gasped.

“What, are you afraid she’s taking after me?” you challenged.

“No,” he answered quickly, “I’m impressed.”

You looked at him again, soaking in that all-too-rare approval.  It’s not that he wasn’t affectionate… well, he wasn’t, but it was only because he had trouble expressing himself.  It made his eloquence going forward even more unexpected.

“You know, fathers don’t like to admit when their daughters become capable of running their own lives,” he explained.  “It means we’re obsolete… we’re spectators.  Elle still lets me play a few innings— you’ve had me on the bench for years— and when you go to Sarah Lawrence, I won’t even be able to watch the game.”

You were about to complain about the baseball metaphor until you realized what he was really saying.  “When I go?” you repeated excitedly.

“Don’t tell me you changed your mind now!  I already sent them a check,” he answered with a slightly mischievous smile.  Exclaiming in joy, you threw yourself on him for a tight hug.

~

“I assume you’ve all prepared your sonnets for today?” Ms. O’Donnell looked over the room.  She frowned when she saw Jason sinking into his chair.  “Mr. Carver?”

“Uh… I, uh, have a doctor’s note,” he explained.

“Oh— well, regardless, sunglasses are not permitted indoors,” she reminded him.

Sighing, he took the aviators off, and the class snickered at the sight of two black eyes on either side of his bandaged nose.

“Would anyone else like to read theirs for us?” she encouraged, and you waited a second before raising your hand.

That seemed to surprise everyone— most of all Eddie, who lifted his head from where it had been resting on his desk.  Some of your classmates assumed the worst— here we go and time for a feminist lecture that rhymes and all that— but some seemed to sense what was really coming.  Ms. O’Donnell, pleasantly surprised, stepped aside to let you come stand at the front.

You opened your notebook and did your best not to look at everyone looking at you.

Clearing your throat, you began.  “I hate the way you talk to me,” you read aloud, “and the way you cut your hair.  I hate the way you drive my car, I hate it when you stare.”

Your reading was particularly flat and unemotional, just hoping to get this over with, yet at the same time, so many emotions were flooding you inside.

“I hate your stupid white Reeboks, and the way you read my mind— I hate you so much it make me sick, it even makes me rhyme.”

You spared one half-second glance up, and even just in your peripheral you saw Eddie’s face, and you had to fight getting choked up.

“I hate… I hate the way you’re always right, I hate it when you lie,” you whimpered, voice breaking, “I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when— when you make me cry.”

As a hot tear crossed your cheek, you fought the instinct to defiantly wipe it away— for once, you wanted to feel this, and you wanted to be seen even at your most vulnerable.

“I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call,” you continued, approaching the end.  “But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you; not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.”

The way Eddie was looking at you was just too much; the way everyone was looking at you was just too much.  You stormed out of the class, leaving them in stunned silence, crying harder as you ran down the hall.

~

Your face was dry by the time you got to your car; maybe you’d let Eddie play with your heart and invade your mind and cry way too much, but you decided that was over now— no more tears over boys.  Especially dumbass, annoying, sexy, horrible, gorgeous boys who play you for a fool and have the audacity to fall for you in the process.

You were about you open your driver’s side door when you saw the sparkling white resin in the front seat, and you bent down, greeted by the Fender Stratocaster you’d been eying resting in your seat.

Reaching in through the open window, you pulled it out delicately and inspected it like it was magic— because maybe it was.

“Nice, huh?”

Eddie’s voice behind you made you jump and spin, and he smiled at you expectantly as he shoved his hands in his pockets and tilted back on his heels for a second.  “A Fender Strat?” you noticed.  “Is this— is this mine?”

“I figured you could use it,” he shrugged, “when you start your band.  Or join mine.”

You smiled slowly as you looked at it again, and then back at him.

“Besides, I had some extra cash,” he explained.  “Some jerk paid me to take out this amazing girl…”

“Yeah?” you smirked.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “but, uh, I kinda fucked it up.  ‘Cause I totally fell for her.”

You loved the way he looked with a flush tinting his cheeks.  “Really?” you pressed.

“Of course,” he grinned.  “Very rare to find a girl who’ll flash someone to break you out of detention.”

It was your turn to feel your face warm, then, wondering how long ago he found out about that.  Dropping your forehead into one of your hands in embarrassment, you laughed shamefully at the memory, hardly believing you’d done something so impulsive.  As risky as it was, you actually kind of liked the person you were when you were with Eddie.

With a gentle grip on your wrist he moved your hand away from your face, the other tilting up your chin so he could kiss you.  You let him, for a moment, but before you could properly melt into him you carefully pushed him back by his shoulders.  

“You know you can’t just buy me a guitar whenever you screw up, right?” you asked.

“I know,” he agreed, “but hey!  There’s always drums, bass, tambourine… triangle…”

You snorted your laugh and he kissed you again.  You pushed him away again.  “And don’t just think you can—”

He kissed you again, a little harder, and you gave in to it willingly.

Yeah, all that cheesy romance stuff? Sappy poems, public serenading, making out in front of everyone as the bell rang and the day ended? Turns out it really can happen for a girl like you. It can happen for a guy like Eddie, too; neither of you expected it to, but it did. And as you spent the rest of your senior year getting to know him better, you found a lot more things about Eddie Munson that you would've hated if you learned them before— but they only made you love him more instead.