#jerry's mum

[tsarisfanfiction]

Going Back

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Angst Characters: Yan, Jerry, Jerry's mother It had been a long time since Yan or Jerry had returned to London, but Jerry's mother was still there, waiting with open arms. TOApril day 23 - Cheesecake and Demons. This was an abstract prompt if ever I saw one, and what I was writing ended up going off the track rather significantly, whoops.

Returning to London felt weird.  Yan hadn’t been there for years, not since they were on the cusp of thirteen and facing their second sudden migration to another country for their own safety, although at least that time they hadn’t been alone.

They weren’t alone this time, either, which was helpful because they’d spent all of a year in England before jetting off to America and Camp Half-Blood, and six years of living separated from most of the mortal world entirely.  True, Jerry also hadn’t really spent much time outside of camp during those six years, either, but unlike Yan, he had the muscle memory and nostalgia of peak time London to fall back on as he led them through streets that were familiar but only vaguely.

Yan was going to have to relearn the quirks of the English transportation system if they were going to spend three years here.  They hadn’t yet settled on which university, exactly, they were going to attend, but they had no intentions of staying in America, and they did have fond memories of their year in London.

Maybe they wouldn’t live in London this time around, though.  Living in a busy city after six years of camp seemed like a bad idea, even without the justified paranoia of monsters lurking.  Britain wasn’t as bad as the Mediterranean for quantity or strength of monsters, but it was still part of Europe, and all of Europe trumped America for monster danger.  Yan wasn’t entirely certain why, but they had theories, and their dad hadn’t disproven or dismissed any of them when they’d brought them up.

This trip was just to visit a few of the universities in person.  They’d done virtual tours, but it wasn’t the same as seeing them in person.

Jerry, unsurprisingly, had jumped on the idea of a trip back to England, and maybe Yan was too used to being accommodating to their younger brother, but they’d had no problems with the insisted-upon side stop he’d proposed.

Maybe Yan was unlikely to see their mother again in person (they’d lost contact with her for a couple of years, until Apollo had made the effort to reconnect them, but time zones between America and Hong Kong weren’t kind, and she had other things to focus on in her life; Yan didn’t think either of them would make the journey to visit the other, although they thought they’d be happy if she proved them wrong), but Jerry had always been close to his mother.  Yan had sat in on many Skype calls, then Facetimes and WhatsApps as technology moved on and camp scrambled to keep up, while Jerry had nattered with his mother for hours on end.

Despite the frequent – weekly, at least – calls, though, Jerry hadn’t seen her in the flesh since the day they’d left for America, and Yan was never going to deny their brother the chance to visit her.  They’d rearranged the trip as best they could, around open days that wouldn’t budge for something as small as one prospective student’s travel plans, and it was doable enough to commute from London that Jerry’s childhood home worked well as a base.

Jerry had been an exhausting bundle of energy all journey, even though by all rights jet lag should have been settling in, and settling in hard.  Gods knew Yan was feeling the effects already.  Maybe Jerry was one of those frustrating people that simply wasn’t affected by it – Yan couldn’t remember if he’d been jetlagged or not when they’d arrived in America, but then again they’d been running for their lives for most of the time between touching down at New York’s airport and finally making it to camp.

There was a reason they hadn’t made the journey between then and now.  Yan still remembered the sight of their gutted satyr guide screaming for them to run and the sheer terror that had pushed their body to speeds far greater than they’d ever thought they could reach.

They jumped off the bus in a familiar neighbourhood, and Jerry didn’t hesitate as he led the way.  His mother hadn’t moved house, she’d assured them for the umpteenth time in their final call before leaving camp, and it was clear from his easy confidence that Jerry remembered the route well.  Yan’s host parents had lived a few roads away, but they hadn’t even tried to contact them to see if they were still there, or if they wanted to see them.

That didn’t matter, anyway.  Yan had never been particularly close to them, not the way Jerry and his mother were still close, despite the physical distance between them for the past six years.

Jerry’s house key still worked, and Yan was a little in awe at how he didn’t even hesitate when he put it in the lock, twisting it to one side and giving the handle an impatient niggle before the tumblers caught and the door swung inwards.

“I’m home, Mum!” he called out, and there was a rush of movement from inside the house, before the woman in question burst into sight, barely faltering before throwing herself around her son in a hug.

“Welcome home, Jerry,” she said into her son’s shoulder – Jerry was taller than her, now, but he was also taller than most of their cabin and several other campers besides, so Yan wasn’t surprised at that, even though they remembered seeing Jerry so small in his mother’s embrace when they’d parted.  Brown eyes, light like her son’s, flickered to look at Yan over Jerry’s shoulder.  “And you, too, Yan!  Make yourself at home, you remember the drill!”

Truthfully, Yan had only actually been to Jerry’s home a scattered handful of times during their last stay in England.  Being the year above him at school had left them with no reason to interact at all, until the monster attack that changed everything, starting with bringing the two of them together.  Still, they slipped off their shoes and nudged them into the corner by the door, and made sure the front door was shut behind them.

Unsurprisingly, Jerry had yet to make a start on getting himself comfortable, too busy embracing his mother, and Yan decided to slip past them to give them some privacy for their reunion.  They let their bag – lightweight, easy to run with, nothing to drop accidentally – fall to the floor next to Jerry’s and padded down the hallway in socked feet until they found their way into the kitchen.

Jerry’s mother had been baking.  That didn’t surprise Yan at all – Jerry had never been silent about his mother’s baking prowess, and there had been flecks of white powder on her cheek when she’d come to greet them.  She was a stress baker, Jerry had said many times, and given her day job, Yan’s younger brother had all but grown up on cakes for the first twelve years of his life.

Yan wasn’t sure if the spread of cakes was a stress response or a British hospitality thing – or a mix of the two, which felt like the safest bet if pressed – but it was magnificent and varied.  Jerry was a glutton for sweet stuff, and had regaled Yan with many stories of his mother’s baking prowess over the years, so Yan didn’t think there was any risk of it going to waste.

But even with Jerry’s bottomless stomach, Yan estimated it would take them several days to consume all of the evidence.

“Take a bite,” Jerry’s mother coached, just about out of sight but certainly close enough to notice their invasion of her kitchen.  “No point standing on ceremony here.  Not in my house, Yan.  And get yourself a drink – there’s squash in the cupboard by the oven.”

“Can I have a bite?” Jerry demanded from behind her.  “Mum.”  He peered further into the kitchen and his eyes widened, highlighting exactly which parent he’d inherited the colour and shape from.  “Mum- is that a cheesecake?”

“Black forest,” she replied proudly, throwing her chest out a little.  “Go ahead kids, I know you love it.”

Jerry certainly needed no convincing, digging in with a cry about how his mother was the best, and Yan wasn’t about to turn down a homemade cheesecake, either.  Camp food was good but it wasn’t this.

They did remember their manners, though, giving her a quiet but heartfelt, “thanks,” before they elbowed Jerry out of the way – the hog would have eaten the whole thing if they hadn’t, a lesson learnt the hard way one time at camp when there had been exactly one cake, and one very hungry Jeremy Allen with no concept of sharing – to liberate their own generous slice.

Jerry’s mother watched them with a soft look on her face.  “Welcome back,” she said again, softly this time, and Yan echoed Jerry’s immediate response with ease.

“It’s good to be back.”

[conanssummerchild]

jerry crying and rick making a face and backing away, he was so real for that 😭😭

[emeraldbabygirl]

I hate it here. Not like tumblr but ya’know. I miss when I was a kid and only thought about how long I had to play with my toys because I was carefree and not of age yet to worry about adult stuff. I want time to just stop. I want it to stop I’m tired of everything I want off this ride and the only way I know how to make it all stop is forbidden. I just want to stay in bed forever and pretend I’m a kid playing with my toys again without a care in the world because I am a kid.

[tw0-facee]

i say this eating pure innocent childhood joy in ice cream form

[galactickle]

You Belong With Me

James Maguire x reader

Summary: “The few weeks James has been with the group, he has somehow become very close with you. Little did the two of you know, you would become even closer than you thought.”

A/N: thank you to @decadenttrashcookiehero for requesting this!! Also FYI: reader is Erin's sister!

Masterlist

The sound of Erin’s complaining pierces your ears as you make your way downstairs to grab some food before school. It’s only the first day back and yet Erin has found more than one way to make the day terrible. First the mess she made in the upstairs bathroom, now this. You sigh, opting to focus on pouring yourself some cereal as opposed to listening to your family bicker. The sound of the tv being turned louder draws your attention, “There’s a bomb on the bridge? How are the kids gonna get to school?” your mum says, rubbing her forehead.

“Their bus can go the long way, relax Mary,” your dad assures.

Aunt Sarah enters the room and the chatter resumes as normal, granting you the peace to return to zoning out as you munch on your breakfast. 

“We better head out,” Erin informs, grabbing her jean jacket and pulling it on. You and Orla clean up your dishes quickly as your Mum begins nagging your twin sister about her jacket. “I’m not a clone, I should be able to express my individuality,” your sister argues, you roll your eyes, not bothering to get involved. “I’m sorry, I’m not wearing me blazer, end of story.”

“Jerry, pass me the wooden spoon,” you have to hold back a laugh as Erin hurries to take her jean jacket off and grabs her blazer, quickly tossing it on, rushing out the door. 

You walk alongside Orla on the way to Dennis’ Wee Shop, the two of you have long been the quietest of the group and often get grouped together. When Erin spots David outside as you’re leaving, you smile to yourself, this outta be good. Your sister walks towards him and begins laughing at nothing, scaring Claire who’s stood back beside you. “No way! Are you serious?” Erin asks no one at all.

“Erin, what are you doin’? Who are you talking to?” Claire exclaims, rushing forward.

This actually draws David’s attention to the two, “Erin, have you got a light?”

“Me? No, I don’t smoke,” Erin responds. 

Beside you, Orla digs in her pocket, fishing out a lighter, “I have one,” she tosses it his way, “I don’t smoke either, I just like meltin stuff.” 

David's head tilts in curiosity as he lights his cigarette, which you actually find kind of cute. Erin promptly ruins anything you felt though, her annoying voice cutting through your thoughts to ask him about his poster for his gig. You nudge Claire, pointing to your watch, she looks at her own, and rushes to pull Erin away, saying you were going to be late. 

“MOTHERFUCKAAAS” Michelle yells from behind you, tossing an arm over your shoulder when she reaches you, “Motherfucker, it’s my new thing, watched this film last night with me dad…” she trails off talking about the plot of the movie, you notice your sister and Claire looking disturbed to your left, and turn your head, almost jumping in surprise at the boy standing over your shoulder. 

“Who owns the fella?” Erin finally asks in a break of Michelle’s rant. 

Michelle looks back at him, then to you, where you’re looking at her with a raised eyebrow. “Me,” she shrugs, “Well c’mon on bullock, are you introducing yourself or what?” She pushes away from you to address the boy. 

You turn to him as he flails his hand in a wave, “Hi, I’m Michelle’s cousin, James,” he practically mumbles, no doubt trying to downplay his very obvious English accent.

“Why is he making that funny noise?” Orla asks Erin, which entices Michelle to go on a rant about the English and his mother. 

You listen for a moment, as Michelle says some awfully crass things about his Mum, following her and Erin as they lead the group to the bus, before you turn to the boy and introduce yourself, “Hi, I’m Y/N, it’s nice to meet you.” 

“Yeah,” James seems speechless, “Yeah, you too,” he smiles gently. 

.·:*¨༺----------------------------------༻¨*:·.

The few weeks James has been with the group, he has somehow become very close with you. The other’s still have yet to warm up to him, but the two of you seem to get along great, you both love Doctor Who and other nerdy shit. He has really helped you come out of your shell, you talk more than ever, but mostly to him. And in turn, you have made James feel semi-comfortable in Derry. Little did the two of you know, you would become even closer than you thought. 

Michelle had spontaneously invited your lot to her house. Although apparently, she had negated to tell James about it. 

“Where’s James?” You ask Michelle as the others plop down on the sofa.

“Upstairs probably, little weirdo,” she says the last part under her breath and you roll your eyes as you hurry up the stairs to find him. You had been to Michelle’s house many times so it wasn’t very hard to locate where James would be hiding out. 

Knocking on the guest room door, you call out, “James?”

There's shuffling on the other side of the door, then a weak “Come in,” followed by him clearing his throat and repeating himself.

You open the door to see him sitting on the bed, shoulders slumped. “Is everything okay?” you ask when he doesn’t look up at you. 

He wipes his eyes, sniffling a little, “Yeah, no I’m good,” replies weakly.

You step forward into the room and take a seat next to him, “No you’re not… What’s wrong?” you place a hand on his back comfortingly.

He finally looks up at you through bloodshot eyes, still wet with tears. “I just… still can’t believe my mom would just leave me here, like this, alone.” At the last word he broke out into a sob, leaning forward and into your chest. 

Wrapping your arms around him, you rub his back soothingly, “Hey, it’s okay, you’re not alone… You have me,” you nudge him lightly. He lets out a laugh, but his breathing is still shaky. The two of you sit like that for a while as he calms down. Finally, he lifts his head, looking into your eyes again, “You okay now?” You ask.

“Yeah, thanks,” he practically whispers, distracted by how the afternoon sun casts a halo around your hair and the flecks in your eyes make them even more alluring. You smile softly at him. His eyes are drawn to your lips as you lick them for moisture. “Can I kiss you?” the words tumble out of his mouth before he knows what he’s saying, though he doesn’t regret it, especially when you smile brightly at him. 

“I’d like that,” you agree, leaning into him as he does the same. Heat blooms in your chest when your lips meet, and it lingers as you pull away, grinning wildly at the boy beside you. 

The sound of footsteps stomping up the stairs snaps the two of you out of your daze, both of you scooching further away from each other on the bed to avoid looking suspicious, though the way James continues to look longingly at you doesn’t help your situation. “WANKERS!” Michelle yells as she slams the door open. “Are ya coming down to watch the film or what?”

You look at James but he’s still MIA, so you just nod, hopping up off the bed, “Yeah of course, c’mon James!” and you drag him down the stairs by the elbow. 

.·:*¨༺----------------------------------༻¨*:·.

Hiding that you and James had kissed would have been easy, that is, had you not continued to sneak around together. The other’s never paid you two any attention anyways, so holding hands in between your bodies on the couch, or falling behind them when you’re walking as a group so that he could wrap his arm around you, was pretty safe. But managing to slip away from them to be alone was harder, because you all had done everything together for the past decade or more. 

The only way the two of you had managed to get any time alone together had been sneaking around at school. Which was not an easy task, given you had most of your classes together, but when you didn’t, if you timed things right…

You looked both ways down the hall as you approached the secluded closet. You knock 3 times, and hear the sounds of the door unlocking, and see James peeking his head out,  a big grin spreading on his face when he sees you. His hand reaches out and pulls you in the closet. You let out a giggle and James shushes you by pulling you into a greedy kiss. Your fingers rake through his hair, as his circle your waist, pulling you as close as possible. This isn’t the first time this has occurred, and like clockwork James hands wander upward, pulling up your sweater and shirt. Before and skin is revealed, the doorknob jiggles, a loud sigh coming from the other side. You and James pull away from each other, a panicked look in each of your eyes.

“Oh you’ve got t’be shitting me,” Sister Michael sighs, when she sees the two of you, looking like deer caught in headlights. “C’mon, out wit ya!” she sighs again, ushering the two of you down the hall to her office. 

As you sit in the chairs opposite her desk, you look at each other, tight-lipped smiles on your faces. Sister Michael calls your mum and Michelle’s mum, asking them to come down to the school.

When they arrive, they are shocked to see that it's you and James who have caused quite the fuss, and not Erin and Michelle.

“Thank you for coming down,” Sister Michael sighs as the mothers sit down beside the two of you. “I regret to inform you, but I found these two sneaking around in one of the broom closets. I’m gonna have to suspend them.”

“Sneaking around doing what?” Michelle’s mum asks. 

Sister Michael looks at you? but you quickly avoid her gaze, “They were… kissing.”

“I thought he was gay!” your mum exclaims, more towards Michelle's mum than anyone else.

“Me too! James, why didn't ya tell us you fancied girls?”

“I tried to! No one believed me!” James explains.

“How long are they suspended for?” your mum finally asks, after taking a long look at you. 

Sister Michael ponders for a moment, “2 days.”

“2 days! What am I supposed to do with her for 2 days?” your mum argues. 

“Yeah some of us got to work ya know!” Michelle’s mum agrees. 

“I don’t care what you do with with them, I just don't want to see them back til thursday!” Sister Michael raises her hands as if to say she's said her final piece.

Grumbling, the two mums pull you and James out of the office, where you find the rest of the lot waiting. End of the day must’ve come while you were waiting for your mum. “Well? What’s all this about?” Michelle asks, arms crossed, eyeing you and James. 

“These two were caught kissing in a closet!” your mum exclaims. A chorus of gagging and puking noises sound. 

“Y/N, how could ya?” Claire asks sincerely. You just shrug. 

They're never gonna let you live this down.

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

A Game Of Cat And Mouse

Leona Kingscholar and Che’nya x Fem!Jerry Mouse!Reader 

Note: Reader is Yuu/The magicless Ramshackle Prefect from another world

I have a ton of WIPs that I really want to complete but to help motivate myself to finish them I decided to write this

So Jerry’s personality seems to fluctuate depending on his iteration so I’m just going to tone down his more sadistic tendencies and make him more like the early shorts where he’s more mischievous and acts when provoked instead of going out of his way to ruin Tom’s life for no reason. 

Honestly as a Tom girlie I felt so sorry for Thomas. There were times where that poor cat did not deserve what he went through - even when I was little I would root for him. Though this might just be an oldest child thing since my little sister and mum (who’s the youngest in her family) prefer Jerry.

LEONA KINGSCHOLAR 

Honestly, his first impression of you wasn’t the best. Yeah, you’re a girl and he chugs gallons of respecting women juice for every meal but come on - you’re this tiny little mousegirl from another world who can’t even do magic (not to mention that he’s heard rumours that you don’t even speak that much). You’ll get eaten alive!

Then he met you and all of that went down the drain

The meeting went as it usually does: you stepped on his tail, he angrily confronts you (whilst subtly warning you of the dangers of NRC) but then you just give him this flat, unamused look.

“Hey pussycat,” you deadpan, raising an eyebrow and crossing your arms as you jut your chin up so you level him with a glare, “maybe don’t go leaving your tail lying around everywhere if you don’t want people to step on it.”

Okay, so maybe you weren’t the meek little mouse that he thought you were. Even the predators in his dorm don’t have the guts to talk back to him. Honestly, respect.

Then word gets out that you defeated an overblot and his opinion of you gets more and more favourable.

Long story short, you start dating after his overblot.

And it does cause a few turned heads.

And who can blame them? A lion going out with a mouse. That’s definitely something.

And to the untrained eye, it does sound concerning. But to those who know you (read: have been around you for more than five minutes)? Well, they’re praying for Leona’s sanity because you are nothing more than an agent of chaos.

There was this one time before you and Leona got together where a bunch of Savanaclaw predators were trying to push you, Ace, Deuce and Grim around and without even blinking you just pummelled all of them right then and there. At one point during the curb stomp battle you just pulled a mallet out of nowhere and just started thrashing everyone until they were black and blue. 

Congratulations the entire Savanaclaw dorm is terrified of you

All that training with Big Cousin Muscles really does wonders

NRC have two new rules: 1) don’t even think about going after the nagicless prefect because you will lose and even if you try to use magic she will dodge and it will be your funeral and 2) DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES hurt Ace, Deuce or Grim because that will probably be the last thing you ever do (memories of Jerry completely annihilating Tom after he hurt Nibbles are resurfacing)

One thing he admires about you is your cunning and intelligence and how you’re always a step ahead of everyone no matter what their plans are. Even when you do find yourself in trouble 

Even Rook Hunt has trouble trying to catch you. Don’t worry though, he’s far too fond of ‘petite mademoiselle souris’ to be irked by that.

He does get jealous of how close you are with Ruggie though. Since the hyena is also a greedy little thieving bugger like you, you have found a kindred spirit in him. The two of you bond over raiding the NRC kitchen and making off with as much as you can. And also taking the mickey out of Leona.

 You also get along great with Cheka. He’s noticed that you have a soft spot for children and other animals. The pro is that he gets his nephew off of his back by pawing him off to you (who he knows will make sure that no harm will come to him) the con is that you get along too well and your chaotic natures mixing will probably send him to an early grave - if your mischievous and provoking nature doesn’t already.

One thing he loves to do is tease you over your mouse-like qualities. Yeah, anyone with eyes can tell that you’re nowhere near as innocent as you look but those mouse ears, wide eyes, squeaks and cute little tail are objectively and indisputably adorable. He takes great pleasure in telling you how cute ‘his little mouse’ is, especially when you give such sweet reactions when you're flustered.

Though he does get taken aback by how bold you are. You definitely did that thing Jerry does where he holds mistletoe above his head and made kissing noises at Tom.

