#i made him back in like august? i still had physical school back then

[andvys]

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part 18

Warnings: slight angst, mentions of body dysmorphia, mentions of an eating disorder, mentions of weight loss, mentions of cheating, mentions of pregnancy (don't worry, it's nothing), depression and anxiety

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!cheerleader!reader, Eddie Munson x fem!cheerleader!reader

Summary: A conversation with a girl that you had been trying to avoid, leaves you more confused than ever -- it might just be the cause of a storm in your heart.

Word count: 6k

A/N: BIG BIG BIG SHOUTOUT TO THE LITTLE DEVIL ON MY SHOULDER AKA @hellfire--cult thank you so much for helping me, with this chapter especially! I was struggling with the dialogue at the end of this chapter and you were such a big help so thank you -- you're talented, amazing, show-stopping, perfect, thank you for helping me with the dialogues (and so many other ideas) mwah! You guys better follow her and give her stories the love they deserve

series masterlist

-

The gym is filled with girls dressed in their cheer uniforms, the color green is starting to give you a headache, just like the sound of giggles and hushed whispers as the girls next to you talk about the latest gossip. Another supposed breakup. 

This time it’s Tommy and Carol again. 

Just three weeks back, you heard rumors about Steve and Nancy’s apparent breakup,  which turned out to be just a rumor, considering you’ve seen them together – maybe less than before but they are still around each other, laughing and smiling just like before. 

Clearly, they are still together. 

But teenagers love to make up rumors – especially about people like you and Steve. Despite both yours and his fall down the social ladder, you are still the hot topics of the school. 

They love to make up rumors about your relationship or past relationship with Steve and your friendship with Eddie – or as they still like to call him, the freak. 

Apparently you and Eddie had been seen making out in his van. 

Apparently you and Eddie have been in a secret relationship since august, last year. 

Apparently you cheated on the king with the freak. 

Apparently the satan worshiper had cursed your relationship with the king – so he could have you. 

Apparently you are pregnant with Eddie’s baby and living in his trailer. 

Apparently you and Eddie are in love and secretly married – at least, you understand that rumor. The matching rings on both yours and his ring finger may have been the cause of it. 

The pregnancy rumor made you physically sick – it made you stand in front of the mirror, checking for signs that you had gained weight. You did not, it still made you feel nauseous and you had to cancel your dinner ‘date’ with your friends. 

A sigh falls from your lips when you hear Teresa talking about her future in college – Princeton to be exact. Of course the cute brunette has it all, beauty and brains. The straight A student isn’t only one of the smartest students in Hawkins High, she is also one of the prettiest – cat eyes, a small nose and big lips, she is thin but her boobs are, well, they are huge. 

You wonder why you were ever crowned as the queen when girls like her exist. When girls like Heather and Chrissy exist. 

You wonder why Steve ever even looked your way. 

You look down at yourself, your uniform is perfectly ironed, your skin is soft and glowing after scrubbing and lathering it in moisturizer earlier this morning. You reach for the mirror in your bag, wanting to check on your makeup, one more time before the photoshooting. Your hair looks good, your make up looks good and yet, you still don’t like the way you look. 

“Well, don’t you look beautiful.” 

The frown on your face disappears when you hear his voice. Looking over your shoulder,  you see Eddie leaning against the doorframe. He is eying you with a smile on his face. He ignores all the nasty looks from the other cheerleaders before they continue getting ready for the little photo session with Jonathan – who is getting just as many nasty looks as Eddie does. 

You put the little mirror down and walk over to him, smoothing down your skirt as you take in the sight of him. He was forced to leave his leather jacket at home and he had already been whining about it since the early morning hours. Clad in his favorite jeans and a metallica shirt, you can’t help but miss the leather on his skin – it’s his staple piece but, it’s the end of May, much to Eddie’s dismay it’s too warm to walk around with vests and jackets. 

You like seeing his tattoos though and his hair in ponytail or a bun when it does get a little too warm. 

“Hi,” you say, giving him a sweet smile as you halt in front of him. 

He smiles down at you, tapping your nose, “hey sweetheart.” 

“Wanna join the photo session?” You joke, gesturing to the girls who are still getting ready as Jonathan is setting up his tripod and his camera. 

“Yeah,” Eddie says, “give me a uniform and I’m in.”

Giggling, you shake your head, “your butt would look cute in a cheer skirt.”

“Oh, not as cute as yours,” he winks, grinning at you when you look away with a blush on your cheeks. 

“Are you enjoying the last day as the cheer captain?” 

“You have no idea how much I wanna get rid of that title,” you laugh, “I’m ready to give that position up to Chrissy.” 

You haven’t been loving cheerleading as much as you used to. Things changed, especially this year. 

“I’m ready to get the hell out of here.” 

“You and me both, sweetheart.” 

“You know, I always thought that I’d go to college after high school,” you say as you look around the room, “but now, I’m just lost. I wouldn’t even know what to major in if I did go to college a-and I don’t even know what college I’d go to – and why am I even stressing about it, it’s too late for that now–”

Eddie places his hands on your shoulders, “I thought we settled on not stressing about our future anymore.” 

“Yeah but–” 

“No buts,” Eddie chuckles, “you’re taking a gap year, you still got your job at the record store and I’ll work at the garage, we’ll save up some money this summer and then–”

“And then we’ll go on that road trip.”

“Exactly,” he smiles, “we’ve been planning it for weeks now, don’t let college ruin that.”

Your shoulders slump and you sigh, “I just, I hear all of them talking about college,” you pause, gesturing to the girls behind you, “a-and it makes me think that maybe it was a mistake not to apply to any.”

His eyes soften at the worry in your eyes, he shakes his head. 

“I don’t think it’s a mistake.”

“It’s not?” 

“No, you got all the time in the world to join all these boring people in the normal world,” he chuckles, pulling you closer, “let’s live in our own world for a little longer,” he smiles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before he fixes the bow in your ponytail. 

“Our dreams will be crushed the moment we step into the real world, let’s not let that happen so soon.”

You eye his face and curl of his lips as he stares at you. 

“Our own world,” you smile, nodding, “I think I like that more anyways.”

“Yeah?” He grins. 

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

“Good,” you repeat after him, making him chuckle. 

He tilts his head with a smile on his face, “did you do your make up differently?” 

“Uh yeah, I did pink eye shadow today,” you chuckle, “I’m surprised you noticed it, guys usually don’t pay attention to these things.”

“I’m offended that you think I’m one of those guys,” he jokes, placing his hand on his chest, “I notice everything about you, sweetheart.” 

He notices every slight change. A different hairstyle, new clothes, the new color of your lipstick, the slightest change in your behavior, your eating habits, your struggles. He notices it all. 

“You look gorgeous.”

“Thanks,” you smile but the look in your eyes isn’t genuine and it makes him frown. 

“Not as gorgeous as Teresa.”

“Who the fuck is Teresa,” he mumbles in confusion. 

You point to the cheerleader and Eddie follows your gaze. You watch him closely as he looks at the pretty cheerleader. 

Does he think she’s gorgeous? Does he think she looks better than you? Does he think she looks sexy in her tight uniform? Does he think her boobs look good?

The reaction you expected never comes, he scrunches his face up and a look of distaste crosses his features.

“That bitch threw gum in my hair.” 

A laugh tumbles from your lips, you cup your hand over your mouth when the others turn to look at you.

“That’s not funny, y/n!” Eddie frowns, though his eyes are filled with amusement, “Wayne had to cut a chunk of my hair because I couldn’t get it out.” 

“Your poor hair!” You pout, reaching out to touch his curls. 

Both you and Eddie are unaware of the new set of eyes watching the two of you. 

Steve just left the coach’s office, passing by the gym when he heard your laughter, he couldn’t help but peek inside the open gym. 

His eyes fall on you, right away. 

It’s been a while since you had talked, though you had been more present in his life since the night before your birthday, you were still far from actually being back in his life. The only interactions the two of you have are the ones in the hallway or in classes, greeting one another and saying goodbye. That’s all but he wishes he would see more of you. 

Things haven’t been easy in the past few weeks, he barely passed the exams, sleepless nights haunt him and his days usually consist of reading and trying to better his cooking skills – he has nothing else to do. He has no one to talk to, no one to hang out with, no one to be with, not even his parents. 

He had never been more miserable than he is right now. 

There you are, pressing yourself against Eddie as you play with his hair, looking happier than ever. 

Eddie, who wraps his arm around your waist and looks down at you like you are the most precious thing in this world. 

Steve’s eyes are filled with nothing but sadness. He doesn’t even have the power to feel jealous anymore. 

“Hey Steve!” 

Shit. 

All eyes are now on him, including yours and Eddie’s. 

Steve tears his eyes away from you and turns to look at Jonathan who is walking towards him with his camera. By the look in his eyes, Steve can tell that he wants to do anything but talk to him. 

“Uh – it’s good that you’re here,” Jonathan mumbles, holding the camera up, “Principle Higgins asked for a picture of you and y/n.” 

Steve’s brows furrow and confusion takes over his face, “me and y/n?” He asks, “why?”

Jonathan shrugs, refraining from rolling his eyes, “cause you’re the captain of the basketball team and she’s cheer captain.” 

“Oh.” 

Jonathan looks away from Steve, glancing in your direction, waving you over. 

You look just as confused as Steve does but you make your way over to them nonetheless. 

“Hi,” you mumble to Steve before your eyes find Jonathan who stands between you two, awkwardly. 

“Hey,” Steve smiles at you. 

“Principle Higgins wants a picture of you two together,” Jonathan explains to you, “cause you’re both Captains.” 

You raise your brows, “uh okay,” you snort, “what does the cheer captain have to do with–” 

“Don’t ask me, y/n,” Jonathan chuckles as he motions for you both to follow him, “I’m just as confused.” 

“That’s weird,” you mumble, glancing at Steve who’s awfully quiet. 

“Let’s do it in front of the banners,” Jonathan looks over his shoulder, giving you a small smile but avoiding Steve’s eyes – you notice it. 

Does he feel guilty about kissing his girlfriend? You saw them together yesterday, Nancy and Jonathan. They didn’t even bother to hide their affection. They kissed in the parking lot in front of everyone to see. All they got were a few weird looks, no one seemed to pay much attention to them – no one except for you. You stood frozen in place, a mix of confusion and anger rushing through you. 

Despite the things that Steve had done to you, he still didn’t deserve that. 

You didn’t know whether you should tell him or not, by the sullen look in his eyes, you can tell that he already knows. 

“Alright, just uh–” Jonathan waves his hand at you and Steve, looking around awkwardly, “scoot a little closer.” 

You don’t have to look around the gym to see all the eyes on you, you can feel them and you can hear the hushed whispers.

Steve ignores them but he can’t help but take a look at Eddie who is still standing in the same spot as before. He watches you. 

You step closer to Steve, when he lifts his arm up for you. You place your hand on his back and he places his hand on your waist. Steve looks away from Eddie when the latter looks down. 

Jonathan looks through his camera, squinting his eyes as he motions with his hand, “a little closer, y/n.” 

Steve feels your body closer against his, your hand slides down to his waist, your touch fills him with a warmth that he hasn’t felt in a long time, it makes his heart beat a little faster, it fills him with life. 

If a simple touch of your hand can make him feel such things, he wonders what a kiss from you would cause. 

For a moment, he forgets about his surroundings and what he is supposed to be doing. The sound of chatter, whispers and giggles fly by him. His attention is on you and he basks in the feeling of being so close to you, of feeling your touch, of being able to look at you – not from afar but from such a close distance. 

After a few snaps, Jonathan pulls back to look at the pictures he just took, he furrows his brows and glances up at the two of you. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask, not pulling away from Steve just yet, “do I look okay?” 

Jonathan huffs with a soft chuckle, “yeah, you look good but uh, Steve? You’re supposed to look into the camera,” he says awkwardly. 

Your breath hitches in your throat when you look up to see him staring at you – now with a blush on his cheeks. Oh. He wasn’t looking into the camera because he was too busy looking at you. 

He closes his eyes, furrowing his brows, “right.” 

You can’t help but smile to yourself – a flustered Steve is not something you will ever get used to. 

“Alright,” Jonathan mumbles after snapping a few more pictures, “I got it now.”

He looks up from his camera, giving Steve a tight lipped smile, “thanks Steve, you can go now,” he says before he steps away himself. 

You feel the hesitation in his touch before he lets go of you, stepping away slowly.

“Alright uh, I’m gonna,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his neck as he points to the entrance. 

“Yeah,” you whisper but you hesitate as well and you find yourself looking into his eyes again. 

The sadness has taken over. 

You know that he knows about Nancy and Jonathan. 

Why is he still with her? 

Why is he still with her after everything he said to you? 

Why is he still with her when she is seeing someone else? 

He gives you a halfhearted smile before he turns away but you stop him, reaching for his hand before he can take the first step away from you. You grip it tightly, unaware of the feeling in his heart that you had caused with yet another simple touch. 

He looks down at your hand only to notice another, new ring adorning your hand. A skull ring on your ring finger – he doesn’t know why such a small item can cause him so much despair. He doesn’t have to ask to know where or who you had gotten it from. 

“Are you okay?” 

The softness in your voice matches the one in your eyes, it makes him want to cry. 

How could he ever be okay without you in his life? 

Now that he had finally dropped the act and let go of a fake love, he had nothing to hold onto anymore. 

He lost his best friend, he lost the love of his life, he lost the one. All because he was an insecure coward. 

The past few weeks have shown him how much he had truly ruined, how alone he really is without you in his life. 

He needed to lose you to realize that you are all he ever wanted. 

He doesn’t need a bunch of friends who don’t even care about him nor does he need girls chasing after him or the popularity that he no longer has or even wants. 

You, he only wants you. 

But he won’t fight for someone who he doesn’t deserve to have.  

You look at him with worry in your eyes as you wait for him to answer your question. 

No. No, he is not okay. 

He has never felt more lost in his life than he does at this moment. 

The emptiness in his chest is eating at him and he doesn’t know how to keep going when every day feels like hell.

Every night he stares at the bottles of expensive whiskey in his dad’s office, contemplating whether or not he should just drink until he no longer feels anything. Deep down he knows that the whiskey would just make everything so much worse. 

Maybe it would lead him back to you, maybe it would lead him to the phone on his nightstand, maybe he would make the mistake of calling or even seeing you only to beg for another chance – which would only end in heartbreak. 

You won’t take him back.

Steve will forever hate himself for losing you. 

“Yeah,” he says, forcing a smile on his face, “I’m okay.” 

And for a moment, it isn’t a lie. For a moment, he does feel okay when he still feels your hand in his, when he sees the worry and the softness in your beautiful eyes and the necklace around your neck, the locket that he gave you. You are wearing it. And that alone is enough for his heart to flutter and for the emptiness in his chest to disappear – even if only temporary. 

He avoids your eyes and that proves to you that he isn’t okay but just like he never pressured you, you don’t do it either. 

“A-Are you going to college?” You ask, not wanting him to go so soon. 

Your question surprises him, it’s been a long time since you had initiated a conversation. 

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “It doesn’t seem really appealing to me.”

“But you wanted to go to college, Steve.”

He runs his fingers through his hair, tilting his head with a small chuckle.

“That uh, that was our dream. I only wanted to go to college with you.”

His hand is still in yours, his sad eyes are still gazing into yours. 

“You wanted to go to college with me?” Your eyes widen when he nods, “for me?” 

“Yeah,” he breathes, “I couldn’t stand the thought of being away from you so,” he trails off as he watches the way sadness crosses your features. 

Your heart jumps at his words. 

“That’s uh, that’s funny,” you laugh, “cause I couldn’t stand the thought of being away from you so I always told you that I had this huge college dream when I never even knew what I actually wanted.”

Steve’s brows furrow and his eyes fill with confusion but also with amusement. 

“Really?” He chuckles. 

“Yeah.” 

His eyes crinkle and his smile widens. 

“Wow. We would’ve gone to college together not knowing that it’s something neither of us wanted,” he says, “unless it’s something that you want now?”

“Oh no,” you mumble, “I-I’m not going to college. For now, I’m stuck at the record store which is actually being moved to Starcourt soon.” 

His eyes light up. 

“Oh, the record store is being moved?” 

“Yeah!”

“I guess we’ll keep seeing each other then.” 

While the thought leaves him with excitement, it must leave you with annoyance – at least that’s what he thinks. 

The look on your face is puzzled.

“I got a job at the ice cream parlor,” he clears his throat, “Scoops Ahoy.” 

Suddenly, he feels embarrassed and his cheeks heat up. You used to date a king, a popular guy, the captain of the basketball team with his apparent bright athlete future. 

And now he is just Steve Harrington who barely got his diploma, who threw his athlete future down the drain to work at an ice cream parlor. How humiliating. 

Your jaw drops and your eyes widen, “no way! Scoops Ahoy?” 

“Yeah..”

“Oh my god!” You giggle excitedly. “I’ll be your regular.”

Steve can’t help but laugh at your enthusiasm. 

“You did love your ice cream.”

“Yeah, I still do.” 

You are still smiling at him and he can’t help but smile back at you. This almost feels like a dream – standing here with your hand still in his, laughing and smiling with you like the past no longer matters. 

“Y/n!” Chrissy calls for you. 

You tear your eyes away from his and glance over his shoulder. 

Chrissy motions for you to join her and the other cheerleaders – who are all trying to hide the fact that they were just staring at you and Steve. 

