#maybe six of one half dozen of another.

[notbecauseofvictories]

I just finished The Rehearsal by Eleanor Catton, and I have to say---there's nothing like setting your novel among the youthful and arty to confuse a reader as to whether you're being overly pretentious and sticking monologues in characters' mouths, or if you're cunningly and accurately parodying how the most annoying Art Teens would like to speak every moment of every day, if anyone would let them.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

oh yeah also have to shout out the young queer theatre-enjoyer (as doer or audience) with christian parent experience of "at least i can be in the choir & be one of like 2-4 tenors & enjoy singing harmonies & most of practice is just chilling b/c it's 95% playing the melody 50x for the twenty sopranos who still don't have it down" while also not having to deal with sitting in the midst of the pews or whatever

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 3

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a (now skeptical!) player. That’s it, that’s the plot. A/N: I’ve already outlined the entire thing–now it’s just a matter of writing it, so don’t worry! Even if some chapters take me longer to update, I’m gonna finish this one way or another. Promise. *fingers crossed* Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, reader thinks she’s losing her marbles because of a certain someone

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4

“Alright—okay, don’t be stupid,” You chant to yourself as you pace restlessly from the kitchen area of your studio, to the coffee table where you’ve set your phone lying facedown. “Just open the damn thing.” 

You’ve just arrived back at the condo a little past seven PM after a, frankly, productive–if not slightly distracted–day of running errands. You’re home, and you haven’t even got to unpacking the two paper bags (and a box) worth of groceries that were all but thrown carelessly on the kitchen counter, and already, you’re back to stressing over all the weird shit that's been happening lately.

Throughout the afternoon, you tried your hardest to resist the urge to check your phone, especially whenever you see the screen light up–whether it was in your hand or stashed away in your half-zipped fanny pack.

It’s at the most random times too, but always when you act on your unfortunate tendency to monologue your thoughts out loud. 

Sure, it could just be some random push app notifications. Text messages from the few people that hit you up on the weekends–invitations to hang out, maybe. A few newsletters you forgot to unsubscribe from, if you’re unlucky. 

But you think the timing’s far too deliberate to be purely coincidental. 

“Do I get a dozen eggs or just half? What do I even need a dozen for?” (Phone vibrates)

“Oh, hey, Indomie’s on sale if you buy in bulk. How much for a box?” (Screen flashes. Twice.)

“Who the hell is holding up the line, damn–oh, it’s an old lady. Better hurry the fuck up, grandma.” (Screen flashes) “...Sorry! I didn’t mean that.” 

“Ughhh… my tummy hurty…” (Phone vibrates) “What—” 

“Everything’s perfectly normal. Just your average, sunny Saturday! You are an independent, capable adult… who’s fucking losing it.” (Screen flashes–after a minute interval) 

Of course, you have an inkling as to what’s–or who’s–blowing your phone up; in fact, he’s never left your mind since this morning.

So presently, you’re in the middle of having a small existential crisis over what that means, for you and your sanity. No big deal. 

You puff out your cheeks for a couple of seconds before letting out a deep breath. Don’t be a pussy. I’m sure there’s a logical explanation to all of this. You’re–you’re not crazy. 

Landing heavily down in front of the low table, you finally grab your phone, hand shaking with the teensiest amount of trepidation. Not giving yourself any more time to think and second-guess, you flip it over, switching it back to Ring mode as you swipe up to see—

—a barrage of notifications; one popping up after another. 

Some of them are what you’ve expected: plain, old push notifications from banking apps, others from varying socials. There’s one from your mom. A reminder to email her the flight tickets you still haven’t gotten around to booking yet. 

And. Six banner notifications from the game. From… from–him. It’s something you’ve already braced yourself for. It doesn’t prepare you, however, for what they actually said. 

A knot grows in your chest, spreading rapidly like slithering twine as your mind tries, and somewhat fails, to make sense of what your eyes are seeing. 

Grab a dozen, sweetie. It won’t add much to the total cost, and you need that protein every morning. Cereal’s not gonna cut it. 

You really ought to lessen your sodium intake, kitten. (and) Do NOT get the box. Stop. 

Haha. A feisty one, aren’t you? 

Mmm, poor baby.

I– we can talk about this later when you get home.

Each notification contains a completely unique dialogue you’ve never seen before. A play-by-play commentary specifically in response to you— to your personal remarks from earlier, spoken out loud— that there is absolutely no way anyone could still pass it off as simply being system-generated. 