Your high pitched laugh makes his heart melt and he definitely uses his rich boy money to buy you all of the expensive cheese you can eat.

CHE’NYA

He loves you so much. Finally, someone he can be chaotic with - you’re a match made in hell.

His interest in you starts when he tries to sneak up on you whilst invisible but you pull one over him and just turn around, look directly into his unseeable eyes and sprAY WATER RIGHT ONTO HIS FACE-WHAT THE HELL?! WHERE DID YOU EVEN GET THAT SPRAY BOTTLE FROM????

At first he was pleasantly surprised before his face broke into a Cheshire Cat grin. He felt cupid’s arrow hit him square in the chest and he just looked at you with heart eyes.

By asking Trey and Cater and hiding in the rose maze, he gathered enough information to decide that you are his future wife

Turns out that your troublemaking antics have you paired with Ace and Floyd for the position of ‘bane of Riddle Rosehearts’ existence’. Mainly because everytime you break a rule you always, without fail, evade punishment by avoiding getting caught - even when you are clearly the culprit

Trey has bribed you with so many cheese based baked goods to stop you from sneaking into Heartslabyul and causing mayhem (you felt sorry for him so you promised him that you’ll only steal from the main kitchen near the cafeteria. That’s not what he meant but he’ll take it)

One day he catches you kidnapping the dorm’s pet dormouse before an unbirthday party so that you ‘can help your fellow mice by freeing them from their subjugation’. He shrugs and nods in understanding before asking you if he should let out the flamingos and hedgehogs from their pens as a distraction. 

And so a beautiful relationship was born as the two of you ran off with a tray of choux pastries and a bunch of angry card soldiers chasing you.

The two of you have a competition over who can sneak into and stay in Heartslabyul the longest without getting caught and you’re currently the winner.

He loves that you’re not scared of anyone and you’re not afraid to stand up to people that are almost quadruple your size. In fact, he’s there cheering you on whenever you fight back or plot your revenge (he does know that he has a whole other school to attend, right?). One time you showed him one of your revenge plans and he even helped you set the traps and everything. Oh the two of you working together has NRC running for the hills.

Like Leona, he does like to tease you but what do you expect? He’s a cat, you’re a mouse - that’s nature. Though he does love the fact that you’re always one step ahead of him whenever he does try to outsmart you. He loves a good puzzle and you certainly keep him on his toes.

[dolcettamagica]

𐙚˙⋆.˚ 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 ch.1

tags: rick sanchez x reader, love triangle, rick being rick, rick being mean af as usual, age gap, it will get dark, angst, double ended - you decide it, some chps will be smut, slow burn, possessive behaviour, obsessive behaviour this chapter: rick sanchez x reader, rick being mean, sfw with some sexual indications word count: 1750

“Listen to me, you bi-bitch. I am not doing this for you, got-got it? I was challenged by someone, and I am not someone who loses and if you spoiled bitch call me an old man again, I’ll make you scream it, understand?”

„What-what the actual fuck is this?!“

The whole Smith family was staring at the most recent weird event in their living room. A girl lying on their floor, alone and unconscious. It was obvious that she wasn’t an alien – judging by her appearance. Summer was focused on her outfit, Beth was checking if she still had a pulse and Jerry was being Jerry (useless).

“Morty – Morty you disgusting little shit! Did you buy a girl from space? Fucking pervert. I’m going to kill you!”, Rick’s voice echoed through the room, spit dripping from his mouth. His grandson instantly denied the accusations vehemently, saying that he is a pervert but not that kind of pervert. Rick was angry, furious even, someone like him – the smartest man alive – didn’t have time for shit like this.

“Um…Dad?”, Beth was holding a piece of paper in her hand instead of her usual glass of red wine, “It’s for you.”

“Wow, Grandpa Rick, maybe you were the one buying some girl like some creep.”

Rick narrowed his eyes at Summer’s remark. As if he would ever need to buy a girl at all. “Shut the fuck up, Summer, before I tell your mum where you hide your sh-shit.” That was enough to shut the redhead up and earn a disapproving look from Beth.

Quickly Rick snatched the note from his daughter’s fingers. A note – something so traditional…weirdly interesting.

Hello Rick C-137, Probably asking yourself why some girl is lying on your floor and why you’re reading a note right now. I’m not going to tell you shit though. Aren’t you the “smartest man” alive? The “rickest Rick”? You’re nothing more than an experiment to me and a dumber version of me anyway. I won’t tell you why she is in your dimension and your universe. I won’t tell you what experiment and what you should or should not achieve. Fuck, I won’t even tell you who she is or where she originated from. I also made sure that you won’t be able to track where she came from and on top of that you will never know who I actually am. Wait until she wakes up or wake her up yourself. I know damn well I piqued your interest, C-137.

He was right. The note did pique his interest, but it also pissed him off. Obviously, it was another Rick – an arrogant motherfucker who challenged Rick. “For f-fuck’s sake. What fucking bullshit is this”, his pale hand dragged down his face before he knelt down, right next to the stranger’s face.

“Wake the fuck u-up, dumb bitch. How can-can you sleep with everyone screaming.”

Dumb Bitch…Those words echoed through your head, jerking you awake. Who was this disrespectful to call you that? You blinked several times, the light from the lamps blinding you.

“O my God, Dad! She’s waking up.”

“Oh geez…I don’t think this is goi-going to end good.”

“I hope she’s cool like a new sister or something, Morty is like so annoying.”

Who was talking? Slowly your eyes adjusted to the new surroundings, and you were met with some old man staring into your soul. His scent was a mixture of alcohol, musk and after-shave. Not a bad smell at all.

“What…Where am I and who the fuck are you, old man?!”, the first thing you did was check your body. Missing limbs? Naked? Bruises? Chained up? No, everything seemed fine yet at the same time nothing was fine.

Your head felt like it was exploding, as if a belt was strapped around it and getting tighter and tighter. The room was unfamiliar just like the people around you. Everyone was screaming. Strangers. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears. Did they drug me? Your mouth was dry, as if you haven’t drunk any water in days. Did they kidnap me? Thousands of thoughts flooded your brain, and no answer was in sight. The room shrank and shrank and shrank. Why is everyone yelling? Who are these people? Where am I? I can’t breathe! I can’t- 

Rick injected a needle into your neck, pushing a milky liquid into your system. You were having a panic-attack, and he didn’t have the nerves to deal with anymore shit thrown his way. Almost instantly the girl in front of his feet stopped shaking, your breath calmed down as well as your excessive sweating. Meanwhile Rick took a long look at you – you weren’t dirty or anything, the opposite in fact. Your hair was clean and shining while your clothes were spotless and on top of that you smelled phenomenal. A rich vanilla with an undertone of cherry, sweet and sultry. 

“Wh-What did you in-inject her with, Rick?”

“Relax, Morty”, Rick rolled his eyes, “Just didn’t – didn’t want her to lose her shit. Give her a minute, we’ll be able to talk to her then.” Only Rick and the grandkids were left with you now. Beth had to go to work and Jerry was simply overstimulated, not being able to comprehend anything that happened in front of his eyes.

You took a deep breath and sat up; your eyes never left the tall, skinny frame of the older man. “Who are you guys…?”, your voice was timid, but your stare was stern.

“Rick, Morty, Summer. Y-You’re at our house. Don’t ask us why, you were probably tele-teleported here from someone who looks like me. We don’t know shit about you either, dumbass. Do we look like some human-traffickers to you? Another fucking dumbass.”

Suddenly it clicked – Rick Sanchez. You’ve seen his face all over the news again and again. Some mad scientist who was known for teleportation, universes and interdimensional traveling. And he was a fucking asshole. Morty and Summer were his grandkids. At least I know who they are.

“Now, tell me who you are”, Rick reached out and cupped your chin with his calloused fingers. His fingertips felt rough against your soft skin, you felt warmth creep up to your cheeks and spread across your face. With a hiss you slapped his hand away.

“My name is y/n. I’m 21 years old and a psych major at college. I will also be known as the girl who castrated you if you touch me again, old man.”

The last part earned a chuckle from Morty and Summer “Oh, Grandpa Rick got burned! I love you already, girl!” Their joy was short-lived though. Rick yelled at both of them, insulting them every way possible, demanding them to leave the fucking room before he feeds them to his alien-prisoners. Both complied to his command.

“F-fucking listen to me you wannabe mean girl bi-bitch. Some other Rick left a note-note for me, talking about some dumb ass experiment. What happened before you ended up here? Do you even know where you live or you wanna share a bed with this o-old man?”

“I live in….huh…Where do I live? I remember who I am but not a single thing about a family or a living space”, no matter how hard you tried you didn’t actually remember anything about your own life, “The last I recall before waking up is someone saying, “Last Chance, Sweetheart” and that someone sounded exactly like you.”

“For fuck-fuck’s sake! I’m going crazy! I’m going to kill that motherfucking R-Rick!”

Two hours. Two hours passed and Rick tried everything to at least receive a single type of information, just anything. Nothing. Nothing worked. He tried to trace you back to your original universe – apparently you didn’t belong to any. He tried to find other versions of you – a big red error appeared. He couldn’t even extract past memories from your brain. Literally nothing has worked. He failed. Rick Sanchez, the smartest man on earth, failed.

“You know, maybe some memories will come back to me after some time. You don’t have to be yelling all the time…”, you were sitting on a chair, your elbows propped on his workbench and your hands cupping your face. Rick was in fact a weird guy – loud, rude but determined. After hours of listening to his drunken outbursts you just wanted some peace and quiet. Due to Rick kind of being famous on the internet you knew a thing or two about him and what his work was about. “I know you mean well and your actions could help me go back home…if I have a home, that is. You still need to chill though, old man.”

Once again you called Rick an old man. Is that girl serious? “You dumb little…”, you heard him growl as he turned around to face you. The burping, belching genius known was anything but amused. His typically wry grin twisted into a snarl of pure contempt, revealing a glint of madness in his eyes that sent shivers down your spine.

The furrows on his forehead deepened, accentuating the lines of his craggy face as he scowled, his brows knit together in a storm of frustration. His eyes, usually glazed with a combination of apathy and brilliance, now burned with a fiery intensity that could rival the brightest supernova in the universe.

“Listen to me, you bi-bitch. I am not doing this for you, got-got it? I was challenged by someone, and I am not someone who loses”, Rick made his way over to you. Slowly, like a predator nearing his prey. His hand gripped your chair to make you face him. You felt yourself push back into the seat. He was too close and you two were all alone in his garage. One hand was now next to your head while the other was gripping your thigh. You could feel his breath blowing against your now hot, blushed face, his musk clouding your senses, his hand burning into your skin. “And if you spoiled bitch call me an old man again, I’ll make you scream it, understand?”

“Listen to me, Rick old man Sanchez. I’m neither spoiled nor a bitch. And your pathetic attempt of whatever this is isn’t working.” Harsh words which didn’t match your bright red cheeks or beating heart. Your own body was betraying you. “Fuck you and fuck this garage. I’m going to chill with your grandkids.”

A smirk grazed Rick’s lips as you stood up and left without looking back. Interesting. Who knew that embarrassing you would be that much fun? You’re feisty, witty and bratty and not a bad sight to the eye.

“Ah, makes me want to tame that little girl.”

[megadan94]

I think there's a very interesting queer story in Jane telling people about her time displacement and who she really is.

Because, like, she's already experienced the dangerous consequences of coming out, estrangement from family, discrimination, etc. but this is something more personal. This is about the simple desire to be understood, to be seen for who you are, especially by those close to you.

She's literally not recognised as being the person she was, seen as someone completely different to who she really is, even by friends and family, except for a small circle of queer friends. That's a very queer experience. Plus, the reason she's in the future in the first place is because of her love for a girl, so it is tied to her being a lesbian in that way.

She wants to tell her family, but she might also want to tell other people from her old life, like Jerry. There's also Suzette, who is both the sister of her friend and the mother of her girlfriend. Then there's the people she met in the present, like Lucie and Winfield, she might want to tell them about what her life has been up to this point.

It would be confusing, time travel is a bit unbelievable, but if they truly care about her then they'll listen. But at the same time, they can probably already see it, through her anachronisms, through the way she looks exactly like the old Jane, through the way she knows everything Jane knew, far more than can be explained by her being Jane's relative, and the way she has the same name and jacket as Jane. But they're not willing to jump to that conclusion, just like queer identities in real life, that's outside their comfort zone.

And it would be so good for her, and for them. She and Jerry could finally have closure over him thinking she ghosted him, she could share her grief with Suzette over Augie, who also only recently found out he was dead, August could be honest with her mum, and she could finally find understanding and acceptance from her family.

It would also parallel August, who felt better once she was able to tell Myla about her childhood.

I'm just imagining a scene like that one in Doctor Who, that one with the Twelfth Doctor and Clara, where he's begging her to just "see me". Only that the issue is Jane being too young, rather than old.

[missybee-writes]

Shadow in the Dark - Chapter Six: Halloween

Genre: Sci-fi; Romance; Horror

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

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Sooo...how about a 20k word chapter? It may have slightly grown beyond my expectations. Hope you enjoy!

Summary

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

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

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

Chapter one: Cursed

Chapter two: Munson Magic

Chapter three: Fearless

Chapter Four: Code Name, Farrah Fawcett

Chapter Five: Sleepover

Ao3 link

---

The nylon gown scratched at the bare skin of her chest, fluorescent lights burned her eyes and buzzed incessantly, and the dull symphony of bleeping monitors was close to driving her to madness. Eyes closed, she could easily be back in Great Ormond Street Hospital with the brightly painted walls, or the view of the British Museum’s roof from her window. Hawkins Memorial was small, the smells and sights were different. And when Rose looked to her left, instead of her friend Elaine in her oxygen mask smothered in colourful boy band stickers pulled from the pages of magazines, there was only her Mum, sitting in a narrow armchair, picking at her the red-raw beds of her nails and stewing in a tense misery. Perhaps hospitals wore on Mum even more than they did Rose. After all, she’d lost Rose’s dad in an accident and seen her only child seriously ill within a year. No wonder Mum looked peaky just being back in here, washed out and pale under the hostile lighting.

The bleeping and rhythmic line moving up and down on the screen was steady, like the slow beat of Lars Ulrich on the drums in one of the songs on Eddie’s mixtape, Fade to Black. It must have pleased Dr Bateman, for he scratched his moustache and nodded, scribbling down something in Rose’s file.

“Alrighty then,” he said, clicking his pen and putting it back in his white coat pocket. “Mr McAllister, your daughter’s heart seems to be functioning well.”

Jerry looked from Rose to her mum nervously. “Oh, I’m just her stepfather, no need to t-”

“So I see no cause for concern,” the doctor continued, not even giving Rose or her agitated mother a glance. “If there are any significant changes then have her come in, but otherwise we’ll repeat the ECG in three months and go from there. Make sure she keeps up with her meds in the meantime. Okay?”

Jerry was flustered. “Um..oh, I guess. Does that mean there’s no risk of anything going...you know...wrong?”

Her mum swallowed hard and looked away, and Rose could see she’d made fingers bleed from picking at them.

“Well,” Dr Bateman said slowly. “There’s always a chance that complications can occur down the line. But more than likely, she’ll be-”

“Eighty-twenty, isn't it doc.” Rose didn’t try to hide the disdain she felt at saying it out loud. “There is an eighty percent chance I’ll be just the same as anyone else and keep going as I am, but a twenty percent chance that I’ll develop heart failure at any time in the future.” 

The doctor grunted. “Like I said, more than likely she’ll be normal.”

“Oh good, you can hear me,” Rose exaggerated her smile. “I was beginning to think I may be invisible. Tell me, if we played Russian roulette right now, and I held a gun to your head, would you be happy with a twenty percent chance of a bullet in the chamber? One in five?”

“No need to be smart now,” his lip stiffened, moustache trembling.

Of course. Smart mouths were somehow more acceptable when you didn’t have tits. God forbid a woman talk back. She took a deep breath and looked at the charts by his side. “Aside from regularity, were you able to hear any sluggish murmurs that might mean endocarditis? No? In that case, be a dear and fetch Dr Abrams from neurology, so he can carry out the electroencephalogram and I can get out of here as quickly as bloody possible.”

The doctor’s face was thunder, he gave Jerry a pissed-off look and turned on his heel and left the small room, shiny shoes tapping on the linoleum, at least a hundred beats per minute. 

“What an unpleasant man,” her mum said. “But I do wish you wouldn’t antagonise the medical staff, Rose. If something should ever happen, it’s them who...who’ll...oh gosh, i’m feeling dizzy. I should sit down.”

Jerry held her mum’s shoulders gently. “Honey, you’re already sat down.”

Her brows drew together like she was startled. “Am I? How silly of me. It’s alright, I just haven’t been sleeping very well.”

Rose, now free of all the wires attached to her chest, swung her legs off the rickety hospital bed. “It’s not more nightmares, is it?”

“No...well, just a few.”

“Shirley,” Jerry said. “I think you should see someone about that. The Department of Energy has in-house doctors for all sorts of things, without even going through insurance. Maybe I can make an appointment with a therapist.”

That was it, her mother laughed, dropping her purse onto the floor. “Therapy, Jerry? Nonsense, I am not mentally ill. It must be all the wires and the pipes in the house, you can’t go five minutes in that house without being woken up by clanking and buzzing. I don’t need a therapist, I need a plumber!”

Another doctor burst in, an older, kooky-looking gentleman with bushy white hair and round glasses, like a smiling Einstein. 

“Dr Abrams, at your service,” he nodded toward Rose. “My colleague is as wound up as a teakettle, steam coming right out his ears. Do I have you to thank for that, Miss McAllister?”

She nodded.

“You must tell me your secret. That man’s as grouchy as a possum eating scraps from a dumpster.”

Rose smiled, immediately put at ease. “I don’t believe I've seen a possum before, but I’ll take your word for it.”

Two nurses dragged another machine, this one with an intricate web of wires, each ending in a sensor. But unlike the little sensors that had been taped to her chest, these were attached together in the snape of a cap.

He looked over the rim of his glasses as the nurse held out the cap. “I would explain the EEG to you, but I don’t think this is your first rodeo, is it Miss McAllister?”

Rose tucked her hair out the way and flattened the waves alongside her head as much as possible. “No it’s not.”

The nurses attached the sensors all over her head, as close-fitting as a swimming cap and stretching from her forehead to the nape of her neck. The machine came to life, and she sat still for a long time as they fiddled with the monitor screen and dials and knobs beneath.

Dr Abrams read through her file as the machine did its thing, and Rose stayed still. “So two years since the surgery and your cardiac arrest. Dr Bateman’s tests look good, no issues identified with your heart right now. I see the hospital in England kept you in for a lot of neurological testing after the resuscitation. Are you having any memory issues?”

“Nope.”

“Any unusual changes in your temper, sudden mood swings?”

“Define unusual,” her mum snickered, and the doctor’s mouth turned up into a smile. 

“From your mother’s reaction, I'll take that as nothing abnormal for a teenager. See, I find this a little odd. Three minutes is a long time for inactivity of the brain, permanent damage becomes very likely.”

Rose shrugged. “So they keep telling me. But I don’t feel any different than before, doctor. Except for this lovely scar.”

“Three minutes...” mum trailed off, her voice numb and distant. “They told me something was wrong, and the doctors had begun resuscitation. The nurses in the waiting room said anything beyond ten minutes meant no chance of recovery...I would have sworn that the cup of tea they shoved into my hand went cold whilst I waited, and I saw them look at their watches and shake their heads when they thought I wasn’t looking. But then the doctor came out to tell me you were actually alive after all. It might have been three minutes, but...it’s like Wordsworth’s poem, isn’t it...to see a world in a grain of sand and a heaven in a wild flower, hold infinity in the palm of your hand and eternity in an hour. God knows it felt like an eternity to me.”

Rose wasn’t supposed to move her head, in case she disturbed the sensors, but she couldn’t help looking at her mum’s haunted face. No wonder she had nightmares.

“Waiting is the worst, isn’t it. It’s so difficult to go out there to a patient’s family, when something hasn’t gone the way you’d hoped.” Dr Abrams cleared his throat and looked back at the monitor, humming and holding his chin. “Well, isn’t this curious? Your brain activity looks a little different to me, maybe the sensor isn’t picking up the signals properly.”

Rose sighed. “They said that in Great Ormond Street. You can try again, but it won’t work. They said it must be a unique neurological dysfunction. Just can’t see properly into my head.”

“That’s how we met, actually,” Jerry squeezed her mum’s shoulder fondly. “They needed an electrical engineer to test their power room and some of their equipment as they thought it was faulty. I’d just left the Department for Energy and moved over, you see. So they sent me to take a look at the machine and I found Shirley in the parent’s waiting room.”

“He lingered about in that room for so long I thought he was another parent,” her mum said td. “I was always so nervous in those places, I didn’t even notice he was in overalls and had a toolbelt on!”