“Come on!” She says as she glares at Steve’s back. 

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

Steve’s face falls, though his smile still lingers when you look back at him. You remove your hand from his. 

“So uh, I guess I’ll see you around?” 

He nods, “yeah,” he mumbles. 

You step away from him but this time, he stops you. With a hand on your wrist and your name falling from his lips, he makes you halt in your tracks. 

You look back at him with raised brows. 

His soft eyes make your heart race, his touch makes you feel warm. 

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you,” you whisper. 

He knows you don’t believe it, you never did, no matter how many times he told you these words, you never believed them. 

“The locket looks good on you,” he smiles. 

You place your other hand on your chest, touching the locket, “thanks, I love it.”

Chrissy rolls her eyes, watching the interaction between you and Steve. Annoyed at the affection and the smiles you are giving him, she forces herself to look away. 

Steve always finds a way to sneak his way back into your life. He doesn’t deserve you, not after everything that happened. 

She knows that you might never stop loving him but she hopes that your love for him won’t stop you from letting another one in. She narrows her eyes, glancing at the metalhead who is still standing by the door, watching you with an intense look on his face, one that can only be described as jealousy. 

It’s the same look you always wore when you saw Steve with other girls. 

She sighs, shaking her head.

Chrissy might not be a close friend of Eddie’s but she knows that his feelings for you are nowhere near platonic and she knows that what you are feeling might be deeper than that too, though you are still oblivious, too focused on your feelings for your ex boyfriend. 

She hopes that you will let go of them someday. 

-

The first big summer storm hits the town of Hawkins on a Friday afternoon. The rain is falling down harshly from the sky, the wind is howling through the trees, the bright lighting lights up the darkened sky every few seconds as the thunder crashes loudly. 

The streets are empty as the water flushes down the road. 

Of course you had to come to the library today. 

You should’ve come here tomorrow, you should’ve stayed home. 

You tried to leave the library when the storm just started but the librarian, an elderly woman named Margaret, refused to let you leave. She forced a book into your hand and told you to take a seat by the window. 

She didn’t even let you put up a fight. She offered you a cup of coffee and told you to wait out the storm. 

It’s been an hour but the storm is still raging and you are becoming restless. You hate being stuck in public places.

You take the book that she gave you and leave the table, giving her a tight lipped smile as you pass by the counter. 

“Don’t worry, I’m not trying to sneak out,” you whisper to her when she gives you a pointed look. 

“You better not, young lady,” she says with a mean voice but her eyes are kind. 

You chuckle at her, flashing her a smile before you disappear into the aisle where the shelves are filled with nothing but dramatic romances and sad love stories – your favorites. 

The smell of paper and coffee, the sound of rain and thunder fills you with a nostalgic feeling. You love these types of afternoons, sitting down with a book you love, listening to the rain paddling down the windows after you light up your favorite candle and drinking a hot cup of coffee – too bad you did not stay at home, you could have done just that. 

As you walk down the aisle and you trace the books, trying to find one that calls for you, you don’t find a story that you would love to read, instead, you find the girl that has been the cause of a lot of pain in your life. 

You halt in your tracks when you find her sitting in the little nook by the window. A large book resting on her lap. 

You don’t know why you freeze, why you don’t just walk away, why you keep standing there like a fool as you stare at the girl that stole your boyfriend – ex boyfriend. 

She glances up from her book when she feels your eyes on her.

For a moment, she freezes too and stares back at you. 

What are you doing? Just walk away. The angel on your shoulder whispers, trying to save you from the awkwardness of this situation. 

No. Confront her. Tell her what you saw.

You were never one to let the devil win. You were always a good, obedient girl. Always listening to the things the good ones whispered to you. Always doing what you were supposed to do. Always being kind and sweet to everyone around you. Always doing the right thing. 

Maybe that is where you went wrong, by doing the apparent right things. 

But you never did what you wanted to do. 

So you let the devil for once – or maybe the devil is actually the angel and the angel that has been whispering all these discouraging words to you, is actually the devil in disguise,  waiting for you to fail, changing your mind about the things that you want.

“Can I help you?” Nancy asks slowly.

You notice that her hair is shorter than it used to be, a few of her curls fall from the clip that is holding her hair together. 

“No,” you shake your head. 

She furrows her brows when you make your way over to her. 

“But there’s something that I wanted to talk to you about.” 

“You wanted to talk to me?” She asks, pointing between the two of you. 

Surprised that you want to talk to her now. 

You nod. 

Nancy can’t help but feel nervous. Despite her dislike for you, she is aware of her wrongs. You have every right to be angry at her – if you are angry at her. 

“I saw you with Jonathan.” 

She tilts her head, eyes straying from you. She looks confused. 

“What?” 

You cross your arms over your chest, the bracelet around your wrist slides down a little. 

“I saw you kissing him.”

“So?” 

“So?” 

Now you feel the anger rushing through you. 

Does she not feel ashamed? 

You scoff, shaking your head in disbelief. 

“I should be the last person to care about this but I still care about him,” you start as you stare into her confused eyes, “what are you doing is disgusting.”

Nancy begins to understand a little but a part of her still leaves her with a big question mark. 

“I shouldn’t be defending him but I know that he is a good person, despite everything,” you murmur the last part with an eye roll, “and I know that he is good to you.” 

Nancy straightens her back, she pushes the book off of her lap and holds her hands up, “okay, uh I’m a little confused.”

“Oh, you’re confused?” You mumble, trying to keep your voice down, “you’re confused about the fact that you are cheating – openly?” 

Technically, you are not wrong. She did cheat but not anymore. 

“I’m not cheating,” she mumbles, “we’re not together anymore.”

Silence fills the space between the two of you. The only sound you both hear is the thunder and the rain outside before you speak up after a long pause. 

“What?” You ask and Nancy realizes that you don’t know. 

How do you not know about the break up? 

How do you not know that he left her? 

She stands up and crosses her arms over her chest, mimicking your pose. 

“Steve broke up with me.” 

You are stunned. These news are something you did not expect. 

“A few weeks ago, actually,” she explains, “when he came back from you.”

Oh. 

He broke up with her, the night before your birthday, after seeing you. 

“I’m not cheating on Steve. Jonathan and I, we’re together.” 

So, the rumors were true, after all. 

They broke up – he broke up with her. 

“Oh.”

Nancy looks you up and down. There you stand, wide eyed, confused and definitely unaware of the break up that happened so long ago. 

“You didn’t… know?” 

You shake your head and you lean your body against the shelf behind you. 

“No, I-I didn’t know.”

You had almost forgotten about the raging storm when a bolt of lightning strikes through the sky and the lights in the library flicker for a few seconds. 

You draw in a long sharp breath and look down. 

Why didn’t he tell you? You wonder. 

Nancy asks herself the same thing. Why did Steve not tell you about the break up? Why didn’t he call you the way he called her after he broke up with you? 

The two of you stand in front of each other, shocked.

And as Nancy takes a closer look at you, as she sees the slight frown, the look in your eyes, the tension in your shoulders, the hand over your heart. She knows. She knows that there is still something. 

You are still processing the news, she can tell by the way your eyes flicker back and forth as though you are trying to piece something together. 

“Wait so.. you heard the rumors and you didn’t… think they were true?” 

Your hair falls in front of your face when you lift your head, you don’t bother to push it away. 

“I– well, I…I saw you two together a lot, so, it was hard to believe the rumors.. you know?” 

Nancy nods in understanding. 

“I get it… Then, the rumors with Eddie are not true?” 

For a moment, you think about her question before you turn your head to look at her with a frown. 

“The one I’m pregnant? The one where he sacrificed a lamb to get my undying love and devotion? The one where I cheated on Steve? Which one of them all?” 

Nancy’s eyes widen. 

She can’t help but snort at all those rumors. Shaking her head with an amused smile, she looks down with furrowed brows, “trust me, even I know Munson looks scary but probably is a fan of Garfield or something,” she chuckles. 

A smile tugs at your lips. 

“He does have Garfield pajamas.”

She looks at you with a stunned expression before you both burst into giggles. 

Nancy shakes her head again as the smile fades away. 

“And no, not the pregnant one either.. Jesus,” she sighs. Her eyes find your body again, she looks you up and down with a look that you cannot read. 

Suddenly, you feel self conscious again. You feel the urge to wrap your arms around your waist, wanting to hide your body. 

But her words aren’t ones that you expected. 

“If you’re pregnant with a body like that, is the baby like smushed to the very back?” 

Your breath gets caught in your throat. Your eyes widen at her words and you restrain yourself from gasping or holding your hand in front of your mouth or your stomach. 

Nancy had spent so much time feeling jealous of you, of what you had – because at one point, she thought that you had everything. Beauty, popularity, friends and a guy who was hopelessly in love with you. You had it all and when she got a taste of what you had, she wanted it. She wanted him. She painted a false picture of you in her head, to make herself feel better about stealing from you. 

Though, the false picture in her head didn’t stay for long, it started crumbling the moment she walked into the girls bathroom to hear you crying. She knew it was you, the backpack that laid on the ground had a pin of The Cure on the front, one that only you had. 

After that, she began to pay attention to you. 

She saw the way you looked at Steve, weeks, months after he left you. 

She saw the sadness, the heartbreak, the pain in your eyes and the love that never left. 

She saw the way you looked at the other girls and the way you looked at yourself. The way you stayed in the locker room, a little longer than the other girls. 

The way you looked at her and compared yourself to her. 

All because of him. 

“Y-You look amazing is what I’m trying to say,” Nancy says nervously. 

A flush creeps up to your face as you gape at her. 

To hear it from Steve or even Eddie is one thing, to hear it from a girl who bashed on you, who belittled you is a whole other thing. It feels.. good. 

“T-Thank you..”

Nancy clears her throat, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Desperately wanting to kill the awkward tension, she goes back to your previous question.

“No… The one where you and Eddie are dating.” 

It takes you a moment to realize what she means. Your mouth falls open and recognition dawns your face. 

“No, it’s not true either. None of them are,” you brows knit together, “wait, why did you think it was true?”

There’s amusement in her features as she takes in the sight of your confused face. She shrugs, “you’re always clinging to one another, and you guys literally kiss on the cheek! Like, who does that to a friend? And– you sit on his lap! It’s hard not to think you two have something going on!” 

You press your hands together, laughing awkwardly, “uh, well, that’s how best friends interact,” you say these words with a twinge of pain in your chest but you don’t understand it, the reasoning behind the pain is unclear to you. 

“Trust me, that’s not how best friends interact with each other – or look at each other,” she adds quietly. 

“L-Like what?”

She stares at you in amusement, albeit a little bewildered. 

“You’re a little oblivious, aren’t you?” 

“Oblivious to what?” 

She looks away from you with a small smile, glancing out the window, she pretends to be surprised, “oh, it looks like the storm finally stopped!” She points out. 

The storm had indeed stopped, though the one inside of you, has just begun. 

Nancy reaches for the book on the nook. She grabs her bag and turns back to you, “I gotta go home. Jonathan and my mom must be worried.” 

You follow her with your eyes, staring at her desperately. 

She looks over her shoulder after passing by you, “one piece of advice? Pay attention.” 

And with that, Nancy Wheeler leaves you standing in the empty aisle. 

“What?”

next chapter

-

@mysticmunson @taintedcigs @wroteclassicaly @corrodedseraphine @corrodedcorpses @succubusmunson @xxhellfirebunnyxx @trashmouth-richie @take-everything-you-can @sherrylyn628 @nemesis729 @somethingvicked @chrissymjstan

[awryval]

death of an author, reclamation, and you

"We never are what we intend, or invent 'Cause I make little lies and then I pull them apart Think something dark's living down in my heart And if I wanted to die before I got old I should've started some years ago digging that hole"

Brand New. "At the Bottom." Daisy, 2009.

Brand New was among one of my favorite bands in high school, and I still listen to them today. Their music is important to me and shaped a big part of who I am. Their lyrics about being tortured, burnt-out, and choking on the weight of your own self-perceived flaws are relatable! Their compositions ooze with a level of self-hatred that can only be genuine. It's utterly depressing, and I adore it!

That's not not the full story, though. Jesse Lacey, the vocalist of Brand New, is a sexual predator. This informs everything about how the music of Brand New is. It's self-loathing for a very good reason. I love Brand New. I condemn Jesse Lacey. These two statements coexist. I used to be a part of the /r/brandnew subreddit, and when the allegations against Jesse Lacey came out in 2017, many redditors of that sub were quick to claim "death of the author." After all, the band had broken up immediately after the news broke, and they had also cancelled their tours. Currently, the people using that subreddit mostly talk about buying old BN merchandise and discuss what their favorite concert memories were. Jesse Lacey himself confirmed that the allegations against him were true, so there isn't much debate to be had. The subreddit serves as a monument for fans who still enjoy the music, and as a platform to speak about it with like-minded fans.

In my opinion, claiming "death of an author" is a slippery slope. We can't always claim that Miku is the creator of Minecraft. But often, we see that that is the response people have when a creator is outed to be problematic; "I still like the thing So-and-So made, so I will ignore that the creator exists!" The reason that this worked for Miku Minecraft is because, by the time that Notch was publicly making transphobic comments, he did not own Minecraft anymore. The joke is quite literally that he does not own the thing that people like. He sold it to Microsoft, so he doesn't get royalties from it anymore. You can play Minecraft devoid of supporting its original creator. This joke works so well because it is an actual case of the death of an author! That's great and all for Minecraft, but what about other instances? What happens when we claim "death of the creator" erroneously? And why are we so obsessed with this concept anyway?

So like, back to Brand New... they released their last album, Science Fiction, back in August 2017. The allegations came out later that same year. I own all of Brand New's discography physically, including their last release. I bought most of it off eBay when I was 15. I was not supporting them post-allegations. But that leaves me with a lingering question- what do I do with all these CDs that I still very much enjoy the music of? From how I see it, there are two firm camps on this topic:

Camp 1: You know about Lacey's crimes now and his music cannot be separated from his actions. Solution: Throw your CDs away.

Camp 2: It's something you bought without knowledge of Lacey's crimes, so you should enjoy it anyway. Death of an author! Solution: Continue as usual.

I'm not fond of either of these answers. They come off as too polarized for a situation that is the entire Pantone swatch library of grays. "But, how are there any shades of gray when its clear that Jesse Lacey is in the wrong?" I want to provide some counter questions for you to think about:

What about the other people in the band? You might not be directly supporting the sexual predator anymore, but there are other victims here too- effectively his band mates lost their jobs overnight. (Another example would be LOSTPROPHETS)

Is it feasible to destroy each object you own because it was created under problematic circumstances? When or when isn't this the case? Does it apply to your cup of coffee? Does it apply to the clothes you wear? What about any product with palm oil in it? What about the hardware in your computer? If you look into any company, you're going to find some horrific things you don't like about it. The takeaway here is that it isn't beneficial to treat situations like these as black or white. I don't think that destroying my CDs is going to do anything to take away the abuse that Jesse Lacey caused. Nor do I think ignoring the context of his music will do anyone any favors. The music he made is a product of his crimes. To ignore that fact would be disingenuous to why people enjoy his music and why the music exists in the first place. There's another element here, though. I, and many others, are no longer monetarily supporting Jesse Lacey. You can't even officially support the release of Brand New's music anymore as their record label (Procrastinate! Music Traitors) doesn't even seem to have a functioning website anymore? Regardless, I wouldn't want to support his music in a way that supports him, anyway. Yes, I enjoy the music and the themes of it, but I do not want to be directly supporting abuse that happened BECAUSE he was a vocalist in a band. And I can safely do this with CDs that I bought secondhand, right? This is death of the author. So what's the issue?

I believe there is an issue when people claim “death of the author” far too quickly and scramble to reclaim the media for themselves. It’s an increasingly popular trend these days to pluck characters/concepts from an author deemed to be problematic. "I'll save [Character I like] from this shitty piece of media!", they claim. I don't think people realize how multifaceted in effect that is, though. For instance, if the author is actively making money from their creation, you can't truly "reclaim" a character from them. It's more like you're paying homage to them with fanart.

My best on-going example of this would be Floraverse. There are a multitude of reasons why people do not like the author/s of Floraverse, which I will not go into here. To put it simply, though, since its inception in 2013, many artists and writers involved with Flora either left or were kicked out. These artists either directly contributed to the art and worldbuilding of the webcomic, or were heavily influenced by it. To this day, there are many times someone links me to art on Discord and I’ll say “oh I remember that person, they used to be a Flora fanartist!” and the other person is absolutely floored that that artist was ever linked to Floraverse. Anyway… There have been multiple attempts at people trying to reclaim Floraverse from the author, and this never works out. Like, it really doesn’t work out. Any time that someone tries to reclaim Floraverse characters for themselves whilst condemning the author, that person is dogpiled by the Floraverse community. Which is a weird behavior for a CC BY-SA webcomic, but I digress. Here are some highlights:

In 2019, there was a thread dedicated to Redesigning Floraverse that immediately got taken over by Floraverse itself a month later.

An artist got harassed for multiple years (I think it was 2020-2023) for having an oc based on Beleth, a character in Floraverse.