They really were an odd couple. Her mother had the outward appearance of a modest woman, but underneath was tough and sharp as steel. Rose’s father had been more easy to laugh and outgoing, with the kind of magnetic personality people were often drawn to, life of the party, pint in hand, cigarette in the other, always surrounded by his friends. Her mum and dad had been opposites that attracted, sparks flying, but with Jerry it was more of a...fizzle. Rose wouldn’t want something that passionless, but then perhaps nice and placid were qualities her mother valued after years of stress. 

“How odd,” the doctor said, looking at the monitor. “I might have to make a call to your old doctor in London. You know what, I have a colleague in Pennhurst who would jump at the chance to examine these results. Maybe even run your interesting brain through a test or two. If you don’t object, I could send him these results for investigation.”

“Pennhurst,” Jerry frowned. “Isn’t that the nuthouse in Kerley County?”

“Pennhurst is a mental hospital, yes,” Dr Abrams said evenly. “But it’s also an esteemed research facility, with a focus on all aspects of the human mind, from the behavioural to the biological. The warden Dr Hatch has a particular interest in neurological conditions, as well as psychology.”

“I don’t know,” her mother said. “Those places are for psychopaths, aren’t they? I don’t think that sounds like a good idea.”

Rose cleared her throat loudly, drawing their attention. “Well isn’t it a good job that i’m a legal adult, with full bodily autonomy. If I want to send my scans to a psychologist, then I’ll do it.”

Mum pouted. “I’m only looking out for you, Rosebud.” 

In her eyes, Rose was still thirteen, sickly, and fragile. Not a legal adult who’d been through more than most people her age, perfectly capable of making decisions about her future. It felt like an oppressive kind of love to Rose, one that itched even more than the nylon hospital gown. But whilst she lived under her mum and step dad's roof, she felt almost...powerless. Toothless. Neutered. Okay, perhaps not neutered, goodness knows she was more and more aware of the raging desires burning through her, particularly since she met a certain someone who should not be named. But losing a year of school and living with your mother at soon-to-be nineteen was exhausting.

“Fine,” Rose said, the fight draining right out of her. “Not now. But perhaps next time.”

---

All the way home Rose stared out the window, wiping the fog from the glass with her sleeve, humming a tune that had been stuck in her head for weeks. She couldn’t remember where she’d heard it first, but it wouldn’t go away. Da da-da da-da daaa-dum, da-

“Boy, a whole Monday off school,” Jerry said from the driver’s seat. “I know hospital’s aren’t fun, but that’s a bonus, eh? Four day week sounds nice to me.”

“I guess so,” Rose leaned against the steamed-up window, October rolling slowly into chilly, foggy weather. 

Mum caught her eye in the rearview mirror. “More time to sleep off that hangover too.”

“Oh god, not again.”

“I’m all for you bringing friends over to the house, but did you have to get quite so drunk? And on the old playground too? Robin might need a tetanus shot after your shenanigans on the rocket ship.”

Rose’s head throbbed at the memory of her, Robin and Steve climbing into the big climbing frame shaped like a rocket ship after a few too many fruity cocktails, singing Life on Mars at the top of their lungs. Robin had scratched herself on a loose screw, so they had to cut their excursion short and return home, clattering in the kitchen at 2am to find a band-aid and some rubbing alcohol. 

Sunday morning had been hell, but hell was far more fun when you had company. The three of them had hunkered down under a mountain of blankets in her room, nibbling on crackers and sipping ginger ale, until they felt more human again, and Robin was able to return home without alerting her parents to the fact that she’d been drunk.

The very same playground whizzed by the window now, and they pulled into the driveway of 1050 Morehead, though no one in the town called it anything other than Creel House. As they got out of the car and her mother opened the door, she wondered for the first time who the Creel family truly were. What happened to them here? Why did the murder live on in the town’s memory almost thirty years later?

Mum stumbled as she entered the house, clutching her head. Rose leapt forward to help, but when her mother turned around, her face was pale as bone, a trickle of blood seeping from her nose.

“Shit,” Rose hissed.

“It’s nothing,” she said, unconvincingly.

Rose guided her into the kitchen, holding her arm. She’d surpassed her mother in height by the time she was twelve, and now she was startled at how fragile she felt. Mothers were supposed to be there, a constant, as large and warm as life. “Come on Mum, let’s get you cleaned up. I think you should go straight to the doctor, you’re not looking well.”

“It’s just my luck, isn’t it. I felt fine when we were in the hospital, surrounded by medical staff. But the moment I walk through this door...”

Rose ran a cloth under the tap and paused, staring at the swirling water. She had been fine. Tired, perhaps. But not ill. “Here you go,” she said, dabbing away the blood from her face. “Let me get you some painkillers.”

“I think we should take you to the family doctor,” Jerry intervened. “I know you don’t want a fuss, but we need to get you checked out. It’s either that, or we go right back to the hospital and into the ER.”

The threat of an emergency room perked her mother up. “Alright, family doctor it is.”

Jerry opened the front door and guided her out, looking back at Rose. “Are you okay to hold the fort, kiddo?”

Rose wanted to be there, to make sure her mother was well. But she knew deep down that having her child there would only lead to her mother putting on a brave face, and she needed to be Shirley for once, not just mum. 

“Absolutely,” she forced herself to smile. “Won’t burn the place down. Cross my heart.”

The door closed and Rose was left in the grant house, alone. Once the car’s engine faded outside, the silence was a muffled, oppressive thing, making her ears ring. But after a while the tap dripped, boards somewhere creaked, and the place felt almost...alive. 

Alone at home for the first time in...well, possibly ever, Rose looked at the high ceilings, walnut-panelled Victorian interior, and felt what everyone else felt when they looked at the place. Fear. She had no idea where the murders took place or of their nature. Was it here in the kitchen, or were people slaughtered as they slept in their beds upstairs? Did they go quickly, or...or were the walls of this place witness to unimaginable pain and terror? Had there been blood, did it seep into the floorboards? Was it there still, after all these years?

The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end and she overcome with the need to be outside. She grabbed a book from the living room table and went out onto the porch, taking refuge on the loveseat by the front door, the walls of the house a thin barrier between Rose and the imagined horrors that lay within.

The leather bindings of the old book bit into her skin. Wuthering Heights. Oh great. She was stuck in the chilly October air without a jacket or even a cardigan, with an eerie gothic novel about lost love, paranoia and a windswept, menacing mansion out on the Yorkshire moors. Why couldn’t it have been Terry Pratchett or Douglas Adams, something to make her laugh?

By the time they arrived home, Rose peeled herself front he loveseat with numb fingers and listened intently to the insightful diagnosis from the family doctor: migraines. Take a tylenol and come back if it keeps happening. It made Rose feel powerless, and frustrated. 

Rather than face Jerry’s beige and very questionable attempts in the kitchen, she made their dinner, finding some peace in the repetitive task of chopping and cooking, layering lasagna sheets and sauce, watching the oven absentmindedly and waiting for an egg timer to go off.

“She’s asleep,” Jerry said, leaning against the doorframe. “But I’m sure your mom will love this when she wakes up.”

Rose could hold back no longer, she had to know. “I’ll heat some up whenever she needs it. I...I got to thinking when you were at the doctors. What happened in this house?”

“Oh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea, kiddo.”

“Maybe, but I’m not asking on a whim. I think I need to know.”

He was as placed and calm as ever, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. It’s just a floor, four walls, and a roof, like any other house. Look at the hospital we were in today, people die there every day. But it doesn’t make you scared, does it?”

Rose’s eyes narrowed, feeling oddly threatened by his dismissal. Jerry was never like this, he was a goofy idiot, but he was harmless. “Not knowing is worse. I’ll always be wondering and thinking about it, guessing which room, how it happened, or who was killed.”

He folded his arms. “I’m not going to tell you.”

“If you must be like that, then go ahead,” Rose said confidently. “But don’t forget I’m not a child...and I’m not your child.”

Most of the town knew of the Creel House and its backstory; if he wouldn’t tell her, she would find someone else to do it.

“No, you’re not,” Jerry said, masking whatever he was feeling with an impassive face. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I should go check on your mother and get some rest. I need to be at the plant by 5am tomorrow, before the night shift crew finish their shift. The Department’s facilities are having power issues, and we need to tighten the ship before it affects their research.“

In the two years since he arrived in her mother’s life, Rose had never seen him so petty, or act so strange. As she ate alone in the vast dining room, sitting cross-legged in the chair and staring out the tall window to the playground opposite, she felt a rush of hate for this grand, lofty space. 

It was her mother’s idea to move once Rose had the all clear and her health was back on track. With her and Jerry newly married, their little home was too small for the three of them. WIth Rose out of sync at school and her tentative friends all moved on to university or jobs, many of them moving from town, there was little left to cling onto.

Jerry was offered a promotion with the Department for Energy. When the house was sold, the exchange rate and expensive UK housing market compared to rural central Indiana somehow left them with way more than they’d expected. Enough for the real estate agent to sense her mother would fall in love with the Victorian gothic mansion that no one else would buy, at a dirt cheap price. 

It was strange, to have space, and for them as a family to have spare money. Rose’s father had been a dashing, red-haired Yorkshire coal miner whose love for life and taste for drink never stopped, despite the miner’s strikes putting him out of work in the 70s. He’d taken odd jobs, but there hadn’t been anything stable for years. Rose knew he’d not made life easy for her mother, and it hurt...it hurt whenever she thought of him, despite all the things people had said. All she had ever known was a father who told her stories, and always played games with her even when he was exhausted, when others would have said no. They danced and danced around their little living room listening to his beloved sixties and seventies rock, twirling her around until she was breathless and dizzy, laughing so much she thought she might burst. 

Yes, there had been shouting between her parents and more strife than she could really comprehend at a young age, but life without him was simply dull and colourless. She would rather live in her tiny, cramped two-bed terrace and have him back, than be here in this eerie mansion. But here she was. Eighteen and putting together the beginnings of a new life. Trying to find her tribe out in the world. And even if the house wasn’t home, she had a feeling the people who had become close to her over the last month might just be.

---

The week marchedon, despite missing school on Monday. A drumbeat of classes, American History more interesting than she’d anticipated, others like biology and math frighteningly dull and covering ground she’d already trodden before. The Hellfire guys waved her over at lunch as they always did, but something was...off. Eddie brooded at the head of the table, not engaging in conversation beyond his usual rants about the lack of creativity or personality in the curriculum.

But when Jeremy from the party kids clique turned up to school with a full-blown A Flock of Seagulls haircut - slicked down at the front with crispy, wing-like structures carefully constructed with a full can of hairspray - and Eddie didn’t even mention it? Jeremy who’d put him in detention for smoking in the boys bathroom only two weeks ago? Rose knew something was wrong. She put aside any weirdness she might feel after learning of his potted romantic history, more clear than ever that whilst there had been flirting in the beginning, nothing was truly going to happen between them, and tried to talk to him on Tuesday. But he was sullen and withdrawn, enough for Gareth, Gareth of all people, to tell him to snap out of it and apologise to Rose for being a dick.

On Thursday morning she was paired with Robin in Driver’s Ed, both of them horrifyingly clumsy and dangerous behind the wheel, creating an air of chaos and terror in the car that scared the instructor half to death. Rose couldn’t help it if she had difficulty remembering right from left, she’d always been that way, before the little brush with death.

She emerged on Friday in a great mood, her mum feeling better, the weather cool and crisp, and ready for another Hellfire session and pitting her fledgling necromancer against the Cult of Vecna, the very best part of her Friday’s. Yes, perhaps that was partly due to sitting by Eddie’s side for hours as he became the charismatic Dungeon Master, sweeping them up with his skillful narration, theatrical energy and passion for the game. Why shouldn’t it be? Friends enjoyed each other’s company, didn’t they?

Lunchtime rolled around, and with it came an air of anticipation. Maybe it was the impending session, or the cafeteria splurging out on pizza on a Friday, but there was a definite buzz in the air. Except for Rose, who yawned her way through it, half-listening to their banter.

“I’m telling you, man,” Eddie said confidently at the table’s head. “It’s happening. AD/DC are playing in Indy, Iron Maiden are coming to Evansville...I am going to find tickets if it kills me.”

“You have contacts, right?” Dustin lowered his head, and gave him a knowing look. “Like, people who get you things. Things that are...difficult to come by.”

Eddie scoffed. “Not the kind who sell concert tickets.”

Robin gasped in mock surprise and turned to Dustin. “Dusty bun, are you referring to...drugs? Or is this some kind of comic book thing that will go completely over my head?”

“Dusty bun?” Eddie paused with a slice of pizza inches from his mouth, surrounded by the older guys laughter. “Buckley, have you been holding out on me? Where’d that come from?”

“It’s so cute,” Robin began. “It comes from-”

“No,” Dustin threw his hands up. “Nope, I am not going through this again.”

Eddie’s pizza dropped on the tray, forgotten, and he leaned onto the table. “Oh come on, Dusty bun. No harm meant, man. Ignorant kids think up ignorant names. How else do you think I was dubbed Eddie the Freak?”

Lucas was too eager to spill. “Oh, this wasn’t thought up by a bully. That’s the cutesy nickname his girlfriend has for him. It’s barf-inducing at the best of times, especially when he calls her Suzie-poo. What is she, a poodle?”

Eddie was struck in the heart by cupid’s imaginary arrow, slumping back in his chair and holding his chest. Rose couldn’t stop her sleepy smile, completely charmed by the way he acted out his feelings, by the way he never reacted as people thought he would. She left less tired, and more energised as she watched.

“Love,” Eddie clutched the imaginary arrow in his chest. “Turns off all the rational thought in the brain. Enslaved by the sorcerer that is Cupid, made to do his bidding. Love makes you do the crazy, right?”

Rose’s smile died slowly as her mind kicked into gear. Which of his girlfriends was he thinking of when he monologued about love? Was it the record label girl from California? Was it Chrissy? As the table laughed over Eddie’s joke, she couldn’t help but feel fragile, and defensive on behalf of Dustin...or so she told herself.

“Not really,” she said out loud, without really thinking it through. Eddie looked to her straight away, big brown eyes so wide and deep she thought she’d drown in them, too difficult to look away from. She felt the whole table watching, though she couldn’t quite break away from his eyes, “I don’t think it’s crazy. I think it’s sweet.”

“See?” Dustin said. “This is why none of you have girlfriends, and I do. Girls like emotional vulnerability, and pet names are just one facet of that.”

“I have a girlfriend,” Mike added sullenly.

“And you’re always talking about her or writing her letters...didn’t you even give her the name El?”

Mike thought about it for a minute. “I suppose.”

Chris’ mouth was dropped open again. “Suzie-poo I get, but how do you go from Jane to El?”

“No reason,” Mike laughed nervously. “No reason at all, just thought it...suited her.”

Eddie snapped his fingers at his friend. “See, case-in-point. Who comes up with the nickname El for a girl named Jane? Chris is right, it’s weird. Hence, driven by the mushy, goo-brained beast that is love. Come on, Rose, back me up on this one. I bet your boyfriends have given you all kinds of mushy names.”

She sank lower in her chair, but there was no hope of disappearing. She thought of all the lovely things that came from Eddie’s mouth, the ‘Sweetheart’s’ and even the occasional ‘Princess’, or one memorable ‘baby’. She hoped it would feel like that, one day, if she ever found someone who actually liked her back. “I haven’t had any. Boyfriends, I mean, not pet names...aside from Mum calling me Rosebud. I can’t even blame it on being sick...I think I'm just too awkward. I put my foot in it with everyone I ever meet.”

Oh great. Eddie’s eyes widened even further. Stupid, charming doe-eyes, making her feel inadequate yet again. 

“You’re kidding, right? How is that even possible? You’re so...” he trailed off, chin propped on his hand. Their eyes were locked, all the noise in the room faded away, and she suddenly didn’t care what the end of the sentence was, as long as she could look at him like this forever.

Jeff prodded Eddie's arm, which made him snap to attention. “Rose. I mean, you’re so Rose. There’s no one else like you. I mean, kind and nice, and uh, one could say you were objectively pretty. You know, to some people, who are into that kind of thing.”

He was stumbling now, and the whole table knew it. Something weird happened to Dustin, whose face transformed from passive listening, to a little confusion with his brow puckered and head tilted to the side, and then his entire face lit up and mouth dropped open. Lucas casually elbowed him in the ribs and he hissed in pain, distracting everyone for a moment and giving Eddie and Rose a second to recover.

Robin nudged her knee under the table, and gave her a little nod, like she was about to save the day. What was it with prodding and jabbing today? Did everyone just wake up and decide on minor violence?

Robin began to speak. “Oh, don’t let her fool you. There was this one guy, right? Good kisser, kind of crazy about you, but-”

Rose kicked Robin’s foot, stopping her mid sentence. Yes, she’d told Robin all about Simon the Skinhead from the pub back home, but that entire fling was only fleeting, and it wasn’t the kind of story she wanted coming out at the lunch table. Besides, they’d only snogged a few times behind the back of the Nag’s Head, until both of his front teeth were knocked out in a bare knuckle boxing match. Rose liked to think she hadn’t stopped it just for that reason - she wasn’t superficial, though his smile was much harder to look at afterward - it was more that he’d fallen in with the wrong crowd. A dangerous one. And that was months before she’d left for America.

Robin shrugged and mouthed sorry, taking a big crunch of her apple as a blatant distraction, chewing slowly and avoiding eye contact. 

Great. Now the whole of Hellfire was awkward and silent. Or in Dustin, Mike and Lucas’ case, giving each other knowing looks and whispering, eyes still focused on Eddie and Rose.

Thankfully a hand emerged from nowhere, slapping down a pastel pink flyer on the empty space in the table’s centre, between Eddie’s Dr Pepper and Jeff’s lunch tray.

“It’s the end of the goddamn world,” Gareth announced loudly, stood behind the younger guys, his arm thrust between Dustin and Lucas’ heads. Rose flinched, Robin dropped the apple, and the younger guys squealed. 

“What the hell?” Jeff asked, snatching the flyer. “A Streetcar named Desire. Are you joining drama club now Gareth? Who are you gonna audition for, the sister? I knew all those Hellfire sessions playing the princess or the tavern wench would pay off eventually.”

“Fuck off, man,” he said defensively, dropping into his usual seat by Eddie, a bundle of ripped plaid, black denim, combat boots and attitude. “Just keep reading.”

Jeff mumbled to himself, until his face fell. “Oh man, oh no...how did we miss this?”

“I don’t know,” Gareth sighed. “But I stopped off at Ms Click’s class just to be sure. It’s happening tonight, for the next three weeks.”

Eddie had been staring blankly at the table, and sat up suddenly, ripping the flyer from Jeff’s hand. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“What is it?” Rose asked. “I can't take the suspense, what’s happening? Do we not like the works of Tennessee Williams? I have thoughts...he’s no Noël Coward, but his plays aren’t that bad.”

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose. “The drama club needs the prop room until Thanksgiving, for rehearsals and the play itself. Goddamn it, all our stuff is there, the chair, my goblet...you know what I'm like without ambience, man. I can’t do Hellfire in Gareth’s garage again.”

Groans and curses echoed around the table, like it was indeed the end of the world. Rose and Robin exchanged a look of disbelief, but it was Mike who pointed his finger in the air and came to the rescue.

“My basement! We used to play D&D all day there in middle school. It’s dark and downstairs-”

“Duh,” Gareth mocked.

“Yeah, that might work,” Lucas added. “It’s kind of cosy. And Mrs Wheeler makes the best pizza rolls.”

Eddie gave him a scathing look. “I appreciate it, Wheeler, I really do. But didn’t you say your Mom is kind of uptight? Does she know you hang around with a bunch of scary, satan-worshipping seniors and Eddie the freak Munson?”

“She doesn’t exactly know,” Mike deflated, flopping onto the lunch table like he was suddenly removed of his spine. “And she wasn’t too happy about Nancy and I being involved in the whole mall fire thing; she grounded me until sophomore year, in theory at least.”

Eddie’s smile was bitter. “I don’t want to be the source of drama in suburbia, so we'll have to think again. I appreciate the offer though.”

Chris, silent thus far, closed his gaping mouth and added his own idea. “We could just steal the props we normally use and take Hellfire to another classroom for three weeks, couldn’t we?”

“They need the chair and table for the play,” Gareth said, crushing their hopes. “And I don’t think the classrooms will be up to our Dungeon Master’s exacting standards. Plus, they’re locked.”

The seed of an idea was blooming in Rose’s mind. She watched throw out a dozen different ideas and shoot them all down, and worked up the courage to add her own. “We could have Hellfire at my house.”

Eddie caught on first, attuned to her whenever she spoke, brows coming together in a frown. No one else had noticed.

Rose cleared her throat and tried again, louder. “I said, you could have Hellfire at my place. Everything inside is either crumbling apart, or properly restored to its former Victorian splendour. Lots of big fireplaces, candles, cobwebs...you know, the full haunted house experience.”

“It’s perfect,” Dustin said, beaming a great big smile. “Sounds even better than the drama room.”