Just 2 months ago, an artist got harassed for drawing fanart of the characters

Historically, reclaiming Floraverse characters from the author hasn't worked out. And I mean.. why would it? It's an actively running "webcomic" (I'll be charitable) and with an active community that supports the author's current works and views with their wallets. It's one thing to enjoy a piece of media with a problematic author and want to reclaim that media for yourself. It is another for this reclamation to actually be effective. Attempts of "reclaiming" Floraverse get written off as fanworks that the community dislikes. You cannot reclaim Floraverse characters as they do not exist in a vacuum. Listening to secondhand Brand New CDs does work in a vacuum; Jesse Lacey's career is dead in the water. The same cannot be said for reclaiming the art of Glitchedpuppet and co. Floraverse characters and stories are not divorced from the abuses they cause. Characters will be used as strawmen to abuse community members, past or present. Or entire works will be up dedicated to making light of your childhood trauma! These characters were made by an abuser, and will be used to abuse. That is a simple fact about Floraverse. Except... in that statement, I'm not even talking about Glitchedpuppet, the current author of Floraverse. I'm talking about Marlcabinet, the previous author of Floraverse. This statement does however, apply to both of them. Hey, wait a minute, that's weird! I've been talking about "death of the author" for this entire post, and I just said that reclaiming Floraverse characters can't work because the way the characters were used to abuse real people doesn't exist in a vacuum. So like, why does this work within the Floraverse webcomic itself? Marl is the abuser of Glip, but Marl is also the author of the majority of early Floraverse. Isn't the story itself, as it currently stands, an act of reclaiming characters used to abuse community members, minors, and any detractors? Then who is to say that those who contributed to Floraverse and were similarly abused are not also allowed this same privilege? Their real-world suffering is what fuels the comic. When I was 13-16, I adored a Floraverse character named Cayenne. His whole deal was that he was an autistic child slave and was horribly abused by everyone around him. Weird character to connect to, but he’s the character that made me figure out I had autism! I drew a LOT of fanart of this character and I even own a (gifted) life-size plush of him. The authors only ever treated him as a joke and it was a joke even within the Floraverse community that I was the only person who actually liked/cared about him. Sometimes I think about reclaiming him for myself. But I also don’t want to get harassed, and I know I could design much better things, and write better things. Conversely, I also think about how this is the exact character that made me get into contact with Marl when I was 16. It’s a heavy weight to carry knowing that this exact character was the reason I was almost in the clutches of a child predator. Glip personally deferred me to him. Reclaiming Cayenne would hold emotional value for me as a reminder of my triumph over a predator. Would it be wrong for me to reclaim an abused child character from a comic that abused me and many others as children? I've no clue. And I don't think anyone can answer that. I've waffled on it for ~2 years now. Reclaiming Cayenne would give attention to an individual that profits off abusing others, myself included. I'd say that reclaiming Floraverse characters wouldn't be a case of "death of the author", but the original creator of them was a child predator that's no longer on the internet. Floraverse is already practicing death of an author, and it is a shell of its former self. That being said, it is not a story that only has one author. Its other authors are still active, and these authors include every person that it has abused in its wake. After all, it's a comic that relies on you to know about its dramas with and traumas of real people. Tell me: Does a death of the author matter when its being written about you?

[writingsfromhome]

School Photos

A/N: just a quick fluff one-shot to get me back online. happy August and fellow Leo season.

————————————————

“Please!” He begs for the umpteenth time. “Just one picture! I just wanna see one!”

“No! Mum look at me, all albums will be burned if you show anything.”

My family chuckles at my persistence but I was serious. Bringing home my uni boyfriend was going good so far. The only thing I had to avoid was him seeing pictures of me as a child.

“She had braces, even had to wear the headgear sometimes.” My brother teases.

“Shut up!” I glare.

“Yeah and she was obsessed with dolphins so anything she wore had them. And if they didn’t—mom didn’t she have these pictures you ironed on for her.”

“Oh!” Mom gasps. “I remember! The patches, the dolphin patches she bought from that one store um-“

“Remember when she wanted a mole so bad like Aunt Jess that she drew one on.”

“No way, I need to see the proof.” Harry grins, taking in my humiliation like a chilled glass of wine.

“She did it the whole summer until I told her it looked like shit on her face.” My brother says. “It was a kindness now that she looks back right yn?”

“Oh aren’t you Mother Teressa.” I mock. I didn’t want Harry to see me like this either—bothered and acting childish with my brothers but I had to pick and choose my battles here.

“Ok lay off her now boys, let us enjoy the pie your mum made.” My dad swoops to my rescue and I give him an appreciative smile.

“Daddy’s girl.” My brother mutters. Mom scolds him but she’s biting back a laugh. Ugh my family was infuriating.

Since we’d arrived late, right before dinner, Harry hadn’t seen my childhood bedroom so once we’re done around the table we head upstairs.

In between dinner and dessert I’d rushed up with an excuse for the loo and made sure to hide any evidence of my face between the ages of 5-16 in my room.

Now, I give Harry a tour of my childhood bedroom.

“I can imagine you sitting here sketching,” Harry brushes his hand along the oak desk dad had built for me in year 4 and has sat against the window since.

So much of my history lived in all these objects. I was happy that Harry could see it all laid out here, know the past parts of me he couldn’t exactly meet.

Not that he needed to see physical copies of all my past parts.

“And this is my shrine to Jesse McCartney.” I open the top drawer meant for pencils and small items but instead a poster of his face was glued down and tiny trinkets laid around including the ticket from the I went to one of his performances.

“So this is your man on the side. Keeping him tucked away at home hm?” Harry tugs the drawer more to reveal all of my teenage crazy.

“I was obsessed. He’s still a very attractive man.”

“That’s weird.”

“What? That he’s attractive?”

“No, he looks nothing like me.”

“Why would he-“ I roll my eyes when I realize what he’s getting at. “Well you should be flattered you don’t look like my childhood celeb crush. That’d be creepy.”

“I think this is a little creepy.” Harry crosses his arms and leans against the table. I take him in where he stands; he felt so much bigger than my childhood bedroom.

“It’s what teenage girls do. Ask your sister I’m sure she had one of these too.”

“So you’re okay showing me this,” Harry tugs my hand. “But not any pictures of you-“

“No. That’s not happening.”

“I promise I’ll still love you.”

“They’re just embarrassing!” I whine. “I always had a phase I was going through. I don’t want you to see any of them.”

“Why?” He cups my face. “It makes you interesting! I showed you the phase where I spiked my hair every day and thought I was in a boy band.”

“Your hair didn’t even spike,” I laugh into his chest, remembering the photo I had taken a copy of with my phone. His hair had looked like he woken up and taken a chainsaw to it.

“See you’re allowed to laugh at me!”

“Nooo,” I wrap my arms around his waist. “No photos. Now subject change: we’re meeting all my friends tomorrow so what do you want to do today?”

“I can crash.” Harry says. He brushes my hair back and gives my head a kiss. “Driving for 4 hours was more tiring than I thought.”

“Okay,” I was fine with cuddling and going to bed even though it was only 9. As long as I was with Harry, everything felt fun. We’d been dating for over a year now and I loved him in a way I never loved boyfriends from the past. I think he was the real deal.

We lie on my small bed and talk until we doze off. The next morning we wake to the smell of breakfast and my parents spoil us with food and laughter.

I give Harry a tour of my hometown before we meet with my friends from school. Everyone and their partners love Harry and I can’t help but beam as he fits seamlessly into the other half of my life.

He catches my eye every now and then and the smile he gives me makes me fall in love with him all over again.

After an evening spent with family at home and another early night, Harry and I head out to go back to uni the following morning.

Goodbyes are long and multiple hugs are involved all around.

As we settle in and head back onto the motorway, Harry points to the sun visor.

“Sun in your eye?”

“No?”

“Why don’t you flip it down?”

“It’s not?” I look him over. Was he okay?

“Just flip it down yeah? In case.”

“Okay?” I slowly flip the visor down and I gasp. “How could you?”

His laughter fills the car as I stare in horror. Tucked into the mirror is a school picture of me, probably Year 6. My braces are full on while I grimace-not even smile-into the camera. I’m wearing a tie-dye dolphin shirt with dolphin clips in my hair. My hair is in plaits except one of them is already fallen out; I’d probably been rough on the playground. It’s all topped off by a silver chunky chain I’d stolen from my brother—thinking it was real silver and would make me look cool.

“It’s my favourite picture of you,” Harry plucks it off and I realize I should have nabbed it while he was laughing. “I don’t think anything can top it really.”

“Harry I beg you to give that back.”

“Nope.” Harry pops the p with joy. He tucks it into his shirt pocket.

“Harry!”

“I love you. Looking at the picture just makes me love you more.” He glances over at me and pats my thigh. “Can you smile like that for me?”

“This is so unfair!” I cross my arms and face the front. “Who betrayed me?!”

“My lips are sealed.” He was having too much fun. I would get my family to crack—dad would probably tell me. Unless it was him.

“I’m gonna go for her for Halloween.” Harry says, trying to get through my wall of silence.

“Fine.” I sit up with an idea and flick through my phone for the picture I’d been keeping. “I’ll go as him.”

I wait for Harry to look over at me and gloat when his face falls.

“You’re not supposed to have a copy of that!”

“Well. We’re even now.”

I plant a sweet kiss on his cheek, feeling better already.

“You’re so lucky I’m driving.”

“You’re lucky or I would have wrestled that photo away from you ages ago.” I say and Harry looks at me skeptically. “I grew up with brothers don’t underestimate me.”

“Fine. Fine. We’re even.” Harry agrees. “And for the record. I love you. And I love her too.”

It’s true that what he says thaws me a little, the little girl in me, but I don’t let it show right now. I just look out the window and mumble a love you too. His hand comes down on my thigh and, still looking out the window, I intertwine our fingers. He could drive me crazy but it was true for me too. As much as I laughed at his photo, I loved him and that little boy too.

“You’re never visiting my parents ever again.” I tell him.

His only response is bringing our hands to his mouth.

I melt in my seat a little.

Whatever.

[skylarsblue]

✦Call of Duty Bio Headcanons✦

(I know they have canon ages and heights and stuff, but listen. It's fiction, and I think I know better(/j). You can disagree, but these are my opinions. Also, obviously, not all of the info has changed.)

✧John Price✧

Age: 42 y.o Height: 6'2" Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: "Sexy-Is-Sexy" (Or Pansexual) Middle Name: Samuel Likes: Whiskey, vintage radios, old westerns, horses, & mint ice cream. Dislikes: Streaming services, cigarettes(ironic), spicy food, dust, & cottage cheese. Birthday: January 1st Zodiac: Capricorn -Trivia- -Allergic to cats and didn't know until he moved out because his mother had like, four. Grew up around them his entire childhood and was honestly devastated when he realized they make him sick cause he loves'em. -He was definitely a fuck boy in high school/college. Not an asshole one, he made his intentions up front and he was overall sweet, but he didn't wanna be tied down. Ironic given how he ended up wanting the exact opposite later on. -Wishes he took better care of his teeth as a kid. They look great now but he has five fillings in his molars and one (now replaced), silver tooth all the way in the back. Phobia: Amenisphobia; The fear of amnesia Neuro...: Neurotypical

✧Kyle "Gaz" Garrick✧

Age: 26 y.o Height: 6'0" Pronouns: He/Him (I heavily support the trans!Gaz HC) Sexuality: Bisexual w/ a male preference Middle Name: Dylin Likes: Hot chocolate, the smell of lavender, coconut, licorice toffee, & nostalgic music. Dislikes: Milk, politics(irony again), Winter, grocery shopping, & spiders. Birthday: September 5th Zodiac: Virgo -Trivia- -Second oldest of four children, the only boy. He's a family man when it comes to his siblings, but not so much when it comes to his parents. Barely present father and a stressed out mother create for a shaky relationship with them. -Cannot cook to save his life. Man lives off of delivery, MREs, and cup noodles. He knows like...four dishes, and most of them are really simple. -Struggles decorating and making outfits cause he likes tons of different aesthetics. Everything from Scene Kid(for his inner teen) to streetwear. His version of housed decor are a bunch of plants. (Fake so they don't die when he's on deployment) Phobia: Arachnophobia; fear of arachnids/spiders. Neuro...: Neurodivergent (Dyslexia)

✧Johnny "Soap" MacTavish✧

Age: 29 y.o Height: 5'8" Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Omnisexual Middle Name: Neil (heh) Likes: Knickknacks, loud music, punk aesthetic, chickens, & football(aka Soccer for us pathetic Americans). Dislikes: Silence, sitting still, vague answers, being told what to do, & big dogs. Birthday: August 12th Zodiac: Leo -Trivia- -Constantly on & off with a caffeine addiction. He'll do really good about just drinking water, then he'll have one energy drink and he's fucked it all up again. -The scar on his chin is from a dog, the scar in his eyebrow is from a fight he got in as a teenager. He got in a lot of trouble as a teen. -Borderline pyromaniac, honestly. Hyperfixated on fire as a kid and now he's really happy to be a bombtech. Bro loves blowing shit up. Phobia: Cynophobia; fear of dogs. Neuro...: Neurodivergent (ADHD, hyperlexia)

✧Simon "Ghost" Riley✧

Age: 36 y.o Height: 6'4" Pronouns: He/It (Using "it" makes him seem more ominous, which he thinks is fun) Sexuality: Gay or Homoflexible, demisexual/demiromantic probably Middle Name: Achilles Likes: Birds, alternative indie music, dark chocolate, Victorian architecture, & murder mystery books. Dislikes: Snakes, graveyards, the dark(when it's completely pitch black), 99% of physical touch, & fluorescent lights. Birthday: December 30th Zodiac: Capricorn -Trivia- -He'll never admit it but he loves babies. They're super tiny and super cute, and Simon's heart always melts when one's around. Alas, he's also terrified of scaring them or getting attached, so he avoids babies as best he can. Can't have people thinking he's soft. -Makes the best steak in Manchester. Sometimes his seasoning is bland but the meat itself is perfection, you won't find any better. Melts in your mouth every time. It's a steak equivalent of 6 orgasms. It IS an orgasm. He makes great fucking steak. -Isn't fond of pure silence like Soap, but he doesn't often wanna fill it with loud sounds. He has a playlist of softer, more instrumental songs for this. Or he'll listen to nature sounds. He likes quiet, just not silent. Phobia: Taphephobia; the fear of being buried alive. Neuro...: Neurodivergent (Autistic, dyscalculia)

✧Alejandro Vargas✧

Age: 38 y.o Height: 5'11" Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Bisexual (Maybe Poly? He's not sure) Middle Name: N/A Likes: Hot drinks, the smell of roses, his nieces/nephews, physical affection, & cowboy hats. Dislikes: Sweaty palms, tourist-y Americans, caramel sauce, white-lies, & the feeling of glue. Birthday: March 25th Zodiac: Aries -Trivia- -Was with Valeria for awhile, but differences, stress, and Valeria discovering she was pretty gay broke them up. They had some tension, but he wasn't bitter towards her. Until she betrayed them, of course. -Was actually the last of his friend group to lose his virginity. He's a passionate, flirty man, but he's not throwing that kind of trust out willy-nilly. He had a few relationships but didn't reach that point until he was like, 19, about to turn 20. He asked a friend to share the moment with him. ...a close friend. -Cannot function in the cold at all. And his definition of cold is 21 degrees Celsius. (70 Fahrenheit for us Americans) He layers and complains all day, he's got a fuckin' heated blanket. A heated blanket owner in fucking MEXICO. Phobia: Coulrophobia; the fear of clowns Neuro...: Neurotypical

✧Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra✧

Age: 38 y.o Height: 5'9" Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Bisexual (Also maybe poly but he's very hesitant about it) Middle Name: N/A Likes: Ice baths, windchimes, baked sweets(mostly pie), clean handwriting, & naps on the couch. Dislikes: Cutting onions, heavy blankets, confrontation(with like, loved ones. Not on duty, obviously), slow walkers, & reptiles. Birthday: June 20th Zodiac: Gemini -Trivia- -Super good at singing, but he never does, because he's embarrassed. His mother would often encourage him to sing when he was younger at family gatherings, and now he cringes when someone hears him sing and comments on it. -His house is full of fans. Some rooms have more than one. They're running basically all the time, as well as the AC. Sometimes he has to get a family member to go home and turn them off when he's on a long mission. -He knew Alejandro before Alejandro knew him. When they were kids, Rudy was shy and had some problems with his health(exercise induced asthma mostly), so he didn't go out of his way to befriend other kids much. But he was a people watcher, and Alejandro was the most fun to watch. They actually met because one of Alejandro's friends pointed it out and called him creepy, only for Alejandro to defend him. Then they became super close friends! Phobia: Bufonophobia; the fear of toads Neuro...: Neurodivergent (Autistic, echolalia)

✧Valeria Garza✧

Age: 39 y.o Height: 5'7" Pronouns: She/It Sexuality: Sapphic Demiromantic Middle Name: N/A Likes: Expensive paintings, perfect nail-polish, sandalwood incense, lemon water, & flowers. Dislikes: Shaving, back-talk, tiny text on documents or books, chunky rings, & pineapple. Birthday: January 23rd Zodiac: Aquarius -Trivia- -Has a pull to religious imagery in a darker light because of religious trauma. Roman Catholicism is quite common in Mexico, but her parents were really heavy about it. To the point it makes Valeria bitter over it. She has a rocky relationship with God, but finds Mary comforting. Because when she was brought to church, but wanted to hide, she'd hide beside a Mary statue in a corner. -She has an odd sleep schedule. She often only gets four hours of sleep, but she doesn't seem to be tired at any point. In fact, the more sleep she gets, the more lethargic she is that day. -Her first girlfriend was when she was still in the military. A traveling medic from Italy. Unfortunately, the flame came and went thanks to the medic having to leave. Valeria has moved on, but she does mourn their lost time sometimes and has a little dream of meeting her again one day. Though she knows that's not practical. Phobia: Ecclesiophobia; the fear of church Neuro...: Neurotypical

✧Alex Keller✧

Age: 36 y.o Height: 6'1" Pronouns: He/Him Sexuality: Heteroflexible Middle Name: Sebastian (he's embarrassed about this) Likes: Golden retrievers, bad jokes, most seafood, provolone cheese, & hummus. Dislikes: Thanksgiving, the sound of rubbing styrofoam, being told to "do what he wants"(makes him feel aimless), tobacco smell, & overzealousness. (He likes simplicity...excluding his tattoos) Birthday: December 2nd Zodiac: Sagittarius -Trivia- -He doesn't really talk to his family excluding holidays. BUT, he will always keep in contact with his older sister, and his niece by proxy. They're the only two that made him feel wanted in his family. He wasn't abused in his mind, but he wasn't paid attention to much either. He always seemed overshadowed by something/someone, and as he got older, he got tired of feeling like an outcast in his own family. So he slowly drifted away and he goes on the guidance of orders he receives. -Probably born in a small town in a place like Utah. He's got small-town-mid-south manners. But I like to imagine he spent a lot of his time in California too, he seems like he'd enjoy the sun and the ocean. -Picks up languages really quick, somehow. At least, when he's around people that speak it. If he had to learn purely from books, he'd have choppy speech at best. He's fluent in English, Spanish, and Arabic. Also, knows a bit of ASL, but he's still working on that one. Phobia: Lilapsophobia; the fear of hurricanes/tornadoes Neuro...: Neurodivergent (Hyperlexia, SPD)

✧Farah Ahmed Karim✧

Age: 30 y.o Height: 5'5" Pronouns: She/Her Sexuality: Aliquaromantic Demi-Bisexual Middle Name: N/A Likes: Poppies, motorcycles, pretty much any food with chickpeas, super spicy stuff, and the sky at dusk. Dislikes: Overly salty things, riddles, genuine cockiness, the feeling of rust(that includes on spoons...), & long winded responses. Birthday: July 1st Zodiac: Cancer -Trivia- -Keeps her hair long despite the fact it's annoying to deal with sometimes. Purely for sentimental reasons. To her, it represents the growth she's had as a person. A far cry from the buzz-cut she was forced into when under someone else's control. So she refuses to cut it. -She will never use it, and she despises it, but she's semi-fluent in Russian. Being around it for so long made her pick it up. It works well if she needs to translate, but she'll be caught dead before she speaks Russian. -Honestly can't cook for shit. She doesn't know what the hell she's doing in the kitchen and basically relies on MREs or the skills of others. She's not a picky eater though, and she'll always finish what's put in front of her, even if she's not fond of it. Phobia: Agniophobia; fear of choking Neuro...: Neurotypical

✧Konig✧

Age: 28 y.o Height: 6'10" Pronouns: He/They Sexuality: Bisexual Middle Name: Obercht (Bonus)Last Name: Badubrecht Likes: Making bracelets, boxing(watching or doing), soda, heavy metal, & fresh bread. Dislikes: Certain kinds of wool, small cars, low doorframes, having to go to the medic, & the smell of hay. Birthday: March 9th Zodiac: Pisces -Trivia- -Was bullied all through high school for various things. His demeanor, his size, his hair(which was long), his cleft lip scar, etc. It took until he hit the largest growth spurt he ever had in secondary school when people began to stop poking fun, but instead avoid him. He maybe had 2-3 actual friends in his entire life before the military. And even now he mostly has acquaintances, not friends. -Doesn't talk to his mother, she was overbearing and cruel, mostly because Konig looks a lot like his father. He doesn't really talk to his father much because the man is hard to talk to. He's not completely cut off, but they are estranged. Konig's grandma hears from him almost every day, sometimes twice a day. She's a badass in her 90s who has never done him wrong, and he would blow up the entire world if anything happened to her. -Sometimes Konig gets comments that say he's got multiple personalities. (By uneducated people, clearly) Because he seems to switch dramatically between modes depending on time, place, and circumstance. Sometimes he's childish and giggly, cute even. Sometimes he's silent, unreadable, and withdrawn. And on the battlefield he's...inhuman, terrifying, and nothing short of bloodthirsty. Phobia: Equinophobia; the fear of horses. Neuro...: Neurodivergent (autistic)

[amailboxlemur]

Season 3 thoughts about mental health

So the mental health aspect of young royals has always been massive to me because my own brain doesn’t like to function particularly well at times. It’s also clearly what draws Edvin to wille and he portrays it so well. I want to get a few non wille things out of the way first though:

August eating disorder: touched on, but not dived into too deeply. Really interesting how he seems to think it’s completely normal (there’s something great about being hungry, calm the mind etc) but right away Simon is just like “nope, that’s not healthy”

The Queen: this year is really catching up with her. I can’t help but feel there’s something physical going on with her as well, whether it’s caused by stress or made worse by stress. Either way, I love the idea that truly no one is able to “handle” it the pressures of this position.

Ok now Wille:

I want to start with the fact he’s taking steps. He’s really trying. When Sara returns to school he does check in with Simon and does his best to support him. After the rock incident he calls the Royal court immediately to try and get Simon security. After the protest, he acknowledges that he and Simon and different but that he’s learning from Simon.

Right then is I think somewhere he had a big opportunity for growth. When Simon mentions charities he could care about, he mentions mental health or lgbtq+ rights. Both boys immediately focus on lgbtq+ but I think mental health is a better fit for wille at this point. He’s been going to therapy, and he seems at least vaguely aware that it’s anxiety that affects him. Falling in love with Simon is all well and good, but I never got the impression wille was overly concerned with his queer identity. (Neither has the show for that matter. There are queer characters but the main themes have always been class and mental health). But they have their little argument about lgbtq+ advocacy and never really circle back to the mental health thing, which is a shame. Wille ends up picking the path of least resistance and going with “sports and health”.

Wille has always had a temper. We’ve known that from the very first scene where he head butted someone in a club and kicked off this entire chain of events. But this season he really starts to break down with the fight with august. I can’t help but feel like the “pair” counselling isn’t the solution here. Like August deeply violated Wille and I genuinely think that being in therapy with someone abusive isn’t helpful. Being around August so much is actively making Wille’s mental health worse. Is he even still seeing Boris privately?

So that leads us to his meltdown at the end of episode 5, where we see a deeply traumatized Wille letting it all out. He’s been raised by his boss (and Kristina admits that). he’s grieving his brother while grappling with the fact Erik wasn’t perfect (and maybe wouldn’t even like him, have I MENTIONED how much that line BROKE me??). His privacy has been violated, he was outed to the world and put in a therapy situation where it was borderline made to seem like he was equally to blame in their “relationship”. Wille is NOT in a good space mentally and Simon is right to be afraid for and of him. He’s right to hit the pause button.

So where do we go from here? I’ve been an abdication truther and this season further confirms it. What Wille really needs is a break and some hardcore (solo) therapy.

[moralesmilesanhour]

boxes

summary: miles encounters some old memories while cleaning his room. wc: 553 genre: gen, angst-ish a/n: this was partially inspired by/in conversation with that one comic where miles helps out a kid who's being bullied for his fashion (amongst other things), but also by the fact that miles has seemingly pushed aside pursuing art to focus on physics in the film. what other interests could he have possibly left behind?

August marked yet another summer vacation that passed like it had somewhere to be, which meant that Rio Morales made her son clean out his closet again to prepare for the upcoming semester. She made sure to emphasize that she really meant it this time, leaving Miles to begrudgingly peel himself off of the living room couch and get his friend Ganke on the phone to help out. 

It was now evening–around six o’clock–and the sun’s afternoon rays finally began to weaken into soft golden light, filtering through the blinds in strips across the two boys’ faces.

“I have literally never seen you wear these,” Ganke remarked as he held up a pair of beat-up converses. “You keepin’ ‘em?”

Miles made a face at the sneakers, with their unconfident, messy lines and muddy neon colors. He recalled being laughed off of the playground during recess for the ugly zebra pattern that he had spray-painted along the backs of them with stencils. His father clapped him on the back afterwards, praising how “creative” and “ahead of his time”  Miles was. It didn’t comfort him much, but he grinned and thanked his dad so that he’d drop it before dinnertime.

“Nah, we could throw those out. They’re too small for me to wear, anyway.”

“What about this? Cool patterns.” 

Ganke coughed as dust flew off of an old cropped bomber jacket. The oversized sleeves boasted an array of patches and buttons, which Miles recalled shoving into his pocket whenever he snuck over to Uncle Aaron’s. He took the jacket from the other boy and ran a hand over the square pieces of fabric attached haphazardly to the front. Rio had given him the scraps from her sewing kit to mess with back when she still had a bit of free time on her hands to mend clothing. 

The zig-zag stitches were far from clean, with each seam a slightly different distance apart from the next. Miles had only been worried about the colorful fabric staying on for long enough for him to wear it to school.

This soon became a non-issue, seeing as he only did so once. Miles swallowed, not wanting to recall all of the new words he had learned that day. 

He never did get good at sewing.

“Miles. You alright, man?”

The boy’s head snapped up.

“Y-yeah, I’m good. We can toss this one too.”

Ganke noticed Miles averting his eyes and raised an eyebrow.

“You sure you don’t wanna like, give it away or something?”

Miles turned to him and scoffed, “To who?”

 “I dunno,” His friend shrugged. ”I’ve seen people who dress like this that might want it.”

“And do the 'people you’ve seen' in question reside in this area code?”

“...No.”

“Thought so,” Miles said with a teasing grin. 

He gave the jacket one last look, and noticed the tag in the back. It was signed with a bright yellow highlighter in a ten-year-old’s handwriting, before he’d perfected his signature. Did that kid, who had been unworried about whether his sneakers were creased so long as they were colorful, deserve to have all of his hard work thrown away? Just like that?

“Y’know what? I’ll…keep it in a box, or something. With the shoes.”

“Alright, cool.”

And that Miles did, in the same box as his old suit.

[viforbin]

Vinnie Hacker ~ Cowboy Like Me

Warnings: mentions of drugs, swearing (If I missed something pls lmk!!!!)

The start of an ‘unexpected’ romance between y/n and Vinnie.

Chapter 1:

I stared blankly at my reflection on the sliding glass door that was caused by the contrast of the darkness outside and brightness inside.

“I didn’t even realize he was home.” Turning my head to Jack.

He’s not paying attention to me, he’s hunched over leaning on the kitchen island. “Huh?” He then looks up from his phone unknowingly

I look back at the doors, but this time through them. Now focused on the back profile of him. Sitting on a patch of grass behind their pool that overlooked the Los Angeles skyline and the cliff they resided on. I figured he was upset after the whole thing with Alexa, but I didn’t really know what happened, so I can’t say I expected such melodrama.

I grabbed the handle and slid the door open, stepping outside. I closed the door behind me, muffling the 21 savage that was playing in the living room. It was brisk outside, brisk for LA. The last time I was in the city it was August, so I had gotten somewhat used to the heat. Then in September when I returned to New York for school I was hit with 35° at 12 pm. Safe to say, it was a familiar October breeze, one that reminded me of home.

I walked towards the pool and looked in it for a while. Then I made my way to the hot tub and finally to the grass he was seated on. I took a deep breathe and looked out at the view, then down at him.

“Seat taken?” As I went to sit down. We both knew he wasn’t going to avoid my presence.

He was silent, except for a few small shaky inhales. After I adjusted on the cold ground, I placed my hand on his upper back and tried to soothe him. He rubbed his eyes with the bases of his palm, looked at me for a second, then back out at the view.

I started to rub his back and he laughed. I followed with my own laughter because we both know how insufferable I find comforting people to be. He’s an exception every once and a while when he’s really upset though.

“I’m sorry,”

It took him a second to associate himself with the conversation blooming.

“What for?” His words were incomprehensible from his crying. And they stung a little bit.

“I don’t know, that you’re upset?” I didn’t mean for that to sound impatient or insensitive, and I know he wouldn’t have taken it like that. He was one of the only people who could see through whatever tone I accidentally exercised.

“I just thought it was different this time.” His voice was unsteady, and it sounded like he still had some tears in him. He sat up straighter and looked at the sky, forcing my hand off his back. I pulled it back towards myself, and contemplated then caressing his cheek. But I didn’t think it was the time.

“I know,” I looked down at my lap, “it’s gonna be okay dude, you know it is.”

Alexa and Vinnie had been together for no longer than a few weeks. They had hooked up sometimes during the summer, and decided to make it official. But today in the afternoon they got in an argument about his “emotional presence”, not only in their relationship, but their previous friendships… I guess Vinnie hadn’t been super focused on it.

Anyways, later at Sound in Hollywood, he made the faulty mistake of drunkenly barging in on Alexa and another guy in the family restroom doing…well I don’t actually know. I wasn’t there, but from what I’ve observed about intoxicated Vinnie, he probably didn’t take it very lightly.

At 11 pm I got a text from Eamonn saying what happened, and how he had to drag Vinnie, at that point barley sentient, back home. I guess Alexa soon followed and told Vinnie that he should’ve ‘expected it’ and that he ‘has no value’ for her other than his looks. I don’t think Eamonn told the guys though, as no one seems to notice Vinnie’s physical and emotional absence.

“What do you think I did? I swore she liked me! Like actually liked me.”

“She did!”

“She thinks I’m a loser y/n. Everyone does.” His face dropped.

“I don’t,” he didn’t answer me.

“You’re not a loser Vinnie. That’s such a stupid insult like I’ve only ever had the urge to call a politician a loser. You’re just a little nerdy sometimes who cares?”

“I don’t think ‘nerdy’ is any better,” he huffs. “It’s like every time I start to think I’m worth more then what I am on the outside I’m very much proven wrong.”

His words lost emotion now, no more sadness, but not anything positive either.

“Oh come on. You are,”

“Like what? What am I good at what do I do?” He looks at me, allowing eye contact for the first time tonight.

“Don’t do that Vinnie, don’t let other people blur how you view yourself. You know who you are. Don’t be ashamed of that.” I pause

“You’re so smart Vinnie, and you’re compassionate and understanding. I don’t think I know a better listener, or someone more considerate. You make everyone in a room feel welcome, you have a natural confidence that makes everyone want to be around you. And what you think you’re a loser? People love you Vin! Everyone inside does, I do.” I have to look away from him, I don’t like eye contact.

“So what you are a little nerdy,” I let out a giggle to ease the uncertain tension. He still has no answer.

To fill the silence I say, “Yeah you like anime and manga and whatever. And you spend 6 hours a day on your computer. You know every detail of the Star Wars lore and stuff. You love Pokémon and Nintendo and video games…”

“Okay I think we get it, I’m a degenerate.” he sniffs and shuts his eyes tight, freeing some tears left in his waterline.

I continue, “Oh stop, those things make you you. I think they’re quite charming yknow… it’s nice to see how passionate you can be. I don’t know. And hey you are a good looking guy, don’t get me wrong, but as far as I know, that’s like at the bottom of the l reasons you’re fucking awesome…I don’t know, I don’t think you should turn against yourself because some bitch thinks you’re too nerdy.”

I look at him to meet a longing gaze back at me. It’s silent for a little, too silent. Before I can break the awkward silence he leans in to connect our lips. The saltiness on his lips from his tears stun me, and suddenly Vinnie doesn’t appear to me how he did when we first met.

In 2021, I was in Miami visiting my ex boyfriend. I was at a party with some friends and Vinnie was there, apparently he had a boxing match later that week. We didn’t have much of a one on one conversation though, just a mutual introduction and group discussion. He was so shy and focused, so unlike the Vinnie I grew to know.

After that though we didn’t talk for an entire year. Except in June 2022 he followed me on instagram. Then in November of that year he was in New York for a modeling gig. I was at my friend Annabel’s place and she was throwing a housewarming party, she had just moved into this beautiful 800,000 Brownstone in Brooklyn. Obviously I wasn’t going to turn down that invite, despite my rather distaste for parties. That caught up to me through the night though, I ended up traveling to her fire escape on the second floor to roll up and escape from the networking occurring on the first floor. That’s when I saw Vinnie again.

See, you had to go through a bathroom window to get onto the fire escape, so I was also taking up a second bathroom.

He walked in and I was startled, mostly because I thought he was a stranger.

“Oh! I’m sorry I didn’t know anyone was in here.” He went to leave.

“No! No, I’m not using the bathroom. Sorry…I’ll leave.” I scrambled to get my things, so I didn’t further disrupt him.

“No, please it’s alright.” His voice finally clicked, that night in 2021 hit me, and suddenly I wasn’t in such a hurry.

“Vinnie?” God please remember me.

“Hey, oh wow y/n I didn’t even realize!” He put his hands in his back pockets.

“How are you? I thought you lived in LA.”

“I do, I’m here for work and stuff.”

“Oh okay,”

“I was just gonna smoke out here so I’ll go, don’t wanna you know stop you from using the bathroom or whatever.” God why am i so awkward.

“No, no it’s okay! I was coming up here to kind of escape the party anyways haha.” He lets out a laugh.

After a small silence he asks, “I mean, could I join you?”