Eddie hummed, toying with the ring on his right hand, the one with the black stone. “Won’t your parents be there?”

“I can ask them to go out for the day. Jerry’s been dying to visit this antique fair in Cartersville. It would be just us for most of the day. We could even do it on Halloween next Saturday, ” Rose gave him a meaningful stare, and did a dramatic gesture like she’d just remembered something. “Oh, that’s right, only if you actually can come inside. I know how selective you are about whose home you will come into...like a vampire without an invitation. Is it too scary for you, Munson?”

The tension crackled all the way across the table, everyone looking from left to right, waiting for him to respond. Eddie’s eyes were wickedly dark, even in the harsh cafeteria light. His smile was wicked too, teeth biting into his bottom lip, half way between a grimace and a grin. Touche, she thought. 

“There is very little that scares me, sweetheart,” he said evenly. “But I gather the house in question gets a lot of traffic these days, doesn’t it? Lots of people coming to and fro. Are you sure there is room for us lowly freaks next Saturday? Can you fit us into your busy social calendar?”

What the hell? Rose had no clue what he was even talking about. Eddie had left last Friday night, and she’d not seen him again until three days ago. 

“I won’t be coming, that’s for sure,” Robin interrupted, sensing the awkwardness. “Not that I am in Hellfire, or wanna play the dungeon game whatsoever. But I can’t look at your place without feeling sick, and the memory coming back from last week. I drove by with my parents on Tuesday and I had to fake car sickness just looking at the swings. And I’m never car sick.”

Rose was focused on Eddie alone, watching the twitch of his full lips, his narrowing eyes, knowing that something was going on, but clueless as to what. “So are we on, Dungeon Master? You’ll dare to come in?”

He let the tense silence drag on for a second, leaning forward on his forearm, the zip-chain on his jacket clanking on the table. “You bet we are, McAllister. Next Saturday. One PM. It’ll be the mid-point of the Cult of Vecna campaign, the one I've been planning for months. The adventure should be a long and agonising one, so prepare for it.”

Rose nodded, and the shrill school bell broke the tension around the table. Hellfire may be disrupted, but it looked like she had to play host, and Eddie might break that promise to enter her house after all. She wondered what had changed his mind, if anything had happened with Chrissy, or whoever else it might involve. Perhaps it wasn’t her place to know.

---

Three o’clock had her wandering the parking lot, working what to do with a few spare hours now that Hellfire was cancelled. Jerry was due to pick her up at seven, straight from a shift at work. Mum wasn’t home. She could get the bus home, but the thought of unlocking the door to that empty house, and spending several hours alone in it, wasn’t a pleasant one. Maybe she could go to the public library or Family Video, and pester Robin and Steve for a while.

Instead, her weary feet took her across the football field and on to the well-trodden path to the woods, crunching over leaves, stepping into the clearing. Empty. She sat at the picnic table and traced the little drawings of bats with her fingers, remembering the last time she was here, a couple of weeks ago. The near-kiss, the butterflies, the mixtape.

She pulled out her English notebook with the intention of studying, but her heart led her to the Charlotte Bronte novel hidden deep in her bag. Jane Eyre, her comfort blanket, which she’d read more times than she could count. Despite the allure of Jane and Mr Rochester’s fiery proposal scene, moments later found herself yawning and resting her cheek against the page. Just for a second, huddling in her scarf for warmth in the autumn air, lying gently on the book. Just a second.

“...no, Jeremy, I am not going to hook you up with my supplier. I told you, this is what’s on offer.”

Eddie’s voice drifted through the trees, stirring her awake. His voice was nice. So nice.

“Come on, Munson. If you have ket, don’t you have a little coke? Just this once?”

“No can do. If you don’t like it, you can go to Cartersville and find another dealer. I know a few guys that hang out at the biker bar on Sycamore Road, but they carry.”

“Guns?”

Eddie scoffed. “Did you think I meant candy or something? And they’re not particularly friendly to guys like yourself, who think they just stepped out or Risky Business. Come on, Jeremy, it’s October. You don’t need sunglasses. And that blazer looks freakin’ cold.”

The other, nasal voice must belong to this Jeremy. A name she recognised, one of the party kids who sat opposite Hellfire’s lunch table and gave them hell. Eddie in particular.

“Look, if you can’t do coke, then ket will do.”

“Not at school,” Eddie said firmly, with none of the gentleness she’d come to know from him. “Weed is one thing, but I can’t exactly hide ket in my lunch box, can I?”

“Wait...what the hell? Who's the random chick?” Jeremy called out.

She stirred fully from sleep, her brain whirring quickly to keep up. “Eddie?” Her voice was croaky.

He was running over to her, a hand pressed against her back, his concerned face hovering over her. “You okay, sweetheart?”

Shit. Shit. She’d not seen a drug deal before, but it wasn’t a good idea to get in the middle of one, was it? “Sorry. I don’t know what happened, I was just resting my eyes...and I've just taken over your spot, I'm sorry, I can get out of your way.”

Jeremy took off his oversized glasses and squinted at her. “That the new chick? I don’t want anyone else knowing about this conversation, Munson. If she talks-”

“It’s okay,” Eddie said to her, under his breath. “Just trust me.” Then he quickly reared back and crossed the clearing, full of intimidating energy, until he had Jeremy the party kid pinned up against a tree.

“No one is talking, Jeremy. Not me, the drug dealer, or you, the buyer. Who the hell are you going to talk to, the cops? The principal? And if we’re not talking, the completely unrelated bystander sat at a table in the woods, who just slept through our conversation, definitely isn’t. Understood?”

“Jesus,” the guy choked out. “Understood.”

“And if you so much as look in her direction, i’ll make sure no one in central Indiana sells to you again. I’m not so sure you’ll get through finals and into that fancy college without a serious quantity of uppers, or at least that’s what the gossips say about you at school. Are you a gossip, Jeremy?”

“Nope,” he shook his head, sunglasses dropped to the forest floor. “I’ll catch you another time, man.”

Eddie smiled a toothy grin and tapped him on the cheek. “Good. Now get out of here, shop’s closed for the day.”

Jeremy fled without his sunglasses, a blur of navy blazer and his bouncy Flock of Seagulls hair flapping in the wind, disappearing back in the direction of the school. Eddie took a deep breath, sagging just a little, like the adrenaline had worn off and he couldn’t keep up an intimidating posture.

“I’m sorry,” Rose tried to stand up, knocking her knee on the picnic table and hissing in pain. “This is your spot. It’s only fair that I go.”

“Wait,” he rushed over, black lunch pail dropped on the table. He grabbed the back of his neck, face scrunching up, like he was struggling for words. “I should be sorry. This is a public place, and I don’t want to get you involved in any of that shit. He’s chicken shit, by the way. There’s nothing he could do or say that could get you into trouble, not without admitting he’s been using a serious amount of class A drugs just to get through senior year.”

Rose scrubbed her face with her hand, feeling totally awake and alert. “Thank you. That was...you didn’t need to put yourself in any trouble for me. He won’t come after you, will he?”

Eddie pulled a face of disbelief, his smile returning in full force, brushing her concern away with his hands, flapping around like an awkward idiot. “Jeremy? No way. He might throw a few insults my way at lunch, but that’s the extent of his power. You, milady, are totally safe.”

“Good,” she sighed.

He cocked his head, looking over her books, her position at the table, her rumpled hair. “What are you doing out here in the cold, anyways? Couldn’t get a ride home with...um...anyone else? Not Robin and, uh, Steve?”

“They’re working. I did think about going to Family Video for a while, but I just wanted some space to just be. And Robin and Steve are kind of full on.”

He shifted from one foot to another, jean chain jangling. “Right. Do...do you want me to leave you alone?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I mean, I came to your spot, didn’t I?”

Eddie looked around for a minute, and dropped on the bench opposite her. “Yeah, you did. And why is that, exactly? Not that I mind at all, I just...after the cafeteria, I did think I might not be your favourite person right now.”

Rose frowned. “It’s not that, not at all. I came here to study English, actually, but was led astray by Charlotte Bronte.”

Eddie poked at the cover. “She any good?”

She cleared her throat and spoke aloud, voice tinged with the emotion those words always made her feel: “ Do you think, because I am poor, obscure, plain, and little, I am soulless and heartless? You think wrong. I have as much soul as you, and full as much heart!”

Eddie was taken aback. “Damn, that was good. You didn’t even read that from the page!”

“Jane Eyre is kind of my hero,” she looked down at the table, tracing the outline of Eddie’s drawn bats with her fingertips yet again. “She’s invisible, but she pushes through it to find her strength, her courage.”

“Invisible, huh,” Eddie said, with sincere doubt. “That doesn’t sound fun.”

“It wasn’t,” Rose replied without thinking. “But I don’t think I am anymore.”

“Yeah, definitely not. Highly visible, in a good way, I mean...ugh, I should just stop now. But I’ve gotta say, sleeping outside in the woods isn’t a good idea, even if you were invisible. You don’t know what’s lurking out there,” he gestured to the trees, shrouded in gloom just before sunset.

“I’ve not been sleeping well. I must have become a bit too tired. ”

Eddie's concern was genuine, and he leaned toward her. “Everything okay? I heard you were at the hospital on Monday for tests. That’s gotta be tough, with the amount of time you’ve spent there over the years. Like being back in the war zone, you know? Shellshocked, or something? Or at least that’s what Uncle Wayne calls it, and he was in Vietnam.”

Rose could feel tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She was touched that he’d remembered, that he’d thought about her during the week, and put himself in her shoes long enough to pinpoint exactly what she was feeling. “I’ve had better weeks.”

He could sense the stress behind her words, she just knew it. “And a free afternoon studying the works of Edgar Allen Poe in the woods was just the thing to top it off? ”

“Poe is very cathartic,” she defended quickly, coming alive again. “I thought you would like his work, it fits with the whole anti-establishment, metal vibe you have going on.”

His smile was blinding. “Oh really? Maybe I haven’t had the best teacher. O’Donnell isn’t exactly inspiring. Hence why I'm still here, seeking that Holy Grail of graduation, the D of destiny.”

“I could help you,” Rose picked at her sleeve. “If English is key to graduating, why not call in a high level spellcaster to help you make it through the adventure?”

“Wait,” he said slyly. “Offering to tutor me and using D&D language to do it? Am I asleep? Is it me that’s napping at the table, and this is all a dream?”

She couldn’t help but laugh, her heart light because they were getting on again. “I can get you more than a D, Munson. I think a B minus is achievable.”

“Woah, woah, don’t aim for the stars, sweetheart. Munson’s don’t get that far.”

The idea that his opinion of himself was so low, that he made jokes and projected his lack of confidence in such a way, was so uncomfortable it almost caused her physical pain.

“You’re the only Munson I know, and you are more than capable,” she said confidently. “This is the mind behind the Cult of Vecna, and all of our other campaigns. You have no idea how much Dustin and the guys love those campaigns. They worship you, and they are incredibly smart. Annoyingly so. If you don’t believe me, believe in their good judgement.”

Eddie blushed, cheeks darkening as he ducked his head and dimpling as he smiled. “Okay. Can’t argue with that logic.”

“Do you want to go to the school library some time, or...” Rose paused; she could see his unease at the very thought of the building behind them, and remembered his agitated state in English class last week, like he couldn’t function under the bright lights and with the drone of O’Donnell’s voice. “Or somewhere else. I’d offer my place but I know it might not be ideal. Maybe...maybe yours?”

His mouth popped open. “You want to come to my place?”

“Yes. If it’s okay. I don’t want to presume.”

“No,” Eddie looked smug. “I get it, the allure of the Forest Hills Trailer Park is too strong for you to resist. You can come over sometime, Ms McAllister. As long as you don’t have anyone that would be bothered by it.”

Rose scrunched up her nose. Did he still think her parents were uppity, high class kind of people, just because of the square footage of her house? It was big, yes, but it was dirt cheap. And there was nothing posh about her or her family, so no trailer park was beneath her, or whatever he seemed to be implying.

“First of all, never call me Ms McAllister again,” she pointed a finger near his face, causing him to laugh and hide behind his own curtain of hair. “Second, no one is going to be bothered. Except Dustin, who probably will be terribly jealous that anyone is spending time with you outside of school, because he loves you desperately.”

“Stop,” Eddie swatted her hand away playfully. “You make it sound so embarrassing.”

“No. It’s sweet. He adores you and wants to be you. Honestly, with those high powered walkie talkies he has going on, he may be bugging your house. Or at least biking over to the trailer park and looking longingly through the window with binoculars as you practice guitar or write up campaigns.”

“This is getting so weird.”

Laughter bubbled up from her chest, warm and sweet as honey. “He likes having you as a role model, that’s all. He sees the good in you. And I have to admit, Dustin is not often wrong about facts or people, as much as I would occasionally like him to be.”

Eddie moaned, slapping his forehead. “I forgot. After lunch he cornered me in the hall, asking if we could finish Hellfire early next Saturday so he can go Trick or Treating. He’s fifteen. Fifteen.”

“I think it’s sweet.”

“Mmm. It’s the way people suddenly get this licence to be interesting and act scary, that’s what irritates me. Like they’re different people for one night, just because normative society dictates it. Costumes, though...costumes I get.”

“So why don’t combine Hellfire and costumes, so he doesn’t miss out?” Rose asked. He raised a brow, looking sceptical, but she ploughed on. “No, wait. Not ghosts or witches. We could dress as our characters. What could be more atmospheric than that? Come on, you know it’s a good idea.”

He thought about it hard. “Fine, you’ve convinced me. I guess I can bring Eddie the Bard to life for a night. But for now, carriage duties. Let’s get you home.”

---

Rose had never seen so much paisley and tie-dye in her life. Boxes upon boxes of clothes in shades of orange-brown, acres upon acres of plaid shirts, and endless racks of capes and flared jackets, the kind that her grandmother would have worn. The thrift store was a huge, cavernous store behind Main Street, full of items donated by the people of Kerley County, sold on at cheap prices. There were stained and faded couches that were nonetheless comfortable, old fashioned sideboards, retro drinks cabinets, and crockery and homeware in great big stacks. Books, too, and Rose had a dog-eared romance paperback under one arm ready to pay at the counter once she was done, lured in by the shirtless hunk dressed in nothing but a kilt on the cover and the promise of a clandestine, bodice-ripping romance. But her target today was the great big section of the store dedicated to second hand clothes.

She spied a scrap of ivory beneath a pinstripe skirt and pulled out a peasant blouse, the crinkled sleeves and body gathered at the top, floaty and feminine. She held it up to her body. It had a certain Medieval air to it, one she enjoyed.

“What do necromancer’s wear, anyway?” Robin called, emerging from a coat rack. “Ooh, that’s pretty, you look like you just came from a rendezvous with a stable boy. Oh my gosh...is that...is that straw in your hair?” She teased, so convincing that Rose actually put her hand to her head tocheck.

Rose groaned. “Robin!”

Her friend’s laugh was throaty and contagious. “I can’t help it, you’re too gullible.”

“I don’t know” Rose toyed with the ruched neckline which dipped where it laced up at the front, working out where it might sit on her chest. “I think it might be too low. Waaay too low.”

Robin threw on a fur coat, striking a dramatic pose and putting on a Transatlantic accent like an old movie star. “If it’s the scar you’re worried about, don’t be, darling. I have stretch marks pretty much the same size, and I don’t give a damn.”

“Alright, Scarlett O-Hara. Wait, are you sure you’re not auditioning for Blanche Dubois right now? Are you secretly in the drama club?”

“Oh please. I can’t be contained and made to remember lines. I’m au naturel. You should get the shirt, but isn’t your character, like, on the cusp of being evil?”

“You’re right, it’s not evil enough” Rose said, folding the blouse up and turning back to the clothing racks with a huff. “She’s a sorceress with a dark and twisted power, hell bent on revenge for her family’s death and learning necromancy to bring them back to life. Oh, and she wears light armour.”

“Hmm. Not sure ‘light armour’ is a category in the thrift store. ‘Lightly stained’, maybe.”

lHey there, Ladies,” a deep voice announced right at their backs. “Shouldn’t you two broads be back in the saloon serving whiskey?”

A figure popped up behind them, cowboy hat lowered and covering his face, foot propped up on a box. He raised the rim of the hat and Rose’s heart rate slowed down.

“Steve?!” Robin brandished a coat hanger as a makeshift weapon, hyperventilating. “When did you get so stealthy?”

He put his hands on his hips and sighed. “God, sorry. I’ll make more noise next time. But look at this hat? What do you think, am I cowboy material?”

“I can see that, actually,” Rose added. “You’d make a good authority figure, protecting the town from rogue gunslingers. The hat looks perfect for the keg party on Saturday you keep going on about. You might be able to rope in some broads whilst you’re there. Or cows...or horses...what do they even catch with the rope-thing?”

Steve raised his brows, “Cattle. Come on, I thought you were smart. But wait...do you really think I should wear this to Kyle’s party? Bianca might be there, and I was this close to dating her last year, she was all over me after the Nancy thing ended. Maybe Bianca likes herself a rugged cowboy.”

“No, Steve!” Robin cried loudly. “That is not keg party material! I know you got invited to the ‘biggest party of senior year’ when you’ve already graduated and we, the actual seniors, are not even a lowly rung on the social hierarchy and have no invite whatsoever, but can you stop rubbing salt in that wound already?”

“Geez,” Steve whined. “I was going to invite you. Apparently Tammy Thompson is going. Tammy who, you know...” he dropped into a terribly un-subtle whisper. “Who you spent a significant amount of time crushing over in sophomore year.”

Robin shook her head vigorously, shaking off the fur coat. “Nope, nu-uh. I’m not fifteen any more, Stevie. I’ve grown past this particular crush.”

“Oh, well some of your band geeks are going to be there too.”

Robin shrugged. “Maybe. Can I ditch early if it sucks?”

“Fine,” Steve said, resigned. “I guess authority figures have to stay sober to protect the townsfolk, or whatever. Rose, the invite is open to you too.”

There were very few, or specifically no parties like this in her past. By the time she was well enough to attend one and back in school at home, everyone was old enough to drink legally, and the need for clandestine gatherings had shrivelled away. “I would like that,” she admitted. “I watched so many teen movies before I moved over, and every one of them ends in some kind of raging keg party where parents mysteriously go out of town for the night and kids trash the house. I always thought...if I was invited to something like that, everything would be okay. I’d have made friends. Gone through the whole quintessential high school experience.”

Steve was shocked. “That’s horrifyingly sad, you know that? I’m about to shed a tear here. Now you have to come so we can fulfil your childhood dreams. Tomorrow, eight o’clock?”

Rose slammed the table, tipping over a box of scarves. “Dammit, I have to stay home tomorrow. My mum’s not well, I need to look after her. Jerry’s working a night shift at the plant, again.”

“There will be other parties,” Robin promised. “It’s only October. Just wait until spring, Hawkins will be one series of keggers after the other, and we’ll go to them all if you like.”

Rose grinned. “Next time, count me in. Now, for the bigger challenge. I have to find clothes worthy of a necromancer for less than twenty bucks from a thrift store.”

“Well,” Steve picked up a heap of corduroy and held it far away from his body. “If it helps, I think someone may have died in these pants. Maybe they were resurrected in them too?”

Robin squealed and ducked down, bringing up a box from underneath the table, her new bangs just visible over the top and she held it aloft. “Oh my god, I may have just found the answer to all your problems. Look!”

The box was still taped up, but on the side, someone had written in loopy script: Rocky Horror Picture Show, Hawkins Amateur Dramatic Society, ‘82.

---

“Be sensible, Rosebud,” Mum said, about to step into the car. “I know you said your book club friends aren’t the partying type, but you’re teenagers alone in a big house. Things are bound to get a bit rowdy.”

“Mum!” Rose groaned. “It’s not a book club, it’s a fantasy game, played by a bunch of comic-book and fantasy-novel loving teenage nerds. That starts at one o’clock in the afternoon. Just how rowdy do you think it could get?”

“Hmm. There are plenty of sandwiches and crisps, and money for pizza if you want it. No alcohol this time, given Dustin and his friends are a bit too young for that. I also left lots of chocolate and sweets in the basket by the door. Try to save some for the trick-or-treaters, won’t you dear? Claudia said there will be lots of them, so I may have gone a bit overboard.”

Rose’s mum Shirley had befriended Claudia Henderson in the grocery store, last week, her first new friend in Hawkins, bonding over raising children with various health issues as single mothers. Claudia had filled her in on the town, the goings on at school, and just how good and sensible Dustin and his friends were. That worked wonders when Rose asked if Mum and Jerry could vacate the house for Halloween for a Hellfire gathering. When she learned that Dustin could perform CPR and had a first aid certificate from his science camp, the deal was sealed, the house freed up for a full day for Rose and her friends.

“We won’t trash the place, promise,” Rose waved and plastered a smile on her face, stifling a laugh as Mum and Jerry pulled out of the driveway and off to Cartersville. It was eleven o’clock, and by Rose’s reckoning she had twelve hours before they were back. Two full hours before the guys were due to arrive. 