Truthfully, I didn’t want him to. Not because I don’t like him, I just enjoy being alone. Something made me say yes though. We went out on the fire escape and lit the joint I had rolled before he came in. He was so different physically from the last time I saw him. His whole right arm was blank, and now it’s covered in ink like his left. His hair is longer, and he’s bigger, maybe leaner?

We talked about how life had been the past 2 years and whatnot. I opened up about that ex boyfriend, he told me about his grandmother and his brother. We talked like we had been friends for those two years. After that night he left again for LA, but we stayed in touch. By in touch I mean we called I think every night for 3 months straight, whether it was to play Valorant or just to talk. When we didn’t call every night, we texted every day. And whenever I was in LA, which was now a lot (for reasons totally other than to see him!) we hung out everyday.

Anyways I recall these experiences with a friend. Maybe even a little brother, okay not a little brother. Maybe like a hot family friend. Point is, this image of him was smeared all over my brain during this kiss. I’ve never even considered the idea of Vinnie liking someone like me. So maybe I just suppressed any possible feelings towards him…force of habit?

Coming too, I realized what was happening. I quickly removed myself from the kiss, causing him to inhale with hesitation.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to do that,” he said frantically, opening his eyes wider then before.

“No Vin, it’s okay,” I tried to convince him.

“I’m sorry,” “it’s fine, really!”

He looked at me one more time, and then got up and walked away in less then 5 seconds. In less then 5 seconds he was gone. I watched him enter the house and looked back out at the view. I couldn’t kiss him, he’s a mess! He’s so vulnerable and sad, he only kissed me because I was around and comforting him. That’s why. Holy fuck.

[pollenallergie]

Munson Men headcanons <3

Description: Just some miscellaneous headcanons about my favorite father-son duo <3

Word Count: About 2k

CW: Swearing (I have a potty mouth, that’ll never change), Eddie and Wayne’s frugalness and sense of innovation are heavily inspired by my family’s supernatural ability to avoid spending their money at all costs, hints at the first half of Eddie’s childhood being less than stellar (to put it mildly), brief mention of Eddie’s dad.

A/N: Let me know if you guys would like me to write the origin story of the fantastic, dynamic duo that is Eddie and Wayne Munson!! I have so much lore about their pre-canon lives floating around in my little ole noggin.

The Munson’s have movie night on the first Monday night of every month. As unorthodox as it may be to stay up late watching movies on a school/work night, it’s the only night of the month when Wayne usually doesn’t have to work the night shift, so it’s the only time they have to relax and hang out. <3

Wayne taught Eddie most of the basics of playing guitar, including how to tune his acoustic. However, other than that, Eddie’s pretty much self-taught. He mastered playing the electric guitar all on his own. <3

Wayne, much like Eddie, is shockingly big on nicknames. For example, Wayne’s longest and most enduring nickname for Eddie is Ferret because the boy has more energy than he knows to do with. Eddie’s also insanely good at squeezing into small spaces, which makes that moniker even more apt. Wayne also came up with your nickname, Jitterbug, because you’ve always been a fidgety, nervous nelly. <3

Wayne even has a nickname for your mom; he calls her Apple because she always uses apple-scented shampoo, the same apple-scented shampoo you used to use until you grew up and started acquiring your own hair care products. Also, Wayne calls your mom that because she often wears this cute little sweater with apples knitted all over it during the colder months. <3

Wayne keeps a picture of you and Eddie on his dashboard. It’s of you two leaning up against the brick wall at Hawkins Elementary, smiles beaming at the camera as you’d huddled in close on the morning of your first day of the third grade. On the back of it is written, in Wayne’s oddly elegant handwriting, “Ferret & Jitterbug Go To School - August 1973.” <3

Eddie is the heaviest sleeper on god’s green earth; he always has been. Consequently, when he was much younger, Wayne used to have to physically haul him out of bed in the mornings and dress him himself. Now that Eddie’s older, though, Wayne rings a rusty old cowbell he got at a garage sale to wake his nephew up; it works like a charm. Wayne thinks the cowbell was one of the greatest purchases he ever made. Eddie, on the other hand, has tried (and failed) to sneakily rid the Munson household of that damned bell on many occasions. <3

The first time Wayne caught Eddie smoking weed, when he was thirteen years old, he sprayed him with the hose to put it out. Then Wayne gave his drenched, shivering nephew the sternest, most long-winded lecture of his life. <3

After Eddie got done reading the Crucible in his 9th grade English class, Wayne had to deal with him constantly greeting him with a prim and proper “How now, dear Uncle.” <3

Eddie is one of the greatest gift-givers of all time. He listens more intently than others might initially think, so he always knows the perfect gift for someone. He gets that talent from Wayne, who inherited it from his mom, Eddie’s grandmother, Margaret Munson. <3

Similarly, both Wayne and Eddie get their dramatic flair from Mimi (what Eddie calls his grandma). She used to read Eddie his bedtime stories to him, using different, silly voices for the characters and narrators as she read through the tale, even pausing for dramatic effect when she felt it was necessary to do so. Mimi’s favorite book to read to him, which also happened to be his favorite book when he was little, was Millions of Cats. Eddie still has her copy of the book. The inside cover has the words “property of Eddie and Mimi Munson” inscribed in her pretty handwriting. He stores the treasured book in a memory box under his bed, opting to have it tucked away for safekeeping. As gross as it might be to some, Eddie finds it profoundly comforting that the book still smells like the menthols she used to smoke. <3

Wayne Munson is the DIY king, and Eddie is his protégé. Seriously, these men never hire a repair service because they fix everything themselves. Wayne even went as far as to check out books on basic wiring and electrical work from Hawkins Public Library when their trailer’s circuit breaker was giving them trouble. The Munsons have even been known to craft their own furniture from time to time, like when Wayne built the nightstand next to Eddie’s bed out of the wood that one of his friends had left over after building a new front porch for their house. He even got some dark wood stain to use on it for half off from the local hardware store since the can it was in was so dented that it hardly resembled a cylinder anymore. <3

The Munson men are also pros at shopping secondhand. They can scout out the best deals at garage sales. They can also easily scope out the most extraordinary hidden treasures at even the most cluttered thrift stores. Going shopping with them is a breeze because you know that, no matter what, you’ll get precisely what you need. <3

Wayne makes the most delicious grilled cheese sandwiches. You and Eddie aren’t sure how or why the ones he makes are always so much better than any other grilled cheeses you guys have had before, but they are. <3

Wayne’s never been a big fan of cake, so instead, you and Eddie make him a blackberry cobbler every year for his birthday using his mom’s recipe. Luckily for you both, or, rather, for your wallets, Wayne’s an August baby. Hence, blackberries are in season for his birthday and are, consequently, super fresh and not too expensive. <3

Contrary to how the rest of the town views them, most of the residents at Forest Hills quite like the Munsons, especially the elderly residents. Eddie and Wayne are the kinds of neighbors who will offer to help someone carry in their groceries, who will mow a neighbor’s lawn for free if they’re unable to do so themself, and who will even leave a lovely card in someone’s mailbox on their birthday. The Munsons are good people, and unlike most people in Hawkins, the folks who live at Forest Hills can clearly see that. Although, Eddie’s tendency to drive recklessly and blast metal music at all hours of the night sometimes makes it a little hard for his neighbors to remember just how good of a guy he truly is. <3

Wayne was your most loyal customer when you were in Girl Scouts and had to sell cookies every year. He’d save up money for months ahead of the cookie-selling season. Then, when the time finally came to start going door-to-door with your cookie forms, wearing your adorable little Junior Scout uniform, he would use that money to buy as many boxes as he could afford just to help you out. His favorites are the Tagalongs because, well, in his eyes, peanut butter and chocolate together is an unbeatable combination. <3

While Eddie’s “old man” may not have taught him how to fish, his Uncle Wayne sure did. When Eddie was a kid, back when he was still living with his shitbag of a dad, Wayne used to take him fishing at the lake at least once a week during the summer months to allow his nephew to escape his dad’s torment during summer break. Consequently, Wayne has many, many photos of a young, freckle-faced Eddie holding up the various fish he’d caught while flashing a beaming, toothy grin at the camera. He’s even got a couple of Eddie pressing kisses to some of the tinier fish his nephew caught. He also has one very special picture of 8-year-old Eddie gagging after his lips made contact with the slimy, scaly skin of the fish he was holding. That last picture is one that he’s opted to keep in his wallet; that way, he can look at it and laugh whenever he’s having a hard day. <3

Wayne and Eddie like to tease each other a lot. Granted, it’s only ever friendly fire. For example, Wayne teases Eddie about how loudly he snores at night. Meanwhile, Eddie teases Wayne about the so-called “grandpa noises” he makes when he gets up from the couch, bends over to tie his shoe, picks up something heavy, etc. <3

Wayne doesn’t really know what to do when people start crying around him; he tenses up and gets all awkward, unsure of what to say or do to make things better. But you bet your ass he tries his damnedest to console them, offering kind words, affectionate side-hugs (his full-on hugs are reserved for when his family needs them most, because he’s not really big on hugging), comforting shoulder pats, and when all else fails, a shoulder to cry on, to lean on in your time of need. <3

Wayne deserves a presidential medal of honor for all the times he’s had to take you, your siblings, and Eddie out to the Indiana Dunes for your yearly vacation by himself, which makes up nearly all of the times that you guys have gone to the Dunes, mainly because your mom was hardly ever able to get off work to come along with you all. Being stuck in a car with a bunch of ornery little shits for four hours (two hours there and back) is bad enough. Imagine how draining it is being stuck camping out in the woods with them for an entire week. Not to mention, Wayne almost always got stuck sharing a tent with you and Eddie, the orneriest of the little shits. After every single one of your trips to the Dunes, your mom would let you and Eddie have a week-long sleepover at her place so that Wayne could get some reprieve. However, Wayne almost always had him return home after about three days, as he found that he missed his boy in their time apart more than he missed the blissful silence when Eddie was home. <3

Wayne Munson can and will kick anyone and everyone’s ass at backgammon. He’s also unfairly good at Battleship, much to your and Eddie’s dismay. Also, Wayne’s never been the kind of person to let a kid win simply because they’re a kid; he is ready and willing to best you and Eddie at every board game known to man. Consequently, game nights at your mom’s place (to which Eddie and Wayne are always invited) are an intense affair, to say the least, but damn, are they fun! <3

Finally, Wayne used to sing “Don’t Fence Me In” to Eddie to get him to fall back asleep after a haunting nightmare woke him up, something that happened far too often when he first came into Wayne’s care. </3

[misguidedasgardian]

The Lifeaters (II.1)

I. A Kerfuffle

MASTERLIST

Chapter Summary: You are back!

Pairings: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader (platonic)

Warnings: Cursing, magical objects, Mugglephobia, classism, in this “book” it comes in strong!, a physical altercation, a bit of violence, hehe

Wordcount: 2.8 k

Notes: The second book! it gets more interesting!

Only few things could make Draco Malfoy upset

He had a comfortable life, parents that adored him, and gave him anything he would want, he also had friends, more like… followers… more like and then, he had you

His very best friend.

Hence… the upset part

He didn’t got any news from you all year

You lied to him, according to himself, you didn't come back in August, you didn’t even write, but that wasn’t your fault, he sent many letters, but his eagle-owl came back with his letters unopened. Owls were not allowed to fly internationally, not all of them. 

Hence, he was upset, he couldn’t even care that his father had stopped by the broom shop and ask the owner how much the Nimbus 2000 cost, he didn’t care anymore if you weren’t with him

He did get some messages through though, through floo, and they were short because you were busy with your family, he only knew that today at certain hour you were going to Diagon Alley to buy your things, you just yesterday came back from France

He was frowning, he only managed to distract himself when his father took him to Borgin & Burkes, he thought he could buy you a present there. He knew just how much you liked mystery and curious magical objects

“Touch nothing, Draco”, warned his father as the bell over the door ranged announcing their presence

“I thought you were going to buy me a present”, he said, already bored 

“I said I would buy you a racing broom”, he said shortly

“What’s the good of that if I’m not in the house team?”

“You will be”, he assured him, “trials are normally the second week of classes Draco, don’t fret”

“So? Harry Potter already had a year playing Quidditch, he and his NImbus 2000, gifted to him by a teacher…only because he is famous!”

“‘You have told me this already”, he said with a silent warning on his eyes, “and I would remind you that it is not…prudent… to appear less than fond of Harry Potter, not when most of our kind regard him as the hero who made the Dark Lord disappear… ah, Mr Borgin”, he greeted an old gruffy man that showed up behind the counter 

“‘Mr Malfoy, what a pleasure to see you again”, even Draco could tell he was lying, “and young Master Malfoy too! How may I be of assistance?”

“I’m not buying today, Mr Borgin, I’m selling”, said Mr Malfoy, wanting to be done with the interaction already

“‘Selling?”, Mr Borgin’s was not smiling anymore

“You have heard, of course, that the Ministry is conducting more raids”, said Mr Malfoy, taking a roll of parchment from his inside pocket and unraveling it for Mr Borgin to read. “I have a few items at home that might embarrass me, if the Ministry were to call …”

“The Ministry wouldn’t presume to trouble you, sir, surely?”, asked the man, seemingly outraged

“I have not been visited yet. The name Malfoy still commands a certain respect, yet the Ministry grows ever more meddlesome. There are rumors about a new Muggle Protection Act… no doubt that flea-bitten, Muggle-loving fool Arthur Weasley is behind it… and as you see, certain of these poisons might make it appear…”

“‘I understand, sir, of course”, said Mr Borgin. “Let me see …”

“Can I have that?’ interrupted Draco, pointing at the withered hand on its cushion.

“Ah, the Hand of Glory!”, said Mr Borgin, abandoning Mr Malfoy’s list and scurrying over to Draco. “Insert a candle and it gives light only to the holder! Best friend of thieves and plunderers! Your son has fine taste, sir”.

“I hope my son will amount to more than a thief or a plunderer, Borgin”, said Mr Malfoy coldly and Mr Borgin said quickly, “No offense, sir, I only meant…”

“Though if his school marks don’t pick up…”, said Mr Malfoy, more coldly still, “that may indeed be all he is fit for”

“It’s not my fault,” retorted Draco. “The teachers all have favourites, Hermione Granger…”

“I would have thought you’d be ashamed that a girl from no wizard family beat you in every exam,” snapped Mr Malfoy. “Even (y/n) did better than you!”

“It’s the same all over,” said Mr Borgin, ”Wizard blood is counting for less everywhere”

“Not with me”, said Lucius

“No, sir, with me neither”, said Mr Borgin, with a deep bow.

“In that case, perhaps we can return to my list,” said Mr Malfoy shortly. “I am in something of a hurry, Borgin, I have important business elsewhere today”.

He looked around for a gift for you, eh found a beautiful opal necklace, that had a small sign that read “cursed, this item had taken the life of 18 muggles”, that did interested Draco

“Done,” said Mr Malfoy at the counter. “Come, Draco!”, the exchange was done and both abandoned the store.

But your absence wasn’t the only thing upsetting him, it was the secrecy and anger of his own father. Not directed to him, never him, but…

There have been many raids from the Ministry, and his father was scared they were going to dare to take items that were in his father’s possession, and more so, Lucius was angry, so angry, he started to look for a culprit.

And Draco had heard all about it, all summer.

He couldn’t find any gift for you but… he was relieved when his father finally pulled him out of that creepy store, and they went back to Diagon Alley, next stop was Flourish & Blotts, for his books. Lucius sent him ahead while he went to find something else, Draco left him, because maybe he was going to take himself back to that broom store and…

Draco smiled mischievously entering the bookstore

He growled visibly when he realized he was not the only one looking for this year’s books, everyone was there, and Gilderoy Lockheart was signing books, his own books, books Draco needed to purchase for school.

He found the guy to be a creep and a phony, he was even more angry when Potter himself showed up in the scene Gilderoy grabbed him and they started taking pictures together. He rolled his eyes as he went to the second floor of the store to grab the rest, and then he came back. 

Not even the chance to bother Potter was fun without you by his side, laughing at his jokes. 

He grabbed a book, saw something that you might like, ripped the page and kept it, yeah he shouldn't do that, whatever. 

He was certainly more interested when he heard the squeals of Granger herself, he looked down and spotted the lot of them, Potter, Granger, even the Weasleys, all of them. 

“This is for the daily prophet”, even a photographer was there. Draco pulled out his tongue in disgust when he saw the both of them, Gilderoy and Potter together 

“When young Harry here stepped into Flourish and Blotts today, he only wanted to buy my autobiography… he had no idea that he would shortly be getting much, much more than my book, Magical Me. He and his school fellows will, in fact, be getting the real, magical me. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I have great pleasure and pride in announcing that, this September, I will be taking up the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry!”, Draco did not like this idea at all

But the small crowd there, waiting for him to sign their books, clapped and cheered 

Potter released himself from the small mob and walked towards the exit

“Bet you loved that, didn’t you, Potter?”, he couldn’t help it, he had to say something, “Famous Harry Potter,” said Malfoy. “Can’t even go into a bookshop without making the front page”

“Leave him alone”, muttered the smaller of the Weasleys, Draco looked at her with a smirk

“Potter, you’ve got yourself a girlfriend!” drawled Malfoy. Son the other two members of their little trio showed their faces

“Oh, it’s you, bet you’re surprised to see Harry here, eh?”, he mocked, but Draco was in a mood for a good kerfuffle 

“Not as surprised as I am to see you in a shop, Weasley”, he retorted. “I suppose your parents will go hungry for a month to pay for that lot”, Ron was ready to fight too, walking towards him with that look on his face that meant trouble, but Granger and Potter grabbed onto him

“Draco!”, he turned quickly, to see you entering the store with a big smile on his face, he only smirked

“There you are!”, he said quickly, but there was no time for hugs. You looked behind him and saw the troublesome trio with a little girl that you could only assume was a Weasley, and then right behind them, the Weasley’s father

“Ron!”, he called, “what are you doing? It’s mad in here, let’s go outside”, his eyes traveled to Draco, and then you

“Well, well, well, Arthur Weasley”, right behind you was Lucius himself, he placed himself right behind you, placing one of his hands in Draco’s shoulders, and the other one in yours

“Lucius”, said Mr Weasley coldly

“Busy time at the Ministry, I hear”, said uncle Lucius, you didn't understand what was happening. “All those raids ... I hope they’re paying you overtime?”  