She’d been waiting for this moment for a full week, enduring school, planning the night in her head, hoping desperately that Eddie would actually arrive, worrying that he might disappear at the last minute. 

Facing down her anxiety she put on her walkman, danced up and down the house to Michael Jackson and made the place fit for the Cult of Vecna. The cheap plastic cobweb packs from Melvald’s General Store were broken open, and she wove the fake stuff around the light fittings, stair bannisters, and on the mirrors and paintings on the walls. Every candle they’d ever owned was brought out, the more melted and twisted looking the better, littering every surface, wax dribbled onto surfaces she knew she would wipe clean.

The hallway with its impressive fireplace and sweeping stairs were decorative enough, but the dining room was the focus of her energy, the location of the campaign. Usually, the table felt ridiculous for the three of them, but now she loved that it could easily sit ten. A crimson-red tablecloth was draped over the top, candelabra in the centre, and so much fake cobweb around the room that you’d think Shelob was nesting in the corners above the ornate panelled bookcases. In comparison the kitchen table groaned with snacks, enough to sate the bellies of a dozen teenage adventurers on a quest to vanquish a dark necromancer. 

The bloody terrifying mannequins that were in the cellar when they bought the place were placed strategically in windows to look like shadowy figures, draped in old hats and coats to give them a spooky, realistic outline. When she stepped outside into the yard by midday and looked over at her handiwork, she was delighted. It truly looked like a horror house. 

The contents of her wardrobe played on her mind, and even a brisk, chilly shower couldn’t calm her down. She tiptoed around in a towel and emptied the outfit from its bag onto her bed, the leather gleaming and catching her eye. 

The thrift store had yielded a fruitful haul. Next to the medieval-looking peasant blouse, lay a leather corset in deepest brown, a racy thing meant for a Rocky Horror Picture Show revival, with a scandalously low bustline, proper steel boning and eyehooks, and black silk ribbons laced up at the back. When paired with the leather wrist cuffs that went halfway to elbow, she reckoned it might just pass for leather armour. Yes, it was a bit too sexy for a real pair of bracers and a cuirass, but it fit the D&D vibe, at least in her eyes. Plus, wearing the peasant shirt beneath it would cover the sheer abundance of cleavage that she’d been embarrassed to see when she tried the thing on.

With the outfit laced up until she could just about breathe, knee high leather boots and a mid-length skirt, and her hair loosely braided with one or two curls escaping at the front, she truly felt like Lady Ceverra, the neutral-chaotic Cleric and fledgling necromancer.

It might only have been early afternoon, but Rose was busy setting a fire in the dining room hearth, until the soothing crackle of burning logs and the thick scent of woodsmoke filled the air. She was running around with a lit taper when the doorbell rang, and she took a deep breath, adjusting her hair and answering the door with a lit candle in one hand, and faint wisps of smoke around her.

“Who knocks at my castle door during this hour?” She said loudly, in a theatrical voice. “A pack of adventurers, I see. Come in, there is meat and mead at my table.”

All the guys were crowding around and she could see Eddie’s van parked on the drive, her heart racing instantly. But he must have been behind someone else, or getting out the vehicle.

Dustin’s open-mouthed grin was contagious. “Wow. You look freaking awesome. Wait, do you really have mead?”

“No, dummy. There’s Dr Pepper, root beer, or Mountain Dew.”

“Oh, nice,” he replied, holding up a big carved pumpkin. “We brought pumpkins, as requested. Your mom mentioned to my mom that she didn’t have any, so we all brought one. This place is freaking wild, man. It’s going to look amazing with so many pumpkins on the porch.”

“Thank you, gentlemen. Don’t forget to introduce yourselves on the way in,” Rose said, stepping to one side. 

Dustin came in first, with a rugged cloak, leather satchel instead of a backpack, and pan-pipes, slung around his shoulder. “Nog at your service,” he bowed. “Half dwarf bard, whose enchanted pipes play a tune as sweet as honeyed-wine.”

“Welcome, good bard.” Rose dipped into a curtsey.

Mike’s paladin knight came next, with a sword and shield that looked really convincing, but turned out to be plastic. “Lady Ceverra, this house kicks ass. I always wanted to come inside when it was a wreck, but now it looks like something from the movies.”

“Thank you, good sir.”

“Yeah,” Lucas added behind him. “Better than the prop room by a long shot.”

He drew back the string of a wooden bow, pretending to aim, though the quiver of arrows was still on his back. His outfit was the best yet, like something from a Renaissance fair, quartered red and green, with a shirt, jacket and a cap that looked almost real. When paired with the bow, the leather band around his forehead and the slingshot tucked into his pocket, he looked like he meant business.

“Nice pun, Sir ranger.”

“Sundar the Bold,” he replied. “Yeah, it’s supposed to be Robin Hood. Mom got it for me a couple of years back, but we went as Ghostbusters instead that year."

Chris was next, with something that looked like a sheepskin rug fastened around his shoulders and a sledge hammer at his side. “Thordus Boulderbash, whose hammer could cleave the very mountains in two.”

“Impressive,” Rose gave her verdict. “Like Gimli come to life.”

Chris blushed a little; he’d always had trouble talking to her one on one, his wariness of girls in general making it hard to speak to her without the context of a group conversation or something to focus on like the game of D&D itself. But she was pleased to note he went inside with a smile on his face, and not a nervous one.

The rest of the older guys had lingered at the back, and it took all of Rose’s energy to focus on Gareth as he came through the door, and not look back to seek out Eddie’s mop of hair in the background. 

“Sup,” Gareth said casually, leaning against the doorframe in a hooded cloak. “Illian the Unvanquished", half-elf Paladin and Champion of the Lost Lands. But then you already knew that. Can I go and see the murder house now?”

“Don’t mind him,” Jeff clapped his buddy on the shoulder, stepping inside with a tall gnarled branch like a wizard’s staff, with a plastic-looking gem embedded in the top. “He’s not properly house trained.”

“The place is cool thanks for having us,” Gareth mumbled, shrugging Jeff off. “Just remember, we’re not children here for Halloween, this is a serious endeavour. Let’s get set up.”

Jeff shook his head. “My spellcaster Zaegor is gonna have to kick Ilian’s ass tonight. I think he’s just hungry. Maybe he’ll be better after some Halloween candy.”

“We have lots of that,” Rose reassured. “And enough food to feed the whole of Hawkins. Go ahead, the kitchen is straight past the fireplace and staircase, the second door on the right, after the dining room.”

Then she turned to the open door again, and was left face to face with a figure that may as well have been summoned from a romance or gothic horror story. 

Eddie wore a flouncy, loose white shirt fathered at the wrist, and left unlaced at the top, showing off acres of his beautiful, muscular neck, and the beginnings of the tattoos at the top of his chest. On top of the shirt he wore a leather duster jacket, the kind that was almost floor-length. His Reeboks were replaced with leather boots, and his black jeans today didn’t have holes. He carried an old acoustic guitar, one that definitely wasn’t his precious Warlock. The whole ensemble was deceptively simple, but stunning in its effect on Rose.

“Milady,” he took her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. His soft, full lips, surprisingly warm...lips she could imagine in many, many other places, until her heartbeat morphed into an awful, beautiful kind of throbbing that settled low in her body, in places it really shouldn’t settle with a bunch of freshmen roaming the house. 

“You’re here,” she said stupidly. “I mean, you made the decision to come inside. I hope you won’t regret breaking the promise.”

His eyes clouded over and he stood up, but still kept her hand in his. “Yeah, well Eddie Munson may not be able to enter, but Eddie the Bard is bound to no such promise.”

“A loophole. How ingenious of you.”

They stood there grinning and holding hands, until Rose realised the source of all the drama and dropped it like a stone; by being here, was he upsetting Chrissy, or whoever else he’d made this promise to? Despite feeling thrilled by his presence in her house, she felt bad for a mysterious person who might be hurt because of it.

Eddie swallowed hard, eyes flicking all over the place. “You look, uh...”

“Ridiculous?”

“Like you just stepped out of a fantasy novel. You should be on horseback, wielding a sword, or something.”

Her skin flushed, and she fidgeted with her hands. “I...I was just thinking the same of you. Very Anne Rice.”

He leaned against the doorframe languidly. “Oh, like a vampire? Does that mean I have to ask permission to enter the mansion?”

“Come in,” Rose said immediately. “It’s not as glamorous as you make it sound. On the left is the parlour and the living room, on the right the kitchen and dining room and pantry. The bathroom is down the hall. Yes, I know it’s ridiculous that it has a parlour. It’s not like I sit around all day drinking tea and...okay, yes I do sit around all day drinking tea, but mostly in my room.”

He explored the place with wide eyes and gangly legs, almost knocking over a row of lit candles, and Rose trailed after him, reminding herself where the fire extinguisher was just in case.

They walked through the kitchen where the boys were congregating around the snack table, and Eddie gasped upon seeing the open archway to the dining room.

“Motherfucker,” Eddie chanted in a sing-song voice. “This is fucking perfect. Creepy, fancy, but also kind of derelict, like the place could fall apart at any given moment. Yep, I feel the ambience, Rosie, I feel it. This is going to be a good night.”

She frowned. “It’s one o’clock.”

He made a beeline for the head of the table, and the chair she’d set up as his throne. On top of the crimson tablecloth, behind the candelabra, lay his goblet.

Eddie gasped. “What the hell! I thought this was locked away tighter than Principal Higgin’s integrity. How is it here?”

“I know someone who knows someone,” Rose said with a smug smile. “Quite literally. Robin is old friends with Beth in drama club, she retrieved the goblet on Wednesday. Give Robin a secret mission and she is all over it. Obsessed. She even gave it a code name.”

Eddie was amused. “What was the code name?”

“Project Elixir.”

“Oooh, I like it. Are you sure she doesn’t want to join Hellfire?”

Rose snorted with laughter, and covered her mouth in embarrassment. “She’s not really one for fantasy.”

“Oh my god, I just spotted a skull. A skull!” Eddie was like a kid at Christmas, examining the gruesome prop on the side table, with its jaw wide open, sat on top of the bowl of candies. 

“Oh, that little old thing?” Rose tried to look cool by leaning back on the walnut panelling, and almost fell over, grasping to hold herself upright. “That’s Yorick. I stole him from a hospital when I was fourteen, on a dare.”

��That’s so fucking metal.”

He turned back to the table and shucked off his leather coat, draping it over the creepy mannequin in the corner. He leaned back in the chair with the nonchalance of an aristocrat, holding the goblet aloft and hooking one leg casually over the chair’s arm. 

“I’m feeling it. I am so feeling it. Fetch the minions,” he told Rose with swagger. “The Cult of Vecna calls for their leader to return, and we heroes must answer with blood and steel.”

---

Six hours. For six long and intense hours they huddled around the grand dining table with their character sheets, cans of Dr Pepper, flickering candles, and battled against the forces of evil. 

Eddie owned the room, he owned the whole house. He monologued like a Shakespearean actor, pacing the room, voice booming during the dramatic moments, whispering during the tense ones, until Gareth literally fell from a chair trying to lean in close to hear him.

“In the dank depths of the cavern, all you can hear is the heavy breathing of those around you. But in the dim, flickering torchlight, which of the hooded cultists are your fellow adventurers in disguise, and which are the true foes? That’s the mystery, there is no way to tell but the sound of their voices and the instinct in your gut.”

Eddie held a candle up to his face, the light casting shadows on his cheekbones and nose. “The acolytes carry the sack into the centre of the cavern, toward the stone altar. It wriggles, it writhes, it moans...and when they dump the contents onto the altar you see it at last...the telltale silver hair of Princess Volara, heir to the throne.”

“Oh shit,” Gareth rocked back and forth. “My betrothed has been captured by the Archmage himself. I won’t let you die, Volara. Not after Vecna slowly bled your soul of it strength.”

Lucas pulled out his slingshot and grabbed the D20, like the little weapon would give him luck. “My turn, guys. I take a stone from the cavern floor and load it into my slingshot-”

“Dude,” Mike interrupted. “You can’t attack, they’ll cut her throat before so much as take off your cloak!”

Lucas grimaced. “Trust me. I take my slingshot and fire the stone toward the sconce on the wall opposite. It knocks the wooden torch, just a little bit, making everyone turn toward the source of light.”

He rolled the D20, and they watched with bated breath, until it rolled onto sixteen.

Eddie pressed the tips of his fingers together, like a movie villain. “I see where you’re going with this. Crit hit, Sinclair. The cultists turn toward the source of light, and for the briefest of seconds, you see their eyes reflecting the firelight. Several of them are brown, several blue, but one is purple.”

“That’s me!” Jeff squealed. “All the potions turned my eyes purple, and-”

The ding-ding of the doorbell stopped them, and a collective groan rose around the table.

“Goddamn it,” Lucas shook his head. “Dustin, can you get the door?”

Dustin's face pulled into an expression of distaste. “Me?! I gave out candy only two times ago, it’s not my turn!”

“But what if it’s the pizza this time?”

Rose shuffled back in her chair, ready to go to the door, but Eddie stopped her, his hand brushing against her sleeve, making her breath catch.

Eddie seemed to pause too, his fingers stilling on her wrist. “Not your turn either. Just cause you’re the only girl, doesn’t mean it’s your job.” He grabbed his new favourite prop, Yorick the skull and played around, moving its lower jaw to mimic speech like a ventriloquist with a dummy. “Thordus, tis your turn to appease the cultists outside. Give them their pound of flesh - and by flesh I mean chocolate - and send them on their way. Go, good fellow! Before they tear down the defences!”

Chris groaned and picked up his sledgehammer, talking directly to the skull instead of Eddie. “Fine, but if I can scare them away, do I get to have the chocolate?”

“No!” Yorick’s jaw - and puppet master - said.

“Take some chocolate,” Rose called out, overruling the Dungeon Master. “Just don’t use the hammer anywhere near the children. We don’t need another murder to take place in this house, one was enough.”

“Where were we,” Eddie continued. “Ah, yes. Lucas, your character Sundar makes out Jeff’s wizard and Rose’s cleric in the crowd, hidden behind their own cultists masks and ready to save the Princess. They both stand to your left, by the cavern entrance. On your next turn, you can attack the Archmage and interrupt the ritual before it summons Vecna himself.”

Lucas passed the D20 over to Rose, who held out her shaky hand and clasped it, trying to determine a course of action.

“I can’t summon the dead body in the corner as a thrall, can I?” She asked, already knowing the answer.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” Eddie said gently. “You’re still level eight. Might be level ten by the next session, at which point you unlock Animate Dead and kick some cultist ass.”

She slumped in her chair, aching at the tight lacing of the corset. “God, I can’t wait.”

A series of childish screams sounded outside, followed by Chris’ laugh. He came running back in with his sledgehammer and a pile of chocolate and candy, hoarding it like Smaug with gold in his corner of the table. 

Jeff began to get antsy, fidgeting in his chair, checking his watch. “It’s seven o’clock, man. Where is this pizza?”

“It’s Saturday and Halloween,” Dustin rationalised, chugging back his Dr Pepper and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “They’re busy.”

“Wait,” Eddie stood up suddenly, drawing their attention. “You shiver and clutch the robes tighter around your shoulders, taken by a sudden chill in the air. It’s not just cold in the cavern, it’s icy, your breath fogging in front of you like an ice dragon.”

Jeff took in a sudden breath. “You know what that means...he’s here.”

Mike scrunched up his face. “Who?”

Jeff leaned in. “Vecna.”

The dining room felt chilly in reality, and Rose shivered as if someone walked over her grave, ignoring the fact that shuddering her chest probably did little to hide the effect of her tight corset and the poorly-concealed cleavage.

The faint buzz of electric lights dimming rose above the crackling flames of the fireplace, and the ceiling lights and lamps in the hallway upstairs flickered, the power outage travelling downstairs and affecting the bulbs one by one, like they occasionally did. But this time, with the whole party of eight fixed on the malfunctioning lights, it got quiet and tense very quickly.

“Uh...guys?” Lucas asked, his face a mask of horror. “You saw that too, right?”

“It’s only been three months, I can’t do this again,” Mike added, running his hands through his hair.

“Don’t worry,” Rose added quickly, trying to diffuse the weird tension amongst the younger boys. “I know it looks weird but it’s just an old house, the wiring is dodgy. It’s happened before, but the power hasn’t blown out or anything.”

The path of malfunctioning lamps drew toward them, until the kitchen light just a couple of metres away flickered into life, and then faded away slowly.

“That light wasn’t even on,” Dustin said, his face ghostly pale. “Guys, I think we have a code red. I repeat, code red.”

Eddie looked puzzled, waving a hand toward Dustin, the cuff of his shirt sleeve flapping about. “What’s a code red, Henderson?”

A second ding-dong interrupted them again, and Rose unfurled her aching legs and stood up with a groan. “My turn. I’ll get some money in case it’s pizza. If anyone dares to move my character, I will kill them. That includes you Gareth. Actually, that mostly refers to you.”

“Jeez,” Gareth scowled from beneath his hood. “What happened to innocent until found guilty?”

Rose wandered into the kitchen, where the sandwich crusts, empty crisp packets and wrappers littered over the kitchen table were the only remains of the feast, demolished by a hungry horde by three o’clock. She retrieved the small wad of cash from the tin of tea leaves and opened the front door.

“How much is it?” She asked, looking down at her hands and trying to remove a folded twenty dollar bill. 

A wave of noise hit her, voices clamouring and cheering, and Rose dropped the money on the porch floor.

Steve Harrington tipped the cowboy hat from the thrift store at her, one spurred boot propped up on a giant, silver keg of beer. His jeans and tasselled waistcoat rounded out a fairly decent cowboy outfit. 

“Howdy there,” he said. “Did someone call for a keg party?”

“Surprise!” Robin leapt out from the crowd of people - wait, who were all the people? - in a full-on French mime costume, complete with beret, stripey shirt, braces and white face paint. “If Rose cannot come to the keg party, the key party shall come to her! I see you kept your outfit on, damn, you could cause a traffic accident with those on display!”

Rose crossed her arms defensively as teens in all kinds of Halloween costumes pushed past them, flooding the hall before she even had a chance to stop. Jeremy - the party dude, with the coke habit, entered the hall and looked around at the decorated house, with an exclamation of: “Sweet, nice haunted house, man.”

“What the hell?” Rose said. “How did this happen?”

Some of Robin’s bandmates were next, and a girl with red hair she’d recognised from school. They carried in cases of beer, bottles of spirits, and - as if it was plucked from a movie - a boombox playing something electronic and very not suited to the whole D&D vibe.

“You were so sad last weekend,” Steve explained. “We wanted to make your keg party dream come true. I know people, all it took was a couple of calls. Not sure how, but the rest of the school sniffed the party out like ”

Robin spread her arms open. “Ta da!”

Panic began to flood Rose, particularly how one very particular DM might react to the chaos. “But we’re still in the middle of Dungeons and Dragons!”

Robin pulled a face. “Huh? You said it started at one.”

“Exactly. We’re not even half way through!”

Robin’s face fell, but Steve looked calm and collected, stepping aside to let in a string of witches - cheerleaders from school, Rose thought - his eyes fixed on them as they walked by. “So we have a little party on the margins. Best of both worlds, right? Come on, don’t say your parents won’t like it. Your mom literally plied me with alcohol last time I was here, no questions asked. She’s cool.”

“Plus,” Robin pointed for emphasis. “We’ll be on clean up duty, and help you get the place tidy before they come home.”

“In four hours?” Rose cried out.

“No, sixteen hours, dummy. Eleven AM.”

“No, Rob. Four hours. They’re not staying overnight.”

“Oooh,” Robin let out a whistling breath. “Steve, have we fucked up? Can we stop it now?”

The keg had already been carried in, music blared, and a loud smash inside caused them all to wince. 

“I don’t think so,” Steve said through gritted teeth. “Maybe we let it burn out for a couple of hours, until the alcohol’s gone. You know, like a forest fire.”

“Is that a good analogy, Steve?” Robin asked sarcastically. “Aren’t forest fires destructive?”

He held up his hands, kind of dopey. “What? I saw a PBS documentary on forest management last week, they’re supposed to, like, regenerate the forest by providing nutrients and encouraging new growth.”

“Fire...” Rose murmured. “There are a hundred lit candles in there. Quick, we have to put them out before the whole place goes up in flames!”

“Come on dingus,” Robin shook her head. “The least we can do is avert a disaster. You take the left side, i’ll take the right.”

Rose left them to put out candles and ran inside, her heart sinking. A picture frame had been knocked over, wooden frame splintered, but thankfully the glass was still intact. “Off!” She shouted to a ghost in a low-effort bedsheet with holes in it. “Break anything, and you pay for it. Damn it all to hell, I haven’t even checked with the Hellfire, they might be disappointed. I don’t know if they like this kind of thing, they might be too shy-”

As she wandered through the house and into the dining room, the Hellfire guys and the party people seemed to meet, absorbed into one big crowd. Lucas hi-fived another member of the basketball team.