He grabbed a book from inside the cauldron the little girl was holding 

“But judging by the looks of this, obviously not”, he said. “What’s the use of being a disgrace to the name of wizards if they don’t even pay you well for it?’”, you didn’t understand the hostility, but Draco seemed to do so, as he was smirking

“We have a very different idea of what disgraces the name of wizards, Malfoy”, the other man snapped.

“Clearly”, said Mr Malfoy, you didn't know what happened there, since he was behind you you couldn’t know where he was looking at, “The company you keep, Weasley... and I thought your family could sink no lower”

A loud bang distracted you when a cauldron dropped to the floor and then Mr Weasley was lounging for Uncle Lucius, he grabbed him and pushed him against the bookshelf 

“oh Merlin! un cafouillage!”, you murmured

“A what?”, asked Draco

“A Kerfuffle!”, you pointed out outloud, grabbing into Draco, you had never seen uncle Lucius so angry and less of it in a physical fight, but he pushed back Mr Weasley, they grabbed each other and started to bump into shelves, dropping books left and right

“Get him, Dad!”, cheered Fred and George Weasley

The assistant of the store came begging for them to stop, but they wouldn’t listen

“Break it up, gents, break it up!”, he begged

But Hagrid showed up out of nowhere, grabbing both men and separating them easily.

Mr Weasley had a cut lip and uncle Lucius had been hit in the eye by an Encyclopedia of Toadstools. He was still holding that old transfiguration book. He almost threw it at her

“Here, girl take your book, it’s the best your father can give you”, that sounded mean, he released himself from the hold Hagrid had in him, grabbed you and Draco and pushed you out of the bookshop

“Where were you?”, asked Draco as you walked down Diagon Alley

“Sorry, my aunt, she... needed more time to work on a skin potion”, you said softly, “I’m sorry for not coming back”, he twisted his mouth, thinking to prolong the whining, but he thought better of it.

“Extend our gratitude for the invitation to your grandfather”, muttered uncle Lucius, “we will make it next time”

“Yes uncle Lucius”, you whispered with a soft smile

“It was a boring summer”, Draco whispered

“I know, for me it was too a bit”, you answered back, you had no friends in france, and no family of your age

Uncle Lucius was rattled, you could see it, after going to other placed he brought you back to Flourish & Blotts to purchase a large collection of books from Gilderoy Lockheart

You knew who he was, and not because he was a famous wizard, but because… he dated your aunt a couple of years ago, it did not end well, so you were nervous

You liked the sound of the engine of the train, you loved train rides, it was a comfortable sound as Draco spoke what they had done all summer

“Did you even practice?”, he asked

“Yes I did! in my old broom though, we went to see a couple of games, in one, the french minister of magic took a bludger in the head, it was pretty funny, he had to pretend it didn’t hurt because he didn’t want the game to get canceled”, you giggled, “he is a Quiberon fan just like me”, you said cheerfully

“I don’t understand your obsession with that stupid game”, mocked Mathhew, you didn’t know what to say, “it’s stupid, besides, Potter if the star of it”

“Well, last year, despite Potter, we won the cup”, you said dismissively

“It will be fun to knock him off his broom”, mocked Malfoy, “I didn't see him on the platform, maybe he is not coming!”

“Whatever, I don’t want to dance to that halfblood’s pace”, snapped Matthew, that sounded a bit aggressive.

“Half Blood?”, you asked

“Potter’s mother was a mudblood”, he said contemptuously

“So?”, you asked

“That makes him a half-blood”, said Draco, and you looked alternatively between them, what did that have to do with anything?

“And he was raised by muggles”

Yes you knew what a halfblood was but still, when that mattered for anything? Well your family did prefer the company of pure-bloods, but in reality,  maybe it was a coincidence that… all their friends were pure-bloods… or… was it?

You started doubting.

The ride now was a bit uncomfortable, you wanted to talk to Draco, just the two of you, like before, but matthew seemed to be attached at the hip to him, you noticed Lucius buying two sets of books, you thought the other one was for him

But why? But you thought it was rude to ask, at least out loud

This year, since you were not first years, you had to ride a carriage that was pulled by something invisible, so you were going to get there faster. They were right, you didn’t see Potter on the platform, and you didn't see him now either, well… you couldn’t be that lucky, right?

It all looked the same, as no time had passed at all, everything was just like you remembered it, and you were so excited for this new year, it was going to be even better!

You sat on the Slytherin table, wearing your ceremonial hats again. Dumbledore of course gave you a small speech, then he made you stand up and sing the Hogwarts song, which you didn't know

To your horror, Gilderoy Lockheart was the new professor against the dark arts, this was going to be a long semester. Draco didn’t like it either, but Pansy, Milicent, Tracy and Daphne seemed like they loved it.

Like you said, you weren’t that lucky. The very next morning, everyone was talking about how Potter and Weasley arrived last night in a flying car that crashed against the Whomping Willow in the castle’s grounds, and they were sitting at the Gryffindor table.

The first mail arrived at that moment, you thought it was a bit rushed, given it was the first day, but you received a letter from your aunt, like always, wishing you for the best and she even sent you a sweater that you forgot, to warm you up for the fall and coming winter.

You almost jumped out of your seat when you heard a loud voice screaming, Draco was laughing and you noticed that Weasley had gotten a howler from who you could only guess was his mother.

Her voice was still ringing in your ear through the first period.

You had a heavy schedule this year, all classes of last year, but no more flying lessons. You were trading that one for Quidditch, you hoped. Next year were the trials and you couldn’t wait any longer. 

Even though it had only been almost three months, and even though Draco looked the same, you couldn’t help ut felt guilty, something had happened in the summer, he was different, he sounded different, and his hatred for Potter increased if that was even possible

You wished you could have been here, but you had to go back to France, your family had called you back, what happened in the summer? You knew uncle lucius was angry because something happened at work

With you he acted the same, but… 

You had a bad feeling about it 

[stargazer-sims]

The Art of Redemption

(part 2)

previous // next // story index

__________

Despite blatantly violating the posted speed limit, Beth-Anne feels as if the drive between her house and Nikolai’s is taking far too long. She’s terrified of what she might find when she gets there, and her mind is flooded with worst-case scenarios like an unending reel of nightmares playing in her anxious brain. She questions everything; her decision not to stay on the phone with him, the extra minute she’d taken to text Stan, each tiny action or choice she’d made since hearing his voice tonight.

Anything could have happened in the last several minutes. Anything.

You have to calm down, she orders herself. You aren’t going to be of any use to him like this.

The problem is, she isn’t confident that she knows how to calm herself. She’s faced a lot of loss in her life and she’s never coped particularly well with it. Losing someone she loved had nearly sent her over the edge before, and the recollection of that makes the thought of losing Nikolai even more unbearable.

What would Stan tell her to do in these circumstances?

Think of something positive. A good memory. A time when you were hopeful and happy.

Yes, that’s it. She's had many happy, hopeful times over the past ten years. Being able to come back to the figure skating world after believing that part of her life was over, working side-by-side with her friend and former coach, getting to know Nikolai and watching him grow as a person and flourish as an athlete; all of that camaraderie, love and support has sustained her and taught her how to find hope and happiness within herself.

Everything will be okay. It has to be.

She remembers the day she first met Nikolai Pavlenko. It was on a Thursday in late July. School was out for the summer and most skating lessons and group classes were on a pause as well. Only the serious athletes were still at the rink when everybody else was at the park or the beach.

Beth-Anne herself had been spending as much time as possible at the beach. As a physical education teacher at an all-girls private school, she was largely free during July and August, and she preferred to spend the time outdoors, hiking, swimming, puttering around in her garden or working on her tan. Although she still skated at her local community centre for fun and exercise, going to the rink in July wasn't anywhere near the top of her to-do list.

So, when she'd received a call from Stan, asking if she'd come and join him at a practice session for a couple of his students, she was intrigued. Slightly suspicious, naturally, but certainly intrigued.

"Why would you want me to do that?" she asked.

"I have a very unique problem," Stan told her. "I have two potential champions on my hands. Absolutely top-tier talent."

"And?"

"I can't manage them both, can I? I thought you might like to meet them. Maybe pick one."

"Pick one? For what?"

"To coach," Stan said, his tone implying he shouldn't have had to point that out.

"I have a job, Stan."

"This Thursday at ten o'clock. Be there," he said. "Or not. It's up to you. I personally feel like it's a golden opportunity for you, but—"

She hung up on him.

But, she went to the rink that Thursday anyway.

If anyone asked her, she wouldn't have been able to describe her feelings when she stepped through the doors of the arena where she used to train. It was strange, coming back to a place she hadn't been to in over four years. It felt familiar, like coming home, yet at the same time she got the sense things had changed enough that she really couldn't call this her place any more.

She made her way to the rink area, where she found Stan out on the ice with two of his students. Stan was fifty, with a lot more salt in his salt-and-pepper hair than he'd had when Beth-Anne was first introduced to him.

How long ago had that been? Beth-Anne had been seventeen when Stan took her on as a student. Had they really known each other for fourteen years at that point?

That'd make it... twenty-four years to the present day. Nearly a quarter-century. God damn.

She recalls observing Stan and his students for a few minutes before announcing her presence. Stan looked healthy and fit, and she was glad to see he still put his skates on and went out there with the kids instead of coaching from behind the boards.

Both students were teenagers. The girl was clad in a form-fitting turquoise top and black athletic pants, and had a long rust-coloured braid secured on the end with a wide turquoise elastic. She was tall and lanky and moved as if she couldn't wait to unleash her power. The boy had a smudge of a moustache, and out of control hair that Beth-Anne guessed he'd allowed to grow a bit too much to compensate for his lack of success in growing facial hair. He was wearing the ubiquitous close-fitting black athletic pants and a baggy forest green sweatshirt with the tongue-in-cheek slogan 'I heart this shirt' emblazoned on it in bold white lettering.

Beth-Anne almost lost it when the boy called out, "Hey, Uncle Stan! Check out what I learned from a video!"

"Don't you dare—" Stan began.

But it was too late. He was already skating backwards, and with the momentum he'd built up, he leapt off the ice and into a heart-stopping back flip. He landed on his feet, arms spread wide and face alight with a rascal's grin.

The girl let out a whoop. "I knew you could do it, Nik!"

"Nikolai Pavlenko, don't you ever do that again!" Stan yelled.

Both Nikolai and the girl were laughing so hard that they fell to the ice in their mirth. They grabbed each other's hands and did a little cheer.

Beth-Anne didn't need to see Stan's face to tell that he was torn between being exasperated and being entertained. She could see it in his body language. These two were most certainly a handful, but she knew he loved them nevertheless.

Seeing her opportunity, Beth-Anne said, "I guess I'm not interrupting anything important."

Stan turned at the sound of her voice. He gave her a little wave and started skating in her direction. "Beth-Anne, you made it. Great!"

"I wanted to see what all the fuss was about," she said.

"Well, I guess you're getting an eyeful." He glanced over his shoulder quickly as he stepped off the ice to join her. "You two, get up. Practice what we were working on yesterday, and no more dumb shit, please."

"That means you, Nik," said the girl, and her companion rolled on the ice, taken over by another laughing fit.

"Nikolai!" Stan shouted.

"Sorry, coach," said the teenager. He rubbed briskly at his face with his palms and took an audible breath before scrambling to his feet. "Practice what we worked on yesterday. Got it."

Stan sighed. "I'm telling you, Beth. These two are going to be the goddamned end of me."

"I can tell you really care for them," Beth-Anne said.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean they're not a massive pain in my ass," he said. "Especially that one." He jabbed a thumb into the air, pointing behind himself at Nikolai.

"That one," Beth-Anne echoed, gesturing at the young man in the green sweater. "Tell me about him."

"Nikolai Pavlenko," Stan said, pronouncing the name in a way she was certain no non-Slavic language speaker could do. "Seventeen years old. Had his debut in the senior division two years ago, and was honestly pretty unremarkable. But, I think that had more to do with inexperience and poor coaching than lack of talent. He came here from Ontario last year, and placed fourth at Skate Canada with me."

"You saw something his last coach didn't?"

"Obviously," Stan said.

"And the girl? She's the one who came from the UK specifically to train with you, right?"

"Vivienne Holmes. Yeah, she's my girl," he said. "We call her Ginger."

"Because of her hair?"

"No, because she's full of it. Full of ginger, I mean. That kid is like the Energizer Bunny and she's cheeky as hell, especially when she's with Nikolai."

"Sounds like the perfect match to me."

"Only if you think two troublemakers are better than one," Stan scoffed. "Anyway, Ginger's going to be sixteen in a couple of months, and she's having her senior debut this season. I need to separate those two so she can focus. I'll be damned if she flops in her first year at senior level just because she was too busy joking around with her buddy to concentrate on skating."

"So, you didn't actually ask me here to pick one of them, did you?" Beth-Anne said. "You want me to coach Nikolai."

Stan smiled at her. "You saw right through me."

"Wily bastard. How did you know I'd even come?"

"Because you can never say no to me." Stan held up a hand. "Now, shh... just watch. There goes your new boy. He's about to fly."

Beth-Anne found she couldn't take her eyes off Nikolai, momentarily stunned into silence as she watched him perform a flawless quadruple toe loop. His form was excellent and he made the difficult jump look almost effortless.

"Well done, Nikolai! Very nice!" Stan called to him. "Way to impress your new coach!"

Beth-Anne let out the breath she hadn't even realized she'd been holding. "Holy shit, Stan."

"I taught him that," Stan told her, clearly pleased. "It's his first quad, and he just started doing it around the end of May, beginning of June. You should've seen the disaster it was when he first tried it this spring."

"He's only seventeen?"

"Hmm," Stan hummed in affirmation. "He'll be eighteen in December. He's got amazing potential and I can see him going all the way to the top some day, but I really don't think I'm the right coach to get him there."

"Why not?" she asked. "You coached me to gold once."

Stan looked amused. "You practically coached yourself. I was just along for the ride."

"That's not true. You were always—"

"Look," Stan said. "Nikolai is special. He and Ginger both are. They could be world champions, but you know working toward that takes a big commitment of time and effort. With all my other students, I can commit to one or the other of them, not both, and Nikolai is... Well, he's a charmer and he knows how to get what he wants, whether it's good for him or not."

"You mean, he walks all over you."

"With his skates on," Stan said. "Got the metaphorical blade marks on my back to prove it."

Beth-Anne laughed. "So, it's like that. You want to foist your problem child onto me."

"Foist? Is that even a word?"

"Learn fuckin’ English, Stan."

He snorted in his effort not to laugh, but soon turned serious again. "Nikolai needs a firm hand. A coach who's going to love him and let him have fun, but also who's gonna keep him focused and isn't going to put up with his usual shit."

"And you think that person is me?"

"I do."

"Are you forgetting that I've never coached before? You say this kid's got enough potential to possibly be a world champion, and you'd let him risk all that on a green coach?"

"You're not green. You teach P.E. for fuck's sake, and don't you coach volleyball and run the dance club at your school?"

"That's not figure skating. It doesn't count."

"Like hell it doesn't," Stan insisted. "You've got experience working with teenagers, and you sure as hell know about figure skating. Just put the two together, and you'll kick ass as a skating coach. Plus, I saw that article in the paper. The kids love you, and clearly the board of directors of your school does, too. I mean, they don't give out Teacher of the Year awards to just anybody, do they?"

"No, but... I don't know about the whole coaching thing," she said. "I never thought about doing that."

"Tell me something. Do you like being a teacher?"

"Yeah. I like working with the kids, but..."

"I knew there was gonna be a 'but'. Go on."

She sighed. "How the fuck can you possibly know me so well?"

"I'm waiting for the part that comes after the 'but', Beth-Anne," Stan prompted.

"Fine," she said. "I guess you know I still skate."

"Yeah," he said. "I know."

"I wasn't ready to give up competing. I still dream about it."

"Do you?"

"I really do love teaching. I'm proud of the girls when they win a volleyball game too, but it doesn't actually mean anything, you know? Some of those girls might go on to play volleyball at university, but none of them are going to make it their career. It's just something to distract them from math and English and history."

"Right," said Stan. "What I'm hearing is that you're feeling unfulfilled."

"I wouldn't say unfulfilled," she countered. "Just... maybe not as fulfilled as I wish I was."

Stan gazed at her for a second or two. "You want to know what watching your kid win a medal feels like? A kid you've trained with day in and day out, who you literally think of as yours because you see them more than their parents do?" He placed a hand on her shoulder. "You talk about fulfillment and doing something that means something. That's it, right there."

"I don't know..."

"At least meet Nikolai, yeah? Maybe skate with him for a little bit? If he likes you and he agrees to it, then come and join us at practice for the rest of the summer. Call it a trial run to see if it's gonna work for you."

"Okay," she said. "But no promises."

"You don't have to commit to anything right this second," Stan assured her. "Just try it out, and if you do decide it's what you want, I'll be here to help you. I promised you a long time ago that I'd always be there for you, didn't I? You're not gonna be in this alone."

And she hadn't been. Stan had been there every step of the way to help her and give her advice when she needed it, to keep her on track when she got discouraged, and to remind her that she and Nikolai were doing amazing things together. "Your Nikolai is going all the way," he'd say. "I can see it."

My Nikolai, she thinks now. When did that happen?

She'd liked Nikolai from the moment she met him, and it'd only taken her a week to make up her mind to resign from her teaching job and become his coach. She adored his personality and was enchanted by his big blue eyes and devil-may-care grin, but most of all she was inspired by his passion for skating.

Stan hadn't been wrong. Nikolai was a charmer and a troublemaker, and yes he did require an application of verbal discipline from time to time, but he was bright and genuine and had the greatest capacity for love that she'd ever seen in a person of his age, His obvious joy on the ice filled Beth-Anne's heart with a kind of reflected happiness that she hadn't felt in a very long time, and she knew she wanted to keep that sentiment alive, for herself as well as for him.

There must've been a definitive point at which she'd started thinking of him as hers, when she'd ceased to be just his coach and somehow became more like a bonus mother to him. His real mother, Elena, is a good woman and Beth-Anne doesn't doubt that she loves Nikolai and his sister Natalya very much, but as long as Beth-Anne has known Elena and Mikhail Pavlenko, she's always had the impression that they were emotionally unavailable for their kids.

From the start, she knew sweet, sensitive Nikolai required someone who’d try to understand all his feelings without judging him for them. For him, skating was more than just a technical sport. The rink was a canvas on which he painted his innermost thoughts. He poured out his soul onto the ice, and she stood by his side, cherishing him and the artistry of his emotions, hearing the things he couldn’t say with words alone.

In his own way, he'd done the same for her, offering his faith in her and his love for her as priceless gifts. God knows, she'd been desperate for someone to believe in her back then. Without doubt or judgment, Nikolai became that someone. He never saw her as a failure or a has-been. He'd opened up his heart and mind to her and let her guide him toward what would become their shared dream. Together, they found a connection beyond words, where the rink became an almost sacred place.

The first time he won gold in a competition with her as his coach and they placed that medal around his neck, Beth-Anne felt as if they were giving her an award too. She'd never been so proud of another person's accomplishments in her whole life. Even her own lone gold medal from long ago hadn't felt as good as that, and she could hardly wait to thank Stan and tell him he was right.

After the medal ceremony, Nikolai came down from the podium to find her at the edge of the crowd. He was practically bouncing, and the smile on his face could've lit up an entire room. He threw himself into her arms with a jubilant exclamation of, "Beth-Anne, we did it!"

She hugged him tight. "You did it, sweetheart. It was all you."

"No." He shook his head, causing his floppy brown hair to brush against her chin and cheek. "We did it. I couldn't have got here alone. I couldn't do any of it without you, and I'd never want to."

"I'll be with you as long as you want me to be," she said.

He leaned close and whispered. "Forever, okay?"

"Okay," she said, and deep inside she knew she meant it. She never wanted to leave him, not ever. Even when his competing days were over and they'd both moved on to other things, she hoped she could still be his friend, his confidante or mentor. The truth was, he'd saved her. He'd given meaning and purpose to her life when she felt it had none. He brought her back to the sport she loves, and she’ll always be grateful for that. She doesn’t consider it a sacrifice to do whatever she can to repay him for offering her that precious second chance.

After a moment, they let go of each other, and Nikolai took a step back. Then, he did the most extraordinary thing. He lifted the ribbon of his medal from around his own neck and placed it around hers instead.

"For you," he said. "Keep it."

She touched the cool metal disc. "Nik, I can't keep your medal. You earned it."

"You helped me earn it." He offered her that mischievous grin of his. "Besides, I'm going to win lots of them in the future, so I'll have plenty. You should have this one. You know, to keep yours company, because two together are always happier than just one alone."

To this day, she doesn't know if he realized the allusion he'd created. She is happier with him, with Stan, with her two up-and-coming junior skaters Brett and Mariah, and all her non-competitive students from her group classes.

Almost no one is better off alone. That was a lesson she had to learn, and she's thankful the ones who taught it to her were Stanislav Kovac and Nikolai Pavlenko.

She took Nikolai's medal home from that competition, and she hung it on the wall of her den, next to her own gold medal. Over the years, the display has grown with coaching awards, as well as photographs, newspaper clippings and framed magazine articles all featuring the successes of her students. The collection always expands outward, with the two gold medals eternally at the centre.

Wait... this is Nikolai's street!

Her truck's tires shriek as she takes the corner way too fast. Fortunately, the pavement isn't wet and nothing goes awry. She can't believe she’d distracted herself so successfully that she had nearly missed turning in the right place. She swears aloud, exhaling a string of foul language that'd doubtless make a dockyard worker blush.

Nikolai's house is the only one on the street with a light on inside. She parks her truck at the curb and sprints across the yard and up the front steps. Her heart hammers against the inside of her chest.

When she tries the door, she discovers it's unlocked. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she eases it open and steps inside. The air in the house is damp and cold as if there's a window open somewhere, allowing the chill February night to impose itself like an unwanted houseguest.

She doesn't have to look far to find Nikolai. He's sitting on the floor no more than two meters from the doorway, head down, staring at some undiscernible spot on the polished hardwood floor. It seems he'd done exactly as she instructed. He unlocked the door for her, and then did nothing else until she arrived.

She experiences a little pang of heartache as she takes in the situation. Nikolai is wearing the same red gym shorts and loose grey t-shirt he'd been wearing when she'd last seen him in person three days ago, and his overabundance of chocolate brown hair is dishevelled and stringy. His right knee — the injured one — is badly swollen, and she doesn't see his crutches anywhere. She knows his leg hadn't looked that bad the last time she was here, and she wonders what might've happened.

She says his name softly, and he looks up. His face is tear-streaked, and the edges of his eyes are red as if he's been rubbing at them.

"I'm cold," he says.

She shuts the door quickly. A thousand questions tumble through her head, but she rejects them all as either inane or inappropriate. At last, she settles on, "Where's Anya?" Somehow, she stops just short of adding 'What the hell did she do to you?' or 'Why the fuck would she leave you like this?'

Nikolai shakes his head. "I don't know. I... I'm alone."

"Sweetheart, no," Beth-Anne closes the distance between them in two long strides and then drops to the floor beside him. She takes him in her arms, and he instantly collapses against her, weeping. He's shivering. She thinks she should try to get him into warmer clothes, but first she has to make sure he's going to be okay. She strokes his back, just as she'd done a few weeks ago in Taiwan, like she's probably done a hundred other times. "I'm here. It's all right. You're safe, and you're not alone. I said I'd always be here for you, remember? I promise, you never have to be alone."

[theanomily]

Regarding the H.I.V.E. birthday bundle, specifically my less-than-satisfactory contribution to it:

(Under a cut because I estimate this to be about 1000 words).

The shortest way I can say this is "sorry."

In a longer form, I acquknowledge that Wing is a beloved, respected character of the H.I.V.E. series, becoming a favourite of many, and ranking highly in the minds of everyone else. If anyone deserved better treatment in this event, it was undoubtedly him, not to mention the real-life disappointed H.I.V.E. fandom.

I also acquknowledge that this was probably the largest communal event since the release of Bloodline three years ago and that the date on which it was announced was long enough ago to counter any explanation I could possibly give, especially since I, as a minor, have more time to commit to any one project than an adult burdened with full-time employment and more significant responsibilities than I. Yet I shall offer one regardless and leave the perception of my character at the mercy of your own individual judgements. It is as follows:

Some of you might remember me directing a post to an "anon" threatening me in January, which I have since deleted. This is actually not a recent or isolated issue- not even for my blog, although I doubt that anybody remembers her posting so-called "edgy" stuff on it back in like 2019. But if you do, fun fact: it was the same person. This person used to be my friend, then a "girlfriend" and is now something of an enemy. As well as threats, there has been blackmail and cases of physical violence committed against both me and my other friends. The reason I bring this up is because she followed me to the store I worked at sometime mid Feburary and provoked me there too. I was stupid, I shouted at her, and I was rightfully fired as a result. And the reason I mention this at all is because it has been hell finding a new job, eating up the time I had specifically set aside for this project.

Then, the entirety of March I more or less dedicated to finally reading bloodline (I read it twice more after my initial "live react" posts so I could actually get the juice out of it).

On the 23rd of March, my cat died, and to be brutally honest, I spent the entirety of April not doing anything that wasn't complete brainrot (hence the surge in my blog activity 💀).

May brought with it UCAS exams (UCAS points being what you need in the UK to get into university).

June brought the results, one of which was a C in physics, a grade that my school, family, and peers viewed as an unforgivable failure. As such, I had devices as well as other "distractions," including my books, taken away until the end of July so I could focus on resitting everything. Additionally, I was forced to go to school two hours early for extra lessons, given hour long detentions until the end of the academic year and had to have random meetings during my breaks to really rub in how stupid I am (no exaggerations are being made here; my head of year managed to drag calling me the r slur into a forty minute rant on one occassion).

Then, in August, my uncle got into a car accident and requested that myself and my parents fly over into Zimbabwe to help him. Fair enough, but in the time it had taken us to get over there, the man had gone off-grid (as he has a habit of doing) and we still have no clue of his whereabouts.

I promise I will make amends, and the only path I can see heading towards this objective is completing and redoing what you have seen for this project alongside a few other elements I had planned to incorporate into it. To be more specific, I will:

- Finish the birthday bundle.

I'm sure you've noticed that the "playlist" and "prompts for you" categories are missing from my offering. This will be rectified, and I will add these to the original birthday bundle post so it can be completed. I had elected to avoid those categories as I figured that having a few tasks done to a "rushed and painfully mediocre" standard would be better than having a small amount of awful content for each element of the bundle. The reasons why those two categories were chosen to be neglected were that a) no music I know at all aligns with Wing and b) I had not noted that the "prompts for you" was an existing section and only remembered when reading through the example Otto post, meaning I had not left myself enough time to sit with and revisit ideas to see if they really were any good. Additionally, that fanfic is nowhere near finished. I do plan to edit the published chapter and then continue it, and I shall try my best to stick to frequent, regular updates of a higher quality and quantity than I have presented you with thus far.

- Improve what I have given you

I plan to drastically improve my digital art for each "mini" picture that's in my work- you can see that there's a very, very good reason why I kept them all mini. When I'm done, they will be transformed into something that can at least be posted at their full size without risking the health of your eyes.

- Add to what I've given you

I know I've done very few headcanons, so I'll be sure to focus on Wing for future ones that I'll publish on my blog. In all likelihood, the next post of mine will be a much longer list of Wing headcanons. And even if it is not next, it will still hopefully be in the near future.

My initial plan for the "Wing art" was to make a rudimentary physical model of him. I can't promise it'll be of high quality since the last time I did this, I was four years younger, working with better materials, working without keeping it a secret, and crafting the fox emoji rather than an entire person. I also can't see how the colour green, which is what I was assigned, will fit in. But I'll do it anyway.

Something that I played with a bit while waiting for the prompts to be given out was character art. Currently, I have WIPs for Shelby and Laura and have posted a Ms Leon. I want to do something for every character, and Wing will most certainly be included in that, so I promise I'll take extra care to do him justice when I get around to him. Consider it to be like a non-picrew alternative to the cover image.

I also have a physical drawing in the works, though I confess this too shall probably take a while in the interest of refining skills before applying them so I don't waste the one piece of sketch paper I bought.

Once more, I am so extremely sorry for what I have done, and I will ensure that never again shall this height of inadequacy be reached and inflicted onto people who deserve so much better.

Thank you for reading

[sgt-tombstone]

WIP Wednesday

I haven't done much writing this past week because of the start of the semester, but here's a snippet from the very beginning of my Dex fic! As always, this is unbeta'd and unedited, so go easy lmao

CW: mentioned/implied domestic abuse and suicide under the cut but nothing explicit or graphic

Dex had never gotten used to Arkansas summers. He and his sister, Mel, had been born and raised in West Virginia, where the average temperatures were at least ten degrees cooler, and the dry central southern heat never failed to dig under his skin, as if the dust itself were embedded in his very bone marrow. It was one of the first things they both had complained about when they had been adopted at the age of twelve, and in the six years since, their shared hatred of the scorching temperatures had never wavered.

It was 2000 hours, and the thermostat on the dashboard still registered temperatures in the upper 80s. The setting sun did little to quell the heat-induced mirages pooling above the pavement on the horizon, and the air conditioning in his rust bucket pick-up truck whined pitifully.

“Fuck, I’m not made for this heat,” Mel groaned, sticking her sweat-sheened forehead against the vent, her red-brown hair blowing slightly in the breeze, and even though he hated it too, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to yank her chain a bit.

“At least it’s not-“

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled quickly, sitting back up. She had met him at the airport just over two hours earlier, and evidently, she was already sick of his shit. “You spend twelve hours every day running in hundred-degree heat without food or water, with two hundred pounds strapped to your back, we know.”

“Mhm,” he hummed flippantly, because if there was one thing he could reasonably be expected to do, it was antagonize his sister. “Uphill, both ways. This is nothing, really.”

In some ways, it was true. Basic Military Training had been hell; seven-and-a-half weeks of physical training and drills in southern Texan heat, rolling around in the dirt or running for hours on end. On good days, they were allowed to wear their PT gear. On bad days, they were in full fatigues, weighed down by full packs, and carrying fully loaded weapons. Sitting in an—albeit badly—air conditioned truck at sunset was heaven in comparison.

In other ways, though… Both of them carried Irish blood in their veins. They had grown up running through wooded copses and shallow streams, had spent their childhood-hazy days climbing trees to catch glimpses of far-off ridges over the misty Appalachian mountaintops. The relentless, crushing heat of Oklahoma in August was oppressive at best, suffocating at worst. He had grown to love everything else about Oklahoma; he loved the wide expanses of flat fields, he loved the never-ending skies, he loved the deeply embedded culture. He loved the rodeos and cattle and storms and sunsets, but he had absolutely no love for the heat.

He’d rather die than tell Mel that he agreed with her, though. Such was the nature of siblings, he supposed.

“You’re a dick,” she laughed, shaking her head where it was lolled back against the headrest, and Dex glanced at her with a grin. A grin that quickly dropped when his gaze was drawn down to the sleeve of her shirt. It had been properly in place when she’d met him at the airport but the stifling heat and sweat-soaked skin had caused it to ride up, revealing a dark circle of bruises around her bicep, unmistakably in the shape of a hand.

“Where did you get that?” He asked, suddenly deadly serious, his eyes back on the road but all of his attention laser focused on the way Mel tensed beside him. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her tug her sleeve back down, self-consciously turning her entire body away from him.

“Patrick-“

At the mention of the name, Dex growled low in his throat. Patrick had been Mel’s on-again-off-again boyfriend all through high school, and Dex had never liked how possessive he’d been of her. Mel had always accused him of being over-protective, but he’d never been able to help himself. The two of them had only ever had each other; orphaned at the age of eight, they’d clung to each other like life rafts in a storm as they weathered the foster system. It hadn’t been kind to him, but it had been worse for her. When they’d finally gotten to a place where safety wasn’t just a bedtime story to lull themselves into short bouts of fitful sleep, he’d become fiercely protective of it. For himself. For the both of them. If Patrick had graduated from possessiveness to physicality…

“It’s not like that, Dex,” she said, knowing exactly where his mind had gone.

“What’s it like, then, Mel?” He demanded, low and angry, his throat tightening with the force of choked-off words clawing their way up his esophagus, bitter like bile and twice as acidic. “Did he do that?”

“It was an accident, that’s all.”

“He grabbed you hard enough to leave bruises… accidentally,” Dex scoffed, blatant disbelief stealing all of the mirth from his tone and all of the air from his lungs.

“It- He didn’t- Dex, please,” she said, and he wasn’t exactly sure what she was begging for. Understanding, maybe, or for him to let it go completely.

“No, Mel,” he cut her off. “If he-“

“He just gets angry,” she said, and Dex saw red. She must have seen his knuckles whiten around the steering wheel, must’ve heard how carefully he controlled his exhale like he’d been taught in basic training, because she was quick to placate him. “Please, Dex, please, don’t be mad.”

“I’m not-“ He started, but stopped himself, because he wasn’t about to lie to her, at least not so obviously. “Where is he?”

“No-“

“Mel,” he said sharply. He kicked himself internally when she flinched and made a concentrated effort to soften his voice. “Where is he?”

There was a long moment of tense reticence, but Dex had just spent eight weeks enduring the worst hell that the Air Force’s military training instructors could come up with; his sister’s cold shoulder was child’s play in comparison. He simply waited, letting the quiet stretch like a rubber band, until she finally snapped.