Dustin was clutching his own face and giggling. “A kegger?” He squealed. “I didn’t think I'd be invited to one of those until Junior year. I’m three full years ahead of schedule...at this rate, I'll be prom king. Look out, class of ‘90!”

“I’ve heard of those kinds of parties, but I dared not hope...” Chris said. “Please say this isn’t a dream.”

Gareth was leaning back on his chair, his hooded cloak falling off his head, almost drooling at the outfits of the witch-cheerleaders. The game pieces in front of him and all the other guys had been completely forgotten. 

“Oh,” Rose said to herself. “Perhaps they don’t mind after all.”

The collective joy around the Hellfire table was contagious, the room filled with people and red cups of foamy beer, the electro-beat of Dead Man’s Party ringing out on the boombox...it wasn’t so bad. Like a John Hughes movie had leapt out from the screen and took place live in her home. 

Rose began to relax just a fraction. Until she saw the uncertainty on Eddie’s face. No, it wasn’t uncertainty, he looked downright pissed. She bumped her way through the crowd, elbowing through a pair of ghosts and a Princess Leia with fake buns on a headband, and tried to get to his side.

“Eddie, I’m sorry,” she called over one of the revellers in a monster costume. “I didn’t know this was happening.”

He swept up the figurines and board pieces, snatching one from the curious green-painted hand of the monster dude, and packed them back in the box with an agitated, twitching face. 

“S’cool,” he lied. “No worries, maaan. We’ll have a big party instead of the Cult of Vecna. Pick it up next week, I guess. That is, if we haven’t lost the guys to the popular social clique.���

Rose worked her bottom lip between her teeth, feeling terrible about the interruption, kind of angry at Robin and Steve, yet oddly touched they tried to put this together just for her.

She approached him gingerly, putting a hand on his arm, looking deeply into his big, doe-eyes. “Eddie, don't be ridiculous. They love Hellfire, there’s no way they’ll abandon it for a moment with the popular kids. You’re like their hero.”

At that very moment Dustin ran forward, stopping in his tracks, looking at the doorway to the hall, dumbfounded. “Steve? What the hell, are you behind this kegger?”

Steve opened his arms wide. “Henderson, you little menace. Come here!”

The two of them ran toward each other almost in slow-motion, colliding in a dramatic and meaningful hug, which they tried to make more masculine with a lot of back-slapping and clearing of throats.

Dustin looked up at him, like he hung the moon. “Crashing a Halloween party at a haunted house with a keg? Classic King Steve. Graduation can’t even contain your reputation at school, can it?”

“Oh no,” Rose muttered under her breath, watching Dustin and Steve greet each other like the oldest of friends. Shit. From the corner of her eye, she saw Eddie was wounded. Sure, he covered it by turning to grab his guitar from the eager-fingered green monster and pointedly ignoring Dustin. But she could see right through it. Jealousy. But it felt like there was more beneath the surface. 

Eddie surveyed the crowd, and winced at a particularly shrill beat from the boombox. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“No,” she pleaded, grabbing his arm again. “Stay. Have a drink. I don’t want you to go.”

He looked down at her hand, wavering. “I guess I could have one.”

Rose sighed with relief. “Stay right here, I'll get us beer. If I'm going to be a reluctant party host, I might as well benefit from it by getting buzzed.”

The moment the crowd parted them, she lost sight of his long leather jacket and white frilly shirt, swallowed by dancing monsters and witches, moving to the beat. The kitchen was chaotic, all the Halloween candy eaten, and the pizza they ordered an hour ago had mysteriously arrived, been paid for, and completely devoured, leaving nothing but the greasy boxes.

“Robin!” She cried. “Where the hell is the beer?”

“In the parlour!” Her friend’s voice echoed back, a blur of face paint and a beret just visible in the hall. 

By the time she filled two cups with foamy beer, avoided the groping hands of a Thriller-style zombie whose face was almost planted in her cleavage, and got back to the dining room, Eddie was nowhere to be found. 

Okay, it wasn’t quite what she’d hoped for, but it was a party. A lively one, on Halloween, surrounded by teens who were high on hops and hormones, and...now that she came to think of it, what if they trashed upstairs? Used the bedrooms like a brothel, queueing up to fondle each other her mother’s quilted bedspread? It was enough to make her panic, until she saw a figure in a fur cloak, with his sledgehammer held high.

“Chris,” she waved at him, gaining his attention. “If you guard the stairs, i’ll owe you.”

“What?”

“I’ll owe you!”

His face was a picture of surprise. “You’ll blow me?”

“What the fuck, no!” She screamed, attracting attention, as When Doves Cry blasted across the room. “I will be in your debt. Owe you a favour. Anything except that!”

He nodded, finally getting it. “What do you want?”

“Guard the stairs, no one except me or Robin and Steve are allowed up. Okay?”

“A side quest,” he exclaimed. “No one will breach the stairs, milady. They can send an army, but I will guard it with my life!”

She sagged, secure in the knowledge that he wouldn’t let anyone through, though slightly worried that sledgehammer would be put to use at some point, even by accident. 

“All the candles are out,” Robin sidled up to her. “I hid your mom’s ornaments in the pantry, and Dustin is literally about to combust from excitement. Time to actually enjoy the party, you know, dancing, music, a little joie de vivre...sound familiar?”

“What, we’re not supposed to scowl at the edges like old spinsters?” Rose said with mock confusion.

“Dance with me!” Robin commanded.

“I’m too clumsy!”

“Me too. If we do it together, maybe we’ll cancel each other out. Two left feet make a right, or whatever the saying is.”

She allowed herself to be dragged on the dance floor, and when Duran Duran came on the stereo, she couldn’t stop herself, laughing breathlessly as Steve did a little cowboy dance and completely failed to charm Bianca, the current object of his affections.

They were clumsy, they were awful, but Halloween costumes were forgiving, weren’t they? Freedom to be more than who you were, and try out a different side of yourself. The party burned on for longer than she realised, until the grandfather clock in the hallway struck eleven, the sonorous ring of it snapping her out of it.

Shit. Mum and Jerry would be home any minute, and the party was in full throes, nowhere near burning out like a forest fire, or whatever other hamfisted metaphor Steve had used earlier.

Her face was burning, lungs struggling for air, and the place was too crowded. Rose bolted for the front door, pushing past a couple shoving their tongues down each others throats and emerging onto the porch, where more kids hung out with cups of foamy beer. The hoppy smell made her feel queasy, feet stumbling until she was out on the driveway.

“Nice party, new girl,” someone shouted. She gave them a thumbs up, no clue who was beneath the costume, and kept going until she saw Eddie’s van. It was at the front of the drive, trapped by a layer of parked cars of those who arrived later, drawn by the buzz in the air and the gossip whipping around the town at lightspeed, of a party at the murder house.

She put her hands to the widow and peered through the glass: empty. But then a chord drifted on the night air, with the scent of pumpkin flesh and pine. Black Sabbath, the chorus of Lady Evil. Eddie sat on the swings over the street, the foggy evening lit by buzzing street lamps, illuminating the frizzy hair like a halo.

Rose ws drawn by the song, leaving behind the party and stepping willingly into the playground, watching his ringed fingers strum the acoustic guitar and produce a sound so natural and beautiful she held her breath. He was concentrating so hard his tongue poked out the corner of his mouth, and her heart did a little leap. The perils of having a heart condition and helplessly falling for someone...each time her heart raced, she felt weird, and worried herself needlessly. But she found it was a good weird.

“Ah,” Eddie said, sitting up as her shadow fell over him. “Here she is, the Queen of the Night herself. Mistress of the keg party. Lady reveller, entertaining the masses in her tavern.”

She snorted, and dropped onto the best swing, cold chains biting her fingers. “I’m hardly a party mistress. Haven’t even had a drink.”

He kept strumming the guitar, playing through the rest of the song, but smiling wide. “No way.”

“Yes way. Not even a drop of beer.”

His teasing side-eye was enough to warm her right up. “You running for sainthood or something?”

She pondered it for a while. “Sister Rose does have a good ring to it. What, why are you laughing?!”

“You’d be a terrible nun, sweetheart,” he said, voice low and throaty. “You’ve been converted to metal music, satan worship, and liquor. Yeah...you’re too good at sinning.”

His teeth shone pearly white and the loose ruffled shirt was still half-open, exposing the neck that would tempt Dracula himself. And when he saw her looking, his wicked grin only widened. Well bloody hell, he must be out to kill her. Do her in, set her on metaphorical fire, or at least banish all the nice, innocent thoughts she’d been thinking about how they could be friends. But there was a Chrissy-shaped elephant in this room, even though they were outside, one they were no closer to overcoming.

“My last hangover was one to remember. It might be a while before I can stomach alcohol without wanting to be sick.”

Eddie laughed and put down the guitar gently. “Just avoid the instrument, sweetheart. My uncle Wayne won’t forgive me if it comes home covered in vomit. It’s his baby, carried it all the way from Tennessee.”

“Your Uncle Wayne sounds great,” she ventured. He hardly ever talked about his family, only when they were alone. He didn’t have a mother and father and a picket fence, like most of his friends. Less stability, and more shame. “Did he teach you to play?”

His smile was bittersweet, eyes glazed over and lost in memories. “My old man taught me first. Uncle Wayne kept it up later, when he wasn’t around. Real country stuff. But the love of music? That came from my mom. We didn’t have much, but no matter how little money you have, you can’t take away music. I’d be strumming and banging on anything in sight, dancing along to her records. Hendrix and Fitzgerald and all sorts of blues.”

Rose swung back and forth gently, boots trailing on the grass. “How did she...”

“Cancer.”

“Shit.”

“She was thirty-three.”

“Oh god. That’s fucking awful Eddie, I didn’t know. How old were you?”

He twisted his swing’s chains to the side, so he was facing her. “Ten. She’s buried at the cemetery off Cornwallis. I go there sometimes. Never on the day she died, there is not a little bit of me that wants to remember that day. But I go there every now and then, and always on her birthday. I, uh, know it sounds stupid, but I bring the guitar and play some Hendrix sometimes.”

“Not stupid,” she said, swinging higher and higher, feeling the rush of being at the top of the world, and the drop in your stomach when you fall back to earth again. “You’re talented as fuck. Must have been that goblet of rock that’s inside. I’d better not let anyone drink from it, or you’ll be dethroned as Hawkins’ rock god.”

“Sweetheart, do not inflate my ego. I can hardly fit in the van as it is. If my head gets bigger, will I grow more hair, or will it go ratty and balding, spread like butter over too much toast?”

Rose laughed until she couldn’t breathe, and stuck out her heels, feet jarring in the grass as she made the swing come to a stop. “You’re trying to kill me, Munson. Oh god, my ribs. It hurts.”

Eddie half-rose from the swing seat, face etched with concern. “Are you...sick? Do we need a doctor?”

“It’s this corset,” she grimaced, twisting her hands to her back and trying to pull on the laces. “Flipping torture devices made by sadists, that’s what they are. I couldn’t cope with the Victorian era. No wonder the ladies fainted all the time and needed smelling salts.”

“Oh, right,” he crossed his arms, shoving his hands into his armpits, like he didn’t know what to do with himself. “So you didn’t...uh, you didn’t just have that little torture device hanging around then? Not your weekend outfit?”

“Bloody hell, no,” Rose continued to struggle, going pink in the face. “I think I need help, I can’t reach the back. Could you undo the knot for me?”

Eddie stepped back. “You sure?”

Rose went light headed, and she stepped around until her back faced him, drawing her loose braid over the front of her shoulder. “I’m not asking you to strip me naked, Eddie. Just loosen it up a little. Besides, you can see I have a shirt on underneath this thing.”

“Oh. Loose...laces...knots. I happen to be amazing with my fingers, lots of practice. Oh Jesus H Christ, I meant with guitar strings not...though come to think of it...god, shut up. Shut up, Eddie.”

“Guitars,” she said dumbly. “I get it.”

His breath fanned the back of her neck and she could feel the warmth of him at her back. Don’t think of his fingers...don’t think of his fingers...

In a few moments he’d picked open the knot, and a single touch of his calloused finger to the exposed skin between her shoulder blades had a shiver rippling up her spine.

“Sorry,” he laughed nervously. “Kinda cold out here. So what do I do now?”

“Just tug on the top thread until it moves an inch or two, then the next one, and keep going. It should loosen up quite easily.”

He cleared his throat. “Right. Gotcha.”

The top of the corset began to loosen and the pressure in her ribs and lungs slowly eased, and it was glorious, remembering how to breathe again, the blood flowing back to her skin and tingling all at once.

She groaned, loudly, just as Eddie’s fingers worked their way down; he jolted and tugged the lace too hard, and somehow within a single fluid move the lace unravelled and the whole thing dropped to the floor.

“Oh...ooh no, n-no.” Eddie stammered.

With agonising awareness, Rose felt her nipples hardening as the cool night air rushed beneath the loose, half-open peasant shirt. And in an instinctive, foolish move, she turned around to see what had happened, until he was inches away from her. 

The sensation of boobs - and not small ones, not by any stretch - being freed after a long period of containment was a very personal, very private thing, and one she had not experienced in front of a man, let alone one she fancied the pants off of. Within a split second she’d covered them with her hands, with the flimsy shield of the peasant shirt. Unfortunately, she’d left the garment open to better fit beneath her corset, and it was a flimsy layer of clothing by itself, made translucent by the buzzing street lamp over their heads.

“I seem to be in a state of undress,” Rose said politely. “Oh lovely, I’ve fully embraced life as a Victorian lady, haven’t I. Someone will see my ankles in a minute, and denounce me as the town hussy. Oh fuck.”

Eddie's eyes were pools of coal-black, completely unreadable, somehow everywhere over her body all at once, until he jerked back like he’d been burned. 

“Do you...” his voice was low and even, like he was putting great effort into controlling it. “Do you want me to lace it back on?”

“No! It would take too long, I'm one gust of wind away from being topless here.”

“Here,” he flung off his leather duster coat, like it had fleas. “Take it.”

“Won’t you be cold?”

“I run hot, like a furnace usually. Warm all the time. Never need a blanket, not even in winter.” he babbled. 

Rose tugged the sleeves of the leather jacket on, and held the edges together at the front. Now that image was too much...Eddie naked, Eddie sleeping with no clothes, and no blanket. But now, he was in his own flowing white shirt.

“I like your shirt,” she said, humour coming back into her voice now she had some semblance of modesty. “We kind of match.”

Eddie looked down at himself and pretended to be shocked, playing the jester, jumping back. “Oh my gosh, how did that get there? Wait...if I put on your corset, i’d look very Rocky Horror, wouldn’t I. Shall I do it?”

She couldn't help but giggle. “Ah, but they would think we’ve been out here...you know...doing stuff.”

His eyebrows waggled and he paced around, giving her a very mischievous look. “Ah, stuff. I thought you were a virtuous woman, Sister Rose?”

“What, a nun can’t cross dress with her dungeon master? Whatever has the world come to?”

He strutted around like a peacock, like something from a romance novel, chest half-exposed, long hair curling around his shoulders. Rose noticed a silver necklace of some kind hung at his chest, a crucifix maybe? Yes, yes she would be re-reading Anne Rice tonight, she was sure of it.

“Stuff,” he repeated. “Naughty things. Things someone inside might not like. I get it. Maybe we should head back in, before the parentals come home and see the lady of the house dishevelled in the street, like a common whore.”

“Oh,” she raised her brows. “I’ve been upgraded to whore, have I?

“Promoted, sweetheart. I guess you have a thriving career ahead of you.”

“A nun and a whore. What will the priest say?”

Eddie winked. “It’s kinky, he’ll love it..”

Whilst some of the partygoers had begun to drift off, bound by curfews and the threat of permanent grounding, most of them remained. Dustin, Lucas and Mike were hanging out in the dining room window, and Robin and half their classmates would be inside.

“Do I have to go in?” She asked, looking back at the swings with longing.

“Eventually, yes.”

She looked up to the windows of the house, and a grin spread over her face. “Who said I have to go through the front door? Eddie, are you good at climbing trees?”

He looked to her, to the house, to her, back to the house, cogs whirring in his brain. “Oh my god.”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“No.”

“It makes sense. My window isn’t locked.”

“Do you have a death wish, sweetheart? Are you high? Except I know you’re not, cause I control the supply at school.”

“I’m high on life!”

He laughed and shook his head. “Goddamn it, you are going to be the death of me.”

Rose couldn’t stop giggling, until she sounded like a bit of an idiot. “Already died once, haven’t I? I must have eight remaining. You have nine left, like a cat.”

Eddie was contemplative. She thought she’d lost him for a minute there, as he turned his back to her. But a second later he came back, holding the leather, ribbed corset in his hands and shoving it in the waistband of his jeans. “You’ll need this, to protect your innocent reputation. Come on, Sister Rose, let’s break you back into the convent.”

“Oh, this is exciting,” she clapped her hands. “I’m living out every high school fantasy in one night.”

“It’s a good job your house has a nice veranda, and a great big tree right next to it. Come to think of it, you should get better security. That’s a thief’s wet dream.”

She giggled even more, stopping to breathe hard and clutch at his sleeve, completely ruining their stealthy approach. After a long pause they made it to the cedar tree at the side of the house, and Eddie climbed ahead of her, working out footholds and helping her take each step up. 

“Look,” she hissed. “They don’t even see us!”

The couple on the porch seat were sucking each other's faces off, too busy to notice the people climbing a tree only twenty feet away.

“Of course they don’t, they’re about to get to third base.”

“Yeah...I don’t understand baseball. No idea what that means.”

Eddie reached a horizontal branch and slithered onto it, testing its weight, and finding it sturdy. He hauled Rose up, until she straddled the branch and hugged the main trunk, watching how he dropped easily from the tree to the veranda below her mother’s bedroom.

“Come on,” he beckoned, hands outstretched. “I’ve got you.”

She dropped onto him with a thud, with a mental reminder to thank the contractor who’d repaired the roof last month, for doing such a sturdy job. There were some limbs pressed together, some awkward scrambling upright, until they stood holding each other's forearms, balancing together.

“So,” he said casually. “Which room’s yours?”

Rose looked up, gesturing with her chin to the big, round stained-glass window. “Up there.”

He threw his head back, exposing the column of his throat. “The attic? You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

“Hold me.”

Eddie blinked a few times. “What?”

“Boost me up. I can get in the side window, then pull you up afterward.”

“Sure,” he nodded. “We could do that.”

They crept to the side of the veranda, beneath a dormer window, and Rose limbered up, then wound her fingers together and cracked her knuckles. “I’m ready. How do you want to do this?”

Eddie held out his arms moving them up and down, like he was looking for somewhere to grab. “Maybe you should get on my shoulders? Jump up?”

The air seemed to crackle as she stepped toward him, looping her arms about his shoulders. She was so nervous she jumped straight away, until her legs locked about his waist and his head oh for god’s sake his head was at a level with her chest.

“Not that way,” He said, muffled by their clothes. “I meant jump on my back, not my front!”

“That would have made sense.”

“We’ll go with it,” he said, shifting her weight in his arms. “Can you reach the window from here?”

“Back up to the wall for me.”

He did as she asked. “Now?”

Her fingertips were so near, bark-scraped palms flush against the bottom of the window pane, almost able to push open the sash window. “Almost, let me get a bit higher.”

She wriggled up him, until somehow her knees were planted on his shoulders. “Yes, I've got it!”

“Hmm. Fuck. Oh god.”

“I’m sorry, I know I’m not light.”

“No, sweetheart,” Eddie’s voice was muffled again. “Just be careful where you move, or the couple on the porch won’t be the only ones out here getting to third base.”

She pushed open the window and the momentum carried her slightly forward, realising just at the wrong moment that his head was very much in between her legs. Panic and adrenaline made her pull herself into the window more than her arms could under normal circumstances, and before long she was crumpled on the floor of her attic bedroom, quivering in a heap. 

“Uh, Rosie? You in there?”

She sat up so quick it made her lightheaded. “Yep, I'm coming.” She appeared over the window ledge and looked down into big, brown eyes and a dimpled smile.

He threw his arms up, dropping down on one knee like a knight in a fairy tale. “Rapunzel, let down your hair,” 

“What?” She grabbed her braid, looking at it like a slack-jawed idiot. “Oh. Something to climb. I see.” She dived back into her room, switching on a lamp. Her scarf? Her hockey stick? Her eyes landed on the floral blue dressing gown on the wardrobe door, she pulled the terry cloth belt from it and threw it out the window.

Holding the rope with one hand, he climbed up the wall like a limber monkey, latching onto her arm as he neared the top and launching himself into the window, jean chain clanking on the sill. They collided again, proximity making her drunk and dizzy, lightheaded from being in the presence of all this Eddie. She was suddenly very aware Eddie Munson was just between her legs, whilst they broke into her attic room, with a raging party going on downstairs and music throbbing through the floorboards. There was no way she’d anticipated the night ending like this.

He rubbed his scratched palms together and became aware of his surroundings, peering into the corners, wandering around aimlessly, poking at her things. “So this is like your lair? Very creepy, very cool. Very Rose.”

“You think?”

“Hell yeah,” he gave her an enthusiastic nod. Oh god, he looked good in that shirt, it was sinful. He zeroed in on the bookshelves, fingers tracing on the spines. “That is a looot of books. If you didn’t have a wall of sexy guys plastered right next to it, I'd be kind of intimidated, y’know?”

“I’m a connoisseur of bands and movies,” she said, eyeing the posters of her old crushes, marvelling that the new one, the real one, was right there. “Purely a coincidence that they’re all very attractive men.”

“Harrison Ford,” Eddie appraised the poster of Indiana Jones. “Classic. I get it, it’s the whip, isn’t it.”

“Of course, every girl’s dream,” she replied. “Would you...would you mind waiting outside the door while I get changed? As much as I like this jacket, I-”

His mood shifted, becoming more guarded. “Oh, I get it. I don’t want a particular person to get the wrong impression, like I carry you into your bedroom window in a state of undress all the time. Especially when they might be downstairs, dancing to shitty music with the rest of the popular crowd.”

Chrissy was here? Rose supposed it made sense, she’d seen half the cheerleading squad in witchy outfits attacking the keg earlier. Come to think of it, she didn’t know who half the people in the house were, partly due to the costumes, but clearly a bigger crowd had been summoned by the invite from the former King of Hawkins High. “I didn’t realise there was someone...I mean I thought, but...”

“It’s okay,” Eddie flapped around nervously, inspecting her bookshelves again. “I kind of figured it out last week. Moving on swiftly, I can either sneak downstairs or go back out the window. I’m thinking the window; Chris might kneecap me with the sledgehammer on the way down the stairs, he looks like he was taking that responsibility very seriously.”

“I don’t want you to break your neck on the way down. I’ve never seen someone trip on their own feet so much, except Robin, maybe. If I didn’t know you were stone cold sober I’d think you were drunk.”

Eddie took the mortal blow badly, clutching his chest. “Me? Clumsy? I’m as graceful as a...okay, you got me there McAllister.”

Fuck. He was so clumsy, so charming, so infuriatingly on the same wavelength as Rose. It was typical, she supposed. She found someone she was crazy about, and he was crazy about someone else. 

Eddie had given her more courage and more reason to break out from her carefully crafted shell of invisibility than anyone. And maybe, just maybe, she should do something very…stupid. Then he was walking away, back facing, his hand on the doorknob.

“Eddie, wait,” she caught his arm. His pretty brown eyes found hers, boring into her heart. “I need to say something.”

He swallowed. “Is this the part where you tell me you wanna leave Hellfire? I don't want…I guess it-”

“No, you idiot! I love Hellfire. It's something else, stupid really.”

He stood up straight, becoming more serious. “Yeah?”

She took a deep breath. “I really, really-”

Darkness covered them like a thick blanket, pitch black so dark she could only feel his arm, not see him at all. Jeering and shouting from a half a hundred teens all at once rose through the house; then the music died, and all she could feel was her racing heart.

“Party's over, dipshits,” Steve cried out downstairs, to a chorus of boos. “If you're still here in five minutes, congratulations, you volunteered for clean up duty.”

Eddie's warm breath fanned her face in the dark. “I'd, um, offer to stay, but I have six guys to get home in the van, three of them freshmen and possibly buzzed for the first time.”

“Of course, you should collect the hellspawn,” Rose managed a lame laugh. “It's dark, so you can sneak down the stairs without being seen.”

“Well, don't mean to brag, but this bard's stealth is pretty high.”

He began to pull away.

“Eddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. For being so kind.”

His hand squeezed hers. “Anytime, Rosie. Just say the word.”

In three heartbeats he was gone, stirring the air in his wake. And despite sneaking into her window with a boy, an out if control keg party, and the prospect of parents on the rampage for an impromptu rager, she'd trade every one of those high school cliche’s just to hold onto him a minute longer, or as long as he'd let her.

[darkbluekies]

Hi! spicy arab dad anon back from the dead

I’m back with news, my mum has now been introduced to your writings and she is obsessed with Jerry (and hedwig but mostly Jerry)

She said that Jerry was “A tall glass of water” whatever that means, she speaks English better than me😒

And she would like to know if Jerry would like traditional Iraqi food like Masgouf, dolma and Tashreeb stuff like that.

My dad is still obsessed with Silas, we’ve been fasting for Ramadan and it’s made the obsession worse, he’s started asking my mum for foods that she thinks Silas would like during suhoor

do you know how fucking happy i am seeing you again?!

gasp do we have spicy arab mom now too???????? Jerry would absolutely love some Iraqi food, this girl eats and loves everything. She will sit her ass down until your mom is done stuffing her with food and she will thank her for every single bite. This is probably the nicest you'll ever see Jerry in your entire life.

your dad is an icon, tell him that i love him. Silas would love anything steak, but if that's not in the picture, he is open to try anything, honestly! Just make sure there's a lot of spices, he's not a fan of bland food hehehe

[tsarisfanfiction]

Leaving Home

Fandom: Trials of Apollo Rating: Gen Genre: Family/Hurt/Comfort Characters: Jerry, Yan, Jerry's Mum It's a long way from London to New York, and an even longer way when it means leaving behind your family. At least Jerry still had Yan, though. TOApril day 4 - Facing the Unknown, and I continue to write about the youngest canon Apollo kids, apparently. Given how little we know about them, this is of course completely full of headcanons. I have spent entirely too much time thinking about the logistics of a London kid and a Hong Kong kid ending up at Camp, whoops... And am I relishing writing a canonically British kid and not having to overthink whether or not an American kid would say that? Of course not, why would you ever think that? (Yes, yes I am)

Heathrow Airport was huge.  Jerry was a born and bred Londoner; crowds didn’t bother him, and while he knew to keep his few valuables – wallet, passport – hidden away beneath layers of clothing where it wasn’t going to get lost or stolen, he had no fear of bodies pressing against him as they rushed past on their way to wherever they were trying to get to.

Jerry wasn’t rushing.  He didn’t want to rush, because this was scary.

Not the crowds at the airport.  That wasn’t scary.  Jerry was used to crowds, grew up with them, knew how to dart through bodies to get where he needed to be.

He gripped his mum’s hand more tightly as he watched his suitcase – it was huge and heavy and also far, far, too small – trundle down the conveyor belt to get eaten by the thick dangling plastic strips and disappear from sight.  It started to feel real, now, and Jerry’s stomach was churning because he didn’t want it to be real.

It had been scary when the thing had attacked him, all claws and teeth and dangerous, and he laughed about the old janitor with a limp battering the thing away with a sopping wet mop when he thought about it, because that was funny.  A monster wanting to kill him and only not killing him because the janitor was actually a satyr like Mr Tumnus from that book his junior school had forced him to read, except this Mr Tumnus was a good fighter and something about his mop had made the monster explode into dust, was scary.

Even if the satyr thing was sort of cool.

No amount of satyr Mr Tumnus coolness (except Mr Tumnus was not cool, Jerry hadn’t really liked him, but then he hadn’t really liked the book, anyway.  Peter with his sword was pretty cool, and some of the creatures were, but Lucy was annoying and Edmund was stupid and he didn’t even remember the name of the other girl) could make up for this, though.  One too-big but also too-small suitcase full of all his favourite clothes and cricket bat and mum’s ball and crowds in an airport, and holding his mum’s hand tightly as though he was a baby.

Jerry didn’t want to leave.  He didn’t want to go to America, or New York, or whatever the name of the camp he was being sent to was.  He wanted to stay in London, watch Middlesex’s next match at Lords because he knew Grandma had promised Mum to buy him tickets, play with his friends, and keep training to be the England captain when he was grown up.

He couldn’t be England’s captain if he wasn’t even in England!

Stupid monsters attacking him.  Stupid camp in America he had to go to.  Mum wasn’t happy about it, either, but she’d been firm when he’d tried to tell her he wasn’t going.  He’d eavesdropped on her Skype calls with some bearded guy that apparently ran the camp, and she’d had a lot to say that didn’t sound happy, but she was still sending him away.

Jerry had tried every trick he could think of to not go, but now all his favourite stuff was going on the plane – all his favourite stuff except his mum – it was all real and big boys don’t cry but Jerry wanted to so badly.

The stupid airport had barely anything to do.  It had crowds everywhere but they were all queues, either for the Costa Coffee that Mum had taken him to earlier, letting him have a triple chocolate muffin for breakfast, or for the big metal arches that everyone had to go through one at a time.

Everyone who was going on a plane, anyway.

Those metal arches were where Jerry was going to have to say goodbye.

They were where Mum was guiding him now, looking at her watch and then the departure boards.  Jerry didn’t get what the rush was – it was still hours until that stupid plane to New York took off – but she was acting like they were running out of time and he needed time to stop, go backwards, make it so that this didn’t happen at all.

Yan appeared next to him, with just their backback slung over one shoulder carelessly now their own big case had also been munched by the heavy plastic strips.  Mum didn’t let Jerry wear his like that, and Jerry knew better, anyway.  Yan had lived in London for a year but they still hadn’t worked out that being careless with bags was stupid.

Jerry liked the older kid.  They didn’t make fun of him for not being able to spell, or for caring more about cricket than school (who cared about school more than cricket, anyway?).  He hadn’t known them very long, because they were in the year above him and the older years didn’t mix with the younger years, but he’d met them a few times in the gym, and on the playing ground at lunch time.  They were good with throwing a ball, and good at batting, too, even if they still refused to admit cricket was the best sport in the world.

They’d also been there when he was attacked.

When they were attacked, because Jerry wasn’t the only one being forced on a plane to stupid America-New-York-Camp-Stupid, but Yan didn’t seem to care much.

But Yan’s mum was back in Hong Kong and Jerry didn’t think they’d spoken to her much since they’d arrived in England.  They hadn’t said much about why they were in London without their mum, why they called the adults they lived with Mr and Mrs with manners and nothing else, but Jerry thought this wasn’t the first time they’d been told they had to go move elsewhere.

Yan didn’t say stupid things like “you’ll enjoy it” or “you won’t even miss England once you’re there” or any of the other things Mum had tried to say, and not-Mr-Tumnus had tried to say.  Yan didn’t say anything at all on the topic, agreeing with him that America was full of heathens that didn’t understand how to play a perfectly good game instead.

At least he was going with Yan, if he had to go with anyone, Jerry supposed.  Yan was pretty cool.

The man that met them near the metal gates had a big smile and sharp cheekbones.  His ears were kinda pointy, which was weird but also cool.  Jerry hadn’t known people could have pointy ears like that.  He wore a smart dark blue suit and a colourful red, dark blue and white tie, which looked a lot like the sorts of things the flight attendants wore on the billboards.

“Hey there, kids,” he said, and he had a weird accent, mostly British but with a little bit of a twang when he said hey.  “My name’s Geoff and I’ll be looking after you guys until we meet with your escort Stateside.”

Jerry didn’t want to go with him.  Going with him meant saying goodbye to Mum and he didn’t know when he would see her again, because she wouldn’t say when he asked!  All he knew was that this was because he got attacked, because his Dad had ways to keep him safe if he went to America that apparently couldn’t happen here, in London.

No-one had told him how Yan fit into this, exactly.  The older kid was looking at the flight attendant intently, before nodding.

“Yan,” they said.  “They/them.”

Jerry prepared to punch the guy if he said anything mean.  Almost everyone at school, including the teachers, and insisted on calling Yan he for stupid reasons like “you’re a boy,” when Yan wasn’t, and not-Mr-Tumnus had been one of the few cool adults that didn’t.

The guy didn’t say anything stupid, though.  “Neat!” he said instead, “thanks for telling me.  You okay with ‘guys’ or do you want me to drop that?”  He didn’t even sound sarcastic, and Jerry saw Yan relax a little.

“Guys is fine,” they said, and Jerry saw them grin, a little bit.  They liked this guy, he realised, and that meant he couldn’t be mean to him, because Yan didn’t like many people.

“I’m Jerry,” he said, and because Yan had, he added, “he/him.”

They got another grin from Geoff.  “He/him for me, too,” he said, a bit late but it was better than pretty much everyone else.  “We’ve got to tackle security soon,” he added, and Jerry frowned, because that meant leaving.  Geoff put a hand on his shoulder and he wanted to snap at him to mind his space, but there was a look in his eyes that made Jerry falter.

“I-” he started, and to his horror he started crying after all.

Mum grabbed him in a tight hug.  “Oh Jerry,” she said, and her voice was shaky.  “You’re so brave.  Get Chiron to call me when you arrive, and screw the timezones.  I expect you to Skype me regularly, okay?”

She’d said all of that before, back before Jerry had had to say goodbye to his bedroom and its weirdly bare walls.  His posters were carefully rolled up in his too-big-too-small suitcase, too.  Jerry had already promised all of that, but he promised it again, sobbing and trying not to feel like a baby.

Yan and Geoff had walked away a few steps, he discovered when Mum finally pulled back, but not after leaving a disgustingly wet kiss on his forehead.  “I love you, Jerry,” she told him firmly.  “Never doubt that.”

“Love you too, Mummy,” he admitted, wiping his eyes with his sleeve because he was not a crybaby.  Yan’s host family had left them at the entrance as soon as they’d seen him and Mum, and Yan had simply shook their hands and thanked them for letting them live under their roof for the past year.  They hadn’t cried.

He didn’t know if they had when they’d left their mum, though.  Maybe they had.

Maybe Jerry would be brave enough to ask, one day.

“Ready to go on your adventure?” Geoff asked him, and Jerry wasn’t but Yan was waiting for him and he was done being a crybaby.

“I’m coming,” he said, and gave Mum one last, tight squeeze around the middle, before he straightened his back and walked away.

Yan slipped their hand into his and squeezed it lightly.  Boys didn’t hold hands, but Yan wasn’t a boy so that was fine.  Jerry squeezed it back, tighter.

He was still terrified, but he could be brave.  He wiped his eyes furiously as Yan and Geoff led him towards the metal arch and once he was certain they were dry he turned around.

Mum was crying, but she was smiling, too, and he waved at her, not stopping until Yan led him around a corner and he lost sight of her.

“It’s rough,” Geoff said as he directed them into putting their backpacks and coats into deep plastic trays, and made them take their shoes off.  He did the same thing.  “I was about your age when I had to move to the States without my Mum, too.  Don’t let anyone tell you you’re not brave for doing it, because it’s hard and by the gods we deserve medals for that.”

Yan snorted.  “I want two medals, then,” they said.

Geoff grinned.  “I’ll see what I can manage,” he promised.  “Now, through the box you go, then we’ll go watch the planes come in from the VIP lounge until ours gets here.  How does that sound, guys?”

VIP lounge.  Jerry supposed he liked the sound of that, at least.

[youaintnothinbuta]

Worried About You - Elvis (DDM)

If you don’t feel comfortable/don’t want to imagine Elvis as your father, DON’T read!!

Disclaimer: Y/N’s mother in this fic does not have to be Priscilla unless you choose for it to be read that way. Y/N’s mother is never named.

Summary: Elvis is your father. Your mother has been treating you a lot older than you are, and he’s worried about you and the things your mother is doing when he’s not around.

Pairing: Daughter!Y/N x Father!Elvis or Austin!Elvis)

Word count: 797

Warnings: DDM (daddy daughter moments), argument, divorced parents. 

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

You and your mom had just driven through the gates of Graceland, your fathers house, dropping you off for your week with your dad. He welcomed the pair of you in, you sprinting out of the car, leaping into his arms, he kissed you on the cheek hello and put you down, to give your mum a hug, too. Though your parents were divorced, they made a real effort to stay friends for you. However, that was becoming increasingly difficult for Elvis, as he had noticed changes in your behaviour each and every time you came back from your moms house. It was starting to worry him. Not to mention, he was stunned at the amount of fabric, or lack thereof, that your dress was made of.

“Y/M/N, can I talk to you?” He skipped saying hello. Jerry, who was at the house with Elvis, took your hand and walked with you up to your bedroom, giving your parents some time alone.

“What’s up?”

“Did our daughter have four birthdays in the week she was with you? What the hell are you doing to her?”

“How’d you know she isn’t just choosing to dress like that herself?”

“Well, I sure as hell know my eleven year old ain’t got a date tonight.” Your dad raised his voice at your mom.

“Elvis, don’t make this a big deal, she liked some of my clothes, so I said she could have them. It’s normal—“

“Normal? Normal? She’s a child. You’re an adult. What the hell were you thinking?” Your dad was getting angry now.

“I don’t know what to tell you. She was curious!” Your mom argued.

“So you couldn’t tell her that she’s too young? She’s not even a teenager, Y/M/N, come on.” He pressed his fingers to his forehead.

“Why are you so worried?”

“Why does it seem like every time you bring her back her she’s aged another 5 years? She’s a kid for gods sake.”

“Elvis—“ your mom sighed.

“No. Don’t give me that. Every god damn time you bring her back here I gotta answer questions about boys— about you and me— about being a—“

“She’s growing up. You can’t stop that.”

“Oh lord, lay off, okay? Do you seriously not see the problem? I’m sick of trying to parent the kid alone, can you take a little responsibility and stop treating her like your doll?”

“Did you seriously just say that to me?” Your mom was in disbelief.

Though, he had a point.

“What’s her best friends name?” Elvis asked, his arms folded across his chest.

“Chelsea.” Your mom hesitated.

“Taylor. It’s Taylor.”

“So? She’s got lots of friends. What’s your point, Elvis?”

“You don’t even know the kid, Y/M/N. What’s her favourite food? What’s her favourite subject? What’s her teachers name? Do you know?”

Your dad really worried for you. You were his pride and joy. He worried about you constantly when you were with your mom, are you being fed enough? Are you getting enough sleep? Do you get to play and be a kid like you do with him? Whats she doing that’s making you seem so grown up?

He knew your mother was seeing other men, he just didn’t know, to what extent you were seeing of these other men.

He really didn’t want to have to challenge her for custody, because that would get ugly and, honestly, very rare the dad ever wins.

Your mom stayed silent.

Elvis took a deep breath, “she’s not a mini you, she’s her own person, and that person is a kid, Y/M/N. Why can’t you understand that?”

Before your mom could speak, he began again.

“I’m not asking you for me. For her, Y/M/N, I can’t raise this kid alone. I feel like I’m on damage control, ya know that? You want your kid to be happily married with a family or you want her running the streets every night, huh? I’m telling ya, honey, the way it’s going right now she’s gon be no more married happily than you and I.”

Your mom was flabbergasted, gobsmacked, even.

“I— I can’t have this conversation with you right now.” Your mom managed to choke out, quickly leaving out the front door.

Elvis sighed and shut his eyes for a moment, having watched his ex-wife leave. He went upstairs, properly greeting you with a hug, as you jumped up into his arms once again, just excited to be home, “Daddy! Can we take the horses for a ride?”

“Sure, honey.” He smiled, putting you down, holding the back of your head gently before you started tearing apart your bedroom to find your riding helmet and boots. It was dawning on him that fighting for custody of you may be in his near future.

[fazgoo-connoiseur-1987]

do you.. have mike headcanons…?

Mikey <33

He really mellows out after he accidentally kills Nate. All his rebelliousness gone.

He actually really needs glasses but he refuses to wear them.

He has this deeprooted desire to make his dad happy and that's hightened by how Nate's death fucks him up for a bit- Mike feels like he needs to make it up to him.

Cus of this he helps his dad out a LOT. Hiding him from the police, going on the run with him, working at Freddy's cus he can't ect.

While this is going on he calls his mum once a week but has to lie through his teeth to her which makes him feel awful but he's a great liar so.

He met Jeremy through his mum cus she did his tattoos. They hung out after Mike's last friend group fell appart.

Mike doesn't see him for YEARS after the bite because he's kiiinda responsible for it (he tampered with the facial recognition in the toys) and he doesn't want to face the consequences of his actions.

Jerry seeks him out after he gets scooped and his acceptance and forgiveness of him is what gets Mikey out of the stupor being turned into a zombie gave him.

After like a decade of being a zombie he's pretty okay with it, all things concidered. Not saying he'd choose to be an undead creature of the night but he's way more comfortable than you'd expect.

A lot of that comes from Jerry being REALLY into the fact he's a zombie, actually. Finding self love through the love of others.

It's also important with me that Mikey rolls with the punches life throws at him. Just so many punches but he gets up again anyways.