“At home,” she said, quietly, and he saw her entire body collapse in on itself, like whatever was between her ribs that had been holding her up had popped, leaving her unbalanced and listing. He wanted to reach out, to cross the unspoken no man’s land that was the truck’s middle bench seat, to pull her against his side and tell her that she’d always be safe with him. That he’d always protect her. He’d always been a man of action, not words, but neither his arm nor his lungs were cooperating, locked in blind anger, and the rest of the drive was spent in strained silence.

Home, for Dex and Mel, was a modest two story, two bedroom house past the edge of town. The driveway was long and winding, but the house could be seen for miles over the featureless plains surrounding it. They had pooled their money and bought it together as soon as they had graduated high school, just days after Dex had enlisted, because he’d wanted a place to come home to that wasn’t their parent’s house. Evidently, they weren’t the only ones living there; in Dex’s absence, Patrick had apparently made himself right at home.

As the truck bounced its way down the pothole-riddled drive, Dex could see lights on inside, glowing yellow through the curtains drawn over the windows, and his heart rate ticked up. The combat drills he’d spent the last two months enduring swirled in his mind; weapons handling, tactical movement, and combat arms training all rushing back with crystal clarity. They pulled up to the front, Dex wrestling the parking brake into submission, and silence descended.

“Dex, don’t-“ Mel tried one more time, but she was cut off by a silhouette drifting past the living room window. The shadow of a man, obviously stumbling in the vague direction of the front door, and Dex’s head snapped up to follow the movement.

“Wait in the truck,” he warned, his voice unrecognizable even to himself. “Whatever you do, don’t come inside.”

He ripped the driver’s side door open and stalked to the bed of the pickup where he had tossed his bag back at the airport. He unzipped the smallest pouch and dug around for his gloves. They were military issued and barely padded, but if he was about to throw a punch, he’d take as much protection as he could get. He turned back to the house and caught sight of Patrick’s shadow moving once again. He’d walked past the front door and into the kitchen; Dex could see the glow of the fridge light spilling out of the open door, faint through the sheer curtains.

He tugged his gloves on as he approached the door, making sure to avoid the squeaky front step. Belatedly, he realized that his house key was on his keyring, still in the ignition, but he didn’t need it; when he tried the front door handle, it twisted easily under his palm, the door easing open on silent hinges. He’d oiled them just before he’d left for BMT, and he was glad of it now.

The entryway was empty when he stepped into it. About halfway down the hallway and hidden behind a painting was Dex’s gun safe, and he wondered if Patrick knew about it. Four silent footsteps brought him face-to-face with the ugly landscape, some god-awful desert in the middle of nowhere, but he didn’t pay much attention to it. He was more concerned with the secret latch behind it, swinging open to reveal-

An empty gun safe. His pistol was gone.

Mindless, irrational anger flooded his system; anger at his sister, anger at Patrick, anger at himself. It spurred him into action, propelling him forward, his feet moving without conscious input, without direction or a plan, just single-minded determination, because Patrick was armed and intoxicated and angry, and Dex was the only thing standing between him and Mel, between Mel and-

He turned the corner into the kitchen and stopped short, eyes widening at the sight. Patrick was closer than Dex thought he’d be, just a pace away, the pistol loose in his fist, his eyes screwed tightly shut as he aimed the barrel under his own chin. Dex opened his mouth, unsure of what would come out in the sudden rush of pure, visceral fear, and screamed—

“LEEROY JENKINS!”

TSgt Dex “Flatline” Murtagh bolted upright at the jarring, slightly mechanical soundbyte blaring over the base-wide PA system. Sweat stuck thick and cloying to his skin, his damp shirt clinging to his back, and he didn’t know whether to blame the heated nightmare or the nightmarish heat. He sucked in a deep breath, trying to clear his fear-soaked mind, but the air was heavy with dust, and he only succeeded in making himself cough, the dryness scratching against his throat.

“Scramble, scramble, scramble,” the PA system droned, alerting the entire base of the medevac emergency at hand. The mechanical tone was a torrent of cold water over Dex’s mind, washing away the syrupy residue of panic and replacing it with a jolt of eager excitement strong enough to be almost intoxicating.

[rose022]

OH I LOVE AOI THEY’RE SO SILLY

“i also have a bit of the story written of her backstory and how she meets the others if you want that too.” GIVE ME. 🤲

YAYAYAYA IM SO GLAD U ALSO LOVE THEM HOLY HECK WOW

you get a sketch of her from back in February as a reward for your eagerness (also the main reason this took so long cus i couldn't find it)

anyway! this is all copy pasted from when i talked to friends about them (in August 2022?!?!?) idk its not set in stone but this is still gonna be the gist regardless

So Aoi got bullied so bad in her last school that her mom made them move. And this time she was hesitant to tell people that she was a Princess. Y'know how like in 25ji it's Mafuyu's Sekai and everyone else can go in and influence too but it's like hers and she can kick them out (and did), well that's like this. Her Sekai formed from her desire to express her true self. So she would go in and get to be a princess with Miku. But it got lonely. She would also still act like a princess irl, just more hidden and in places where people didn't frequent. The first to find her doing this was Kei, then Hikari, then Yuki. None of them made fun of her like she expected and soon they got the untitled song on their phones too. From then on they would hang out and be nobles together and eventually found out about their love of music together. That's when they formed their band, Tunes de la Lune and their song was no longer untitled. Bam.

The thing is, everyone except Aoi is popular. Hikari is handsome, Kei is rich, and Yuki is just a social butterfly. So they all have people constantly around them and who want their attention. This makes Aoi even more insecure because they have so many other people who want to hangout with them that are so much cooler.

Yet like how Aoi hangs cherishes them for not judging her for being a Princess, they also have their reasons for loving each other's company. Hikari doesn't care about his looks and hates that that's all that people notice about him. Kei is rich and knows everyone only talks to her so they can get things, whether physically having her buy them stuff or having their social standing move up. And Aoi, though she loves hanging out with people, gets so tired of it and doesn't have to keep up her energy anymore.

Also they're poly cus yeah

thabk you for reading all that your reward is a link to a playlist of songs theyd cover? or idk just them songs. also some of the songs had yet to be added when i made it so i moved all ones actually in the game to the bottom

[lieblxng]

@strebcr | Closed Starter

[ In the late days of August is when the temperature finally relaxes and becomes tolerable, but not today. The heavy, summer heat is still lingering in the warm air, making anyone and everyone wish it was September already. In the first week, class schedules were still getting figured out as people scrambled around to make them different or fix any mistakes overlooked. That’s where senior-year student Ethan Dorian ended up changing his physics class to an earth science class because what kind of person would enjoy physics naturally? He was here to survive and get out of here, not to torture himself. This was his final year in this hellhole after all, and his fellow students were stunned to see a completely different Ethan than they did last year. His outfit was more grungy and spiky, his hair cut into an improper mohawk with pink dye splashed everywhere, and as a big “fuck you” to the entire school system, he was able to get tattoos when he hit eighteen. What are they going to do, remove it? Not like it was in the code of conduct since not a lot of students got them. ]

[ For his sophomore and junior years in high school, he tried make himself out to be a completely different person in an attempt to fit it, but no one even batted an eye at his direction. For the last two years. It was an embarrassment, but said embarrassment was eye-opening. Over the summer, Ethan had a revelation: who the hell cares about what others think of him? Why try to deform yourself to fit in with the critics? What really matters is being your wholehearted, authentic self and anyone who gets in the way can suck it. That’s what he was going to do coming back to school: only think of himself, those who actually do matter, and piss off everyone else. And frankly, no one else in this dumbass school mattered.

No one. Absolutely no one… ]

[ During the period of his new science class, the teacher announced that they would get started on some of the first work of the school year–which made everyone in the classroom collectively groan. She assured them that it wouldn’t be that big of a deal; that it would just be a small group project on collecting data on soil samples growing seeds with all kinds of dirt. They groaned anyway. She then noted that the group project was only for two people and that everyone should go around and choose their partners. Almost everyone did so, rising out of their chairs to go flock over to their friends–except two students, who in particular, simply sat in their chairs since they knew no one was interested in choosing them. Seeing this, after everyone got done picking, she went over to one of the students and smiled at them. ]

“Streber,” [ she spoke out, leaning downward a little bit since she was much taller. ] “why don’t I pair you up with Ethan over there?” [ She pointed to the only other person who was still in his seat, who noticed this and just gave a mischievous smirk while he was fiddling with his pen. ]

[somethinginscoutcounty]

Client Notes by Dr. Jenny B. Taylor

July 26, 2024

Patient notes and entries for my newest client Erik Karim-Belyaev. Coming to me for aid in managing and processing grief and potential trauma from going missing early to mid-spring in a local national park and forest on a camping trip with friends. After our evaluation and compatibility meeting last week, and seeing a match, we discussed surface-level information.

Erik explained that he has no true memory of getting lost or any of the days that he and his group were missing, however, he stated that he has occasional nightmares of being in the forest but claims that he never gets any actual information out of them. I saw a possibility that these dreams might be his brain bringing some memories and details back into his awareness but are still, possibly, repressed. I chose not to question any further and will have that be a talking point when Erik becomes more comfortable sharing things with me.

I didn't bring up many things from his synopsis or ask much of him because we were not yet familiar with each other so there was not much to talk about. Most of the session was talking about his support systems post-rescue in which he shared details about his mother, father, and best friend and college roommate, Nathan. Erik talked about how since leaving the hospital all three have been helping him recover mentally, emotionally, and physically both after hospital leave and after the funeral of lost friends. I remarked that it was good that he had such close people being a part of his healing process.

Erik made a remark that his support group was very small, I did mention that any amount of support is good and that I would technically count as a fourth, however, it was when asking if maybe there could be others that he could reach out to he seemed to be caught up in a thought that came to him for a few seconds before he shook his head and said that there weren't any that he could think of.

After a while of back and forth, our time was up and we needed to depart. I'll spend some sessions trying to make a bond with him so that we can work on his trauma more effectively.

August 10, 2024

Another meeting with Erik. We have built up quite a lot of trust over the past few sessions and have begun to talk more about how the trip has affected him since its occurrence.

Erik talked about his friends. He told me that he had known one of them, Michael, since middle school, where he later met his sister, Gracy. He later explained that Gracy would meet Frankie in their high school years and she promptly joined the friend group.

Erik noticeably was choked up when talking about them but when I asked if he wanted to leave it for now he said no, stating "Talking about it... out loud... everything.... it helps. It helps a little.". Erik then went in depth about how exactly he met Michael. "We had this one class. He sat next to me and both of us never listened half the time and I was doodling... something from a thing I liked back then and then Mikey just... he saw what I was drawing and we started talking about it, turns out he liked it too and so we just talked the whole class, then we found out that we both had the same lunch period after that, we talked through that... and then it just... happened. We were just friends. By the time summer came around we just were..." to which Erik interlaced his hands together to gesture that they were very close. I asked about Gracy to which Erik explained that they developed their friendship through her sitting at lunch with him and Michael and so that bond came with his relationship with Michael.

I could tell that talking about his friends with someone in depth helped him get some of the pain from what happened away, I wanted to leave it at that since he seemed in a positive place for now. I gave him some words of encouragement so that he would stay there and maybe be ready for the more difficult and harder conversations the next time I see him.

[gingerbreadmonsters]

you’re the cat’s meow!

or: roses, i suppose, erroneously. 

gn!reader, standard warnings for closeknit and their whole deal, a little mouthful of happily delusional angst for your weekend. a return to the world of motion capture - it’s not strictly necessary that you read that in order to understand this, but it’ll make a lot more sense! big big spoilers for elliott and sunshine’s story, up to and including august 2022 (“A Deal With a Demon”), and all of the warnings associated with that, plus a few extra from me - forced captivity, mental instability/hallucinations, dissociation, sunshine is implied to be physically restrained (specifically in a straitjacket). inspired by ‘all i do is dream of you’ from singin’ in the rain. we’ll get you out of the basement soon, darling - alas, today is not that day. sunshine living the dream for just over 1200 words.

All I do is dream of you, the whole night through,

With the dawn, I still go on, dreaming of you,

You’re every thought, you’re everything - you’re every song I ever sing,

Summer, winter, autumn and spring.

“What have you done to it?”

That’s funny. Voices in the corridor. Who’s that? They’re talking over the music. Turn it up a little, that’s better.

“What have I done? You’re the one who’s been in there every other day!”

“How else a-”

“Shut up and let me fix it. Maybe if you hadn’t broken the goddamn lock, we wouldn’t be having this conversation at all, hmm? Just be grateful I didn’t get one of the other psychokinetics to come and babysit you.”

Babysitting. Elliott used to do that. The couple who lived across from his house when you were at school had two little ones. He said it was fun sometimes, but he didn’t like it when they made pillow forts. He always wanted to go to sleep in them, but he wasn’t allowed to. You made pillow forts together instead, and he fell asleep in those. Then you fell asleep as well, and all of a sudden you were awake together.

You haven’t done that for ages. They took him from you. Not in this room, somewhere else. You woke up there, and he didn’t wake up at all. Where is he? Bring him back. Elliott, Elliott, Elliott. Now, you wake up here, and he wakes up somewhere else. At least, you think you wake up. It’s hard to tell nowadays.

(You couldn’t even move. They’d taken him away, and you hadn’t been able to do a thing to stop it. Disappearing through the door and he’d looked so… small. It hadn’t been right. Elliott had never seemed small before. Larger than life, like he’d stepped right out of the silver screen and into your arms, like the whole world melts away when he stops looking at it.)

(Maybe it’s true, after all. Maybe the world really does crumble away when he’s not there, and this is what it’s like to fall. You’ve never known what the world was like without Elliott. The golden snatches of his time, the sweet spotlight of his affection - now, you’re swept away in the scene change, and all is silent in the pitch-black of the wings. When’s your cue again?)

It’s not so bad. It’s surprisingly nice, don’t you think? Somebody comes to give you food and water, every single day, twice a day, and you don’t even have to eat it yourself. They help you. That’s very kind of them. Even though you sometimes wish you could walk around a bit more, you don’t really feel like it, so it’s not a big deal. Walking around is very tiring, don’t you think? Lots of things are very tiring, now. Were you always so sleepy all the time? The floor is cold and very hard, but this jacket is cuddly and soft. Your arms are so nice and warm.

They were even nice enough to give you music.

“You said they’ve been uncooperative?”

“Fucking stubborn, more like. All they do is think about their little boyfriend all day - even their dreamscape’s full of that goddamn idiot. Do you know how many times I’ve had to burn that fucking house in the forest down?”

“I told you, we should have just kept him. Now he’s off doing God knows what and we can’t keep an eye on h-”

“I told you, it’s not worth it. He’s empowered, so it’s almost certain that told someone what he was going to do, and we’d have people asking the Department about him, getting all up in our shit. Scorpius broke his brain. You saw the state of him when they carried him out of here - you think he’s coming back from that? Now he’s not a problem, and I can tell this little meddler whatever tale I like about how they can go and live happily ever after if they play along.”

The song finishes, so you start it again. The dust motes floating through the air are very beautiful. Is there a draft in here? It’s your favourite song. It makes you think of happy things, like school holidays and new socks and cups of tea. In fact, it’s so good that you like to listen to it every day. If you really concentrate, it’s like you can hear Elliott singing along.

(You watched the film together, a long time ago, and he always laughed when they started singing it. Back then, you didn’t know why he thought it was so funny, but you laughed too.)

“Not really working though, is it? They’ve only cracked once, and you fumbled it.”

“Will you shut your fucking mouth about that? It was an emergency!”

“You can’t just drop everything and run off into your dreamscape because your little friend has a nightm-”

The door shakes slightly on its hinges, metal trembling like something just smacked into it from the other side. It’s perfectly in time with the music, so you smile.

If only he were here to listen with you. How long has it been? A little while, you think, but you’re not really sure. Thinking about those sorts of things is very tiring. Thinking about Elliott is much better. Ah, Elliott. He’ll be back soon. That’s what he said. Until then, you just have to wait. Hang on, he said, you can fight him. You fought, just like he said, but it didn’t work. Blake was so strong, and he did things to the world that didn’t make sense. So you didn’t fight. You didn’t want Elliott to get hurt, so you kept him safe instead.

Yes, that’s what you do. You keep him safe. In your mind, you hold him - the sacred image of him, your Elliott, safe forever from whatever could touch him. You keep him safe, all the time, in your head. Protected. You can hold him off. It’s the same as ever. Everything else falls away, metal and zip ties and cotton crumbling down into the abyss, until all that’s left is your Elliott, cradled to your chest until he slips inside. He sings you to sleep. If only there was a window. Your arms are so nice and warm.

“Okay, I think it should work now. Go and do whatever dream shit you do in there.”

Music fills the room. What a lovely song. You could almost dance.

“I’ll be out in a few hours. If I get locked in because of you, I’ll be in your dreams tonight.”

“I look forward to it, I’m sure. Just make sure you don’t fumble it this time.”

The dust motes drifting through the air are very beautiful. You’re going to have a house, one day, that’s just like this. A lock, unlocking. Everything is all floaty and pretty, like a wonderful dream. Distantly, there’s light through the trees. Is it getting hotter? The smell of smoke, the sound of a campfire, and a single chair to sit on. Yes, a wonderful dream. When does Elliott get here?

“Also, can you get them to stop singing? It gives me headaches.”

And were there more than twenty four hours a day,

They’d be spent in sweet content, dreaming away,

The skies are grey, the skies are blue - morning, noon, and night-time too,

All I do, the whole day through, is dream of you.

masterlist

this is an original work by @gingerbreadmonsters - please do not repost or misattribute