[mieeaahhh]

How I view all for the game characters but it’s just pictures! (Updated version + some useless head-cannons)

Renee Walker

-Andrew helps her whenever she re-dyes her hair

-transgender mtf 🗣️🗣️🗣️

-he has a few smaller tattoos other than the wings on her back but she got them in ‘hidden’ places

-is really bad at video games

-has a pet rabbit named Barney that lives back at home with her mum

Allison Reynolds

-has been collecting shoes since she was thirteen and has a matching pair for every single outfit she owns

-her love languages are gift giving and acts of service

-has a diary that she still uses from when she was eleven

-she has one of those ‘upside down smiles’ or whatever it’s called

-low-key had an emo phase but if you bring it up she’ll post your home address and card information on social media. How? A magician never reveals his secrets🙂‍↔️🙂‍↔️

Neil Josten

-desperately needs braces but couldn’t care less about getting them so his teeth are messed up

-can do that frog blinking thing

-can cook and is actually really good at it but doesn’t enjoy it

-he would’ve been a chronic scooter kid if he grew up like a normal person

-has the face of someone with zero thoughts, eyes wide and face flat

Andrew Minyard

-the only reason he doesn’t wear his glasses is because he actually lost them years ago and doesn’t want to admit he can’t find them anywhere

-when he was a little kid he was actually really shy

-when his nail varnish chips he just paints back over it instead of taking the rest off before hand and it’s usually kinda messy

-since he has smoker lungs™️ whenever he’s sick it actually sounds like if a teenage boy going through puberty smoked twelve boxes a day

-only got piercings because Aaron had them and he thought they looked cool and he only really started finding his ‘style’ after moving in with Aaron and Nicky

Kevin Day

-has the LOUDEST snore ever but denies that he snores at all

-the foxes all tease him and have inside jokes about his ‘crush’ on Jeremy

-almost everyone and their mother has numerous videos of his drunkenly singing his heart out and it’s usually something like bohemian rhapsody or some basic ‘white chick’ music

-in the nest his hair was always trimmed and neat but when he left he let his hair grow a bit and just left it to flop around and do its own thing

-will literally stop, drop and roll in tears if a spider goes near him

Aaron Minyard

-growing up he was considered a ‘crybaby’ by a few people because he cries or gets teary when frustrated/angry

-has fallen out the bed so many times it’s ridiculous and then will wonder how he wakes up with random bruises (my other post about his weird sleeping🗣️🗣️🗣️)

-has a fear of cats

-Aaron’s eyesight is a lot worse than Andrews

-Randy often asks Matt to invite Aaron over during the holidays and stuff once Matt and Aaron become closer (they are best friends idc)

Seth Gordon

-he likes when Allison is the big spoon but that’s a secret for them and them only

-had a pet hamster named Jerry who ran away when he was a kid

-DAHLIA PIERCINGS🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

-he was the sibling that turns off the lights and holds the door closed to scare his siblings

-Allison was the first (and last) girlfriend he was truly inlove with

Matt Boyd

-gives THE BEST hugs🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ I mean like lifting people off the ground in big bear hugs kinda hugs🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

-buys flowers for Dan everytime he goes to the shops

-he and Andrew do become somewhat friends at some point

-he the best at video games AND board games out of all the foxes

-he has very subtle freckles in his nose

Dan Wilds

-GUMMY SMILEEEEEE!!!!!!!

-she and her work sisters used to do secret Santa every year and she was known for the best/most meaningful presents

-she’s one of those people who hit when they laugh

-her favourite Disney princess growing up was Snow White

-she is absolutely COVERED in beauty spots/moles

Nicky Hemmick

-used to be very lanky before joining the foxes but ended up gaining some muscle after awhile

-he doesn’t like his hair being played with but he LOVES playing with other peoples hair

-has a resting worried/shocked face and the foxes find it hilarious

-would rather go bald than eat chocolate cake

-acts like the world is ending and his immune system is shutting down whenever he has a cold

[xiaoluclair]

20. clumsy attempts at flirting for lestappen pretty please?

okay confession, i have no idea what clumsy flirting even is beyond accidentally knocking over an avalanche of canned jalapeños onto you and your crush in the middle of a bend and snap. so i have a feeling this probably is not quite clumsy flirting but also i did not want to let the flow get away from me so eeeeeeenjoy!(?)

clumsy flirting attempts // lestappen // [ rating: T ] word count: 2.5k . yeah. not beta read either or checked over very well 😁

Max opens his front door and steps on a green bean. It's lying a foot away from a litre Tupperware box of... Max squints. Green beans.

He gives the hallway a cursory glance, then hefts the box into the kitchen and shuts the window his sister must've opened before she left the evening before. Something about needing more fresh air. Whatever, thinks Max, and grabs a pen to tick get green beans off the to do list on the refrigerator. He's not trading pneumonia for a tablespoon of chilled plant piss.

"Hey." Dilara gives him a smile, little Jerry stood between her legs and intently jabbing at a Samsung screen. Some garbled trumpet plays whenever he presses it. "How much were the beans?"

"Beans?" asks Dilara. "Oh, for your shopping? Around nine euros for a pack from Vie Claire."

"And you had, what, nine hundred euros to spend?" laughs Max. "Can you text me your account details for money transfer? My mum would probably shunt my d— um, dining table if I let someone spend that much on me."

At first, Max thinks he is about to get a smack for nearly cursing a three year old's ears. Then Dilara says, "I think. I am not sure what you are talking about."

So Max paints the picture from this morning and little Jerry stops trying to break his mum's phone with his thumbs to listen too. "You were the only one I talked to about it," as the elevator doors open and the three of them spill out into the little lobby.

"Someone might have overheard?" offers Dilara.

"Piano has beans," little Jerry informs Max sagely and Max.

Max snaps his fingers and says, "Of course, thanks mate."

Because piano has beans. Duh.

Max does not so much forget the bean incident as have a million other things piled on top of it. And then it gets lost somewhere. Maybe under a cupboard, or shoved between the radiator and the wall.

"It is broken, I think," says Max. "And the plumber said he is not free until the twenty second, so I guess that is me in socks and coats for the next three days."

Peter makes a delighted sound, a very different reception to Max's earlier lamentings on the lack of cat food in stock. "Did I ever tell you how my wife and I met?"

"Yeah," says Max, "on Gwyneth Paltrow's second cousins's niece's friend's friend's yacht's coach."

"Really?" say Peter. "Wow, that must have been fun. But the other time we met was — can you guess?"

"No."

"When my plumbing broke, of course! She was my neighbor, said I could take the left side of her bed for sleeping because the guest room had a fresh coat of paint. Of course," his jaw makes a quaint leer, "there was not much sleeping at all."

"Lovely," says Max, "I am going to get more gin. Happy birthday again."

Cue the next evening, and the doorbell rings. The peephole shows a slightly stretched suit, slicked back brown hair into a dramatically wide ponytail. Max sets down the last of the bean casserole, opens the lock, loops out the chain.

"Hello," he greets politely.

The woman with, actually, a normal sized ponytail gives him a grin. "Broken radiator?" She picks up the handyman's box of utensils next to her foot. G. MANNI, reads the orange block along the side. "I've got you covered."

"Are you a friend of Peter's?" asks Max.

"Who?" she says.

"Just a— never mind." Max waves her in.

What a bewildering scenario, he thinks later as he tugs off the three pairs of socks from his feet.

The radiator scenario would probably have suffered the same fate as the beans if Max did not, only the next morning, find 7kg of cat food waiting on his doorstep.

"Like angels dancing on my eardrums," Arnaav is saying when Max goes to wish them. "I asked him to record me a song as a present as a joke and he actually said I could listen to a demo."

"Wow," says Gertrude, "you lucky thing, you."

"Arnaav," says Max, "congratulations."

Arnaav beams. "Thank you."

"What was it, three years? Four?"

"Five actually. Masters with industrial placement. A dockyard up in Andora, lots of very ripped Italian men."

Max grins. "That sounds very lovely."

"Of course," continues Arnaav, "it seems like very ripped men are closer to home than I remember."

Gertrude giggles at that. Max feels his eyebrows arch together.

Arnaav gestures them both to follow into the kitchen. "Seriously," they say as they pass Frankie tying up a bright blue sausage balloon into a bright blue sausage dog to little Jerry's delight, "do you think I should shoot a shot? There is no way a guy like that is single though."

They are looking at Max imploringly. Max says, "Go for it." Then, "Who are we talking about?"

Gertrude chokes mid-chew on a bite of grape and gouda. "Gamer boys," she sighs, "always stuck in their computers."

"For once, I agree." Arnaav shakes their head. "I would point him out, but he's at his brother's for the weekend."

Dilara and Mag come laughing in then. "Mag," says Gertrude urgently, "Max does not know about the new tenant."

Which is how Max finds out, in the following five minutes, that the hottest man on the planet (Dilara's words, not his) has apparently been living two floors down from him since early November.

"Always fingering his music into late hours of the night," says Mag with a flushed sigh. "Have you ever wanted to be music so bad."

"Okay," says Max, and he takes the bottle of vodka and chugs for a little while.

The scenarios keep scenarioing. Max finds a wheel of cheese and two pounds of tomatoes in the mail. A couple days later, thirteen rolls of cat-patterned wrapping paper to replenish his dwindling stock. Then a stack of coupons for free petrol refills at any Shell in France.

It comes to an apex when he gets called down to the lobby to pick up an €800 gaming headset. Max takes it back up to his apartment and leaves it by the couch while he unlocks his phone.

Whoever keeps buying me things, it is very kind but please stop.

It is pretty late, so Max does not expect any replies. Does this have anything to do with the beans? says Gertrude barely a minute after he has sent it.

I think so, says Max.

amx is being sent things? asks Peter. *max.

Do not be jealous peter, says Dilara, I am sure we can find you your own courter.

Max blinks. Courter?

Person who courts someone else. Gives them presents to woo them that sort of thing.

I do not have a courter.

Sure you don't ;D

I don't.

HEY, Arnaav comes barrelling in, SHUTU P AND LET ME ENJPY THE MISIC.

its very lovely, agrees Peter.

Hey, has anyone added Charles? asks Mag.

Max, who does not particularly care for any person named Charles at the moment, least of all whether or not they've been added or deleted, whacks up the heating on his way to bed. He is about to turn off the light when a smack sounds from the balcony. Sassy makes a petulant expression when Max turns on the outside light.

"Idiot cat," he tells her, then slides opens the door. Immediately, the lethargic sound of piano floods into his ears. Sassy slinks inside as Max blinks.

His phone buzzes again. Mag: God I want him to play me like that.

So apparently Max's entire apartment complex spends their nights having a massive orgy to the new guy playing the piano. Charles, he gathers, playing the piano.

Charles gets added to the WhatsApp group too, renamed JDM GC (NOT FOR THIRSTING). His profile picture is black and white and contains three people, none of whom Max has seen before. He thinks they must be brothers.

not for thirsting? is the first thing Charles says. is this an inside joke i need to beg to be updated on? 😂. Max sees Mag is typing... pop up then disappear.

A few minutes later, he finds himself in a new WhatsApp group. JDM GC (FOR THIRSTING). Charles is not in this one. I'd make him beg, says Arnaav into it.

Same, says Mag, 💧.

Max thinks the exclusion is probably for the best.

He flies back in from iRacing contract negotiations a day before the Christmas Party. In the time left, he unpacks, laments to Dilara on the lack of green beans in store (“Christmas time,” she sympathizes), streams until two in the morning. Periodically checks his doorstep just in case. 

Everything is fine. Then he returns from another green–beanless escapade and on his mat, is a parcel. Inside the parcel, is a dark blue wooly sweater with an outrageously bright design of red and green animals and a manger on the front, yellow sheen emitting from the neck hole.

There is a note.

Merry Christmas x.

Max takes it in, puts it on. Stares at himself in the mirror. Takes it off, wraps it up, and leaves it on the torn parcel paper to return later. He can give the money to the New Year's party.

When he takes the elevator down to Dilara's apartment, he is immediately accosted by Gertrude and slightly less accosted by little Jerry. "Max!"

Mistletoe hangs from the ceiling. Max takes the kiss she plants on his mouth with his hands on her arms to make sure it does not turn into Human Bowling, then blows out a breath. "Do you know who keeps giving me shit?"

Gertrude's brow furrows. "The beans?"

"The same person, yeah." Max rubs his temple. "It is starting to piss me off. I asked them to stop and they have not."

"Maybe it is someone not in the building?"

"Unless they bugged the place, no." Max sighs. "It was always ridiculous but now it is even more ridiculous. The whole 'courting thing' too is just stupid."

Litter Jerry looks up, Samsung held slightly precariously in his chubby fingers. "What about—"

"Charles!" erupts Gertrude brightly, looking into the distance. Max twists on the spot but there's just empty hallway. The stairwell door swings a little. Gertrude sways on the spot slightly.

"Let's get you inside," says Max and herds her back into the celebrations. At the jerk of his head, little Jerry sighs a great sigh and ducks under his arm, back into the loud apartment.

Nothing. Max opens the door: nothing. Max enters the lobby: nothing. Max gets his mail: nothing.

Max gets on with his life. Nothing.

Max sits on the balcony at night and listens to the silence. He checks the messages on his phone. Maybe he broke his hands, muses Dilara.

both of them at the same time? says Peter.

I just saw him, reports Mag, in the elevator. His hands are fine. Really really fine.

Back in JDM GC (NOT FOR THIRSTING), Charles simply says he has taken a break due to 'lack of inspiration'.

I will gladly inspire him, says Arnaav in JDM GC (FOR THIRSTING).

Not if I inspire him first, replies Mag.

Max keeps out of that one. Max keeps out of most of it, and: Nothing. The little Merry Christmas note stays in his nightstand and Max just. Forgets to take it out every single night. Whatever.

By the time Peter's New Year's party rolls around, life has settled and Max starts the year off drunk, happy, and listening to little Jerry toot Anaconda on the trumpet while next to him, Peter makes out with his new fiancée as of three seconds ago. Max has never seen her in his life.

The next morning is a slow one. For one, it is already eleven when Max cracks open his eyes. He rolls over. A chilled breeze stirs the hair on his arms.

He blames the alcohol for accepting that as he does. Getting out of bed, taking the wrong door to the bathroom and finding a closet instead. Taking the right door to the bathroom and the Palmolive soap has been replaced by a pot of L’Oreal Paris hair mask. 

Then the cold wind comes back again and Max peers past his headache to see the window cracked wide open. He looks back to the mirror. He is naked. 

“Shit,” says Max, with feeling.

A snore comes from the bedroom. Apparently Max bypassed an entire human being too. Stupid, useless alcohol. He’s going to go back to his place, take his stash of gin, chug it to forget this ever happened.

For now, he puts on his clothes. Rumpled, clearly discarded without much care. But on. Then he takes a look around. Lots of red. A centerpiece of fake roses sits atop an electric piano. The front door is the same as his. A shelf of photos over the TV contains the same three recurring men. In the corner of the kitchen, there is a large cardboard box held shut by a loaf of 50/50. Max moves it off and takes a peak. Inside is roughly two hundred bags of green beans.

The mop of brown hair forms a person eventually. Max has found an OralB tube by then and used his finger as a makeshift brush. 

"Morning," says Max when they arise.

Charles takes one look at him before falling back onto his pillow. "Shit."

Max spends the first afternoon of 2024 swallowing Aspirin and slightly burnt Eggos. Suffice to say, Charles is a terrible host. And yet Max is still here. Pretty privilege. Hottest man on the planet, remembers Max. Yeah, okay. 

He swallows, nods to the box in the corner and its counterpart bread loaf. “So were you the one stalking me?” 

Charles chokes on his protein smoothie, glowers. “I was not— stalking, I was just. Courting.”

“Courting,” echoes Max. “Dilara’s going to have a fit.”

Charles stares at him. He was not in the WhatsApp group at that point so he wouldn’t know. Real funny, Max thinks to the universe. Great planning. 

“So you, what,” he says, “bugged the building?”

“I just overheard sometimes,” says Charles. His cheeks are a vibrant, sick red. Fucking fresh air lovers. 

Max thumbs his own temple. “What do I owe you?”

“What?” asks Charles, stupidly handsome and stupidly stupid. His fingers wrapped around the bottle are messing up Max’s already messed up mind. 

“For all the shit you got me. If you say anything less than a thousand, I will know you’re lying so what do I owe you?”

A moment passes in which Charles blinks at him, Max realizes Jimmy and Sassy are probably upending the microwave, and Charles blinks some more. Then: “A date?”

“You are the worst flirter I have ever met in my life,” Max tells him sincerely. He slides off the stool and kisses him on the mouth. Charles drops the protein smoothie. The bottle breaks all over the floor. 

Max buys him sixteen more.

[michellemisfit]

WEEKLY TAG WEDNESDAY - FIRSTS!

Tagged by @suzy-queued @deedala @darlingian @heymrspatel @lingy910y @energievie @mybrainismelted @blue-disco-lights

Name: Michelle

Age: Currently getting a kick out of telling people that I’m nearly 40 and having them go ‘NO WAY!!!’ - It’s funny and flattering :)

First Pet: Siberian gerbils called Tom & Jerry

First Word: No idea. Turns out my parents kept a baby book for my older brother where they painstakingly recorded all of that stuff. I found mine a few years ago and it’s got a grand total of 3 entries, one of which is talking about how chubby I am, and how I am yet to find a food I’ll say no to, and let’s hope that’s not a sign of things to come… after which it was abandoned. Thanks mum.

First Celebrity Crush: Leonardo DiCaprio

First IRL Crush: Dominik. We hung out basically every day after school. I would go round to his house and he would play me the latest Michael Jackson tape and show me new dance steps that he’d taught himself. I thought he was so cool.

First Kiss: Age 14 with my first boyfriend. He was 20 years old. We were in a relationship for over a year. Shit was fucked up. At the risk of repeating myself… Thanks mum.

First Car: Bebop 🚙 He’s my baby and I bought him this year and I love him! He’s a turquoise 2013 Toyota Yaris Hybrid.

First apartment/house/dorm/whatever away from your parents: Heh. I moved straight from my childhood bedroom to a different country. If you’re gonna do something, do it right! lol

First Time on a Plane: I was… 18 months old? Parents went on holidays to Florida. I have about 3 memories from that trip.

First Cellphone: Nokia 3210 😎

First Concert: David Hasselhoff. I was maybe… 6? And I got very tired and slept through the second half, but my parents woke me up for Looking for Freedom, which was my favourite song of his.

First Foreign country you visited? Italy or France most likely. Pure proximity, and most of our family vacations were done by car from Switzerland so…

First sport you ever played? Hmm. I did competitive swimming when I was very young. And then gymnastics. And after that… about five minutes of football (the only sport I to this day do not understand. How do I run AND kick a ball simultaneously?!?), then 3 years of tennis, 2 years of basketball, 8 years of roller hockey, and a whole smattering of other sports on and off.

First career aspiration? I mean… I basically wanted to be a Disney Princess, purely for the Animal Best Friend aspect! And then any form of Animal Whisperer would have done the trick. I watched all the TV shows and movies where characters had magical bonds with animals, and I wanted that. And then I realised that the characters in the shows and movies aren’t real, but the people training and handling those animals *are*. However that wasn’t something realistic to aspire to, being Swiss, so instead I became a bookseller (somehow that made sense at the time… 🤷🏽‍♂️). And then 15 years later, in a different country and a different life, I did end up training animals for TV and film. So that’s kinda nifty.

And finally… tell me about the first time you wrote/drew/created/whatever something that made you think “wow”

Hmmm. I dunno. I thought I was really fucking talented when I was about 12. I wrote a novel and sent it to publishing houses and literary agencies. One of them invited me for an interview, because they thought my writing was great and they wanted to meet the kid that had sent them a manuscript aged 12/13. They ended up giving me a job, working as a admin/secretary/slush pile reader. They also gave me lots of feedback and constructive criticism on my writing. I scrapped the novel I had sent them in favour of writing a different, better novel. I still think that novel was pretty fucking good. I tried to get my mum to proof read it and give me feedback so I could do any necessary corrections before I spent my pocket money on photocopies, C4 envelopes, and a whole bunch of stamps so I could attempt to get it published again. She was dragging her feet and I tried to explain the urgency, because I was clear that it needed to happen before I turned 14. That was the goal in my head. I had huge ambitions and dreams. I was also convinced that if it happened after I turned 14 it wouldn’t be special anymore. Like anyone could do it after 14… 🙄 In response to this my mum told me that she’d had ambition and dreams, too, when she was my age. But not to worry, that’ll go away, and once you’ve put away the fanciful notions of being talented then you can just get on with your life…

Not sure if this actually answers the question, but that was kinda the first and last time I remember feeling uncomplicatedly good about and proud of something I created. After this anything creative I did was always immediately followed by the doubt of ‘is this actually good, or is this just a fanciful notion I have about being talented, when in actual fact it sucks?’ 🤷🏽‍♂️

Wow. Ended that on a downer, didn’t I?

…

Erm… I wrote Tell me we’ll never get used to it,

They’re the only two people left that know what it’s like to have loved and to have lost a Lightwood.

And it’s a good story.

There.

I said it…

Tagging @crossmydna @palepinkgoat @too-schoolforcool @vintagelacerosette @heymacy @loftec @mikhailoisbaby @rereadanon @the-rat-wins @tsuga-of-mars @ian-galagher @andthatisnotfake @francesrose3 @faejilly @jrooc @creepkinginc if you fancy playing? I’m just very exited I’m actually posting this on a Wednesday still! Whoop!!