A faint ringing echoes in your ears as you slowly draw back, putting some distance between the onslaught of text and… you. You can’t seem to tear your gaze away from the screen, though. Even if the back of your head bumps against the seat edge of the sofa behind you from how far you’ve already leaned back. 

Blinking in stunned silence, the only thing you could croak out is a strained “what the fuuuck.” 

... Ping!

Still mustering the courage to face me? Don’t keep me in suspense, darling. 

The sudden message jolts you back to reality. You suck in a deep breath.

… Despite everything, you can’t help but find his nonchalant response to your gradual spiral into hysterics–because he knows–a little amusing. Also rude. But mostly funny. 

(It’s also probably just your brain’s last-ditch effort to find some semblance of control, but whatever.)

At this point, you know that you’re merely delaying the inevitable. Swallowing, you press on one of Sylus’ messages and it immediately boots up the game. 

Instead of soothing your nerves like it usually does, the orchestral background music from the loading screen puts you more on edge; your anxiety builds up to a crescendo, harmonious to the heralding of what you know will undoubtedly change the trajectory of your life. 

Dramatic, but true. 

48%... 82%... 98%...

There’s a hollow drop in your stomach when the screen–finally–reveals the familiar sight of the café. The golden ambient light enters your field of vision for a split second before your eyes flit reflexively to the man standing in the middle of the screen, whose presence commandeered your full attention.

He’s wearing his motorcycle jacket–the black one with the red and white thorn(?) accents, paired along the pair of leather pants with the iconic double zipper. Aside from the black zircon studs, he’s not wearing anything out of the ordinary. Nothing is looking out of the ordinary, actually. 

Holding your breath, you wait for the other shoe to drop. 

“Are you waiting for me to say hello? Then–” Sylus muses with an amused lilt to his voice, sauntering closer to flick “my” forehead. There’s a beat before he continues: “That’s my way of saying hello.” 

… Huh? 

That’s—this isn’t how it’s supposed to go. You… you don’t know what you were expecting, but this wasn’t it.

The man in front of you doesn’t look any different from how he usually does; the way that his… character animation (Should you call it that? It doesn’t seem right, given the circumstance, but you don’t know how best to describe anything anymore) flows is so–-so infuriatingly… normal. As if it’s just like any other day that you’ve logged in the game. 

Where did the sentience go? Why is he reciting lines he’s programmed to say? None of it adds up.

Your mouth tries to form words, but nothing comes out. With wide eyes, you helplessly gape at him. Speechless. For a moment, you feel like you’ve actually gone mad. 

A small “what’s happening?” slips past your lips. Your eyes dart across his face, trying to analyze every microexpression, any hint of sentience on him–in his eyes, in his movements. 

You find none. 

Mechanically, you exit the game.

“What the actual fuck?” You whisper-shout at nothing in particular, and maybe to the biggest cause of your current disconcertion; one who you thought… Who you were sure was—

-

-

Fuck it. It’s time to put your detective skills to work.

[renecdote]

rebirth

Bi Buck cured my writers block, please have this short little episode coda for 7x04. [Read on AO3]

It’s after one a.m. when the light, bubbly excitement in his stomach sours, fear creeping in. Buck’s next breath sticks in his chest, his heart races, his fingers start tingling, and it’s so much like what kissing Tommy did to him, but for all the wrong reasons this time. His phone screen is suddenly too bright in the darkness, his search history a towering mess of questions, and Reddit threads, and quizzes he clicked into then out of before he could finish taking them.

The problem, he thinks, is that it felt so right. Tommy tilted his chin up and pressed their lips together and it felt like—himself, for the first time in… forever, maybe. Buck doesn’t know what he’s meant to do with that. Go out on Saturday night, maybe (hopefully) kiss Tommy again (and again and again and again), but then… But then?

He wants to call Eddie because he always wants to call Eddie. He wants to blurt out all the things he kept under his tongue when he apologised earlier. He wants to hear Eddie say his name, soft and warm and knowing, because if anyone can make him feel seen and heard and at home in his own skin, it’s Eddie. He wants so hard it’s almost painful.

But it’s the middle of the night, he can’t call Eddie.

He can’t call Maddie either. She would answer, he knows, and she’d have just the right words for the spiralling anxiety that’s sucking him in, but he’s not going to scare her with the phone ringing in the middle of the night. There have been too many calls like that that have only been bad news.

He won’t worry Hen or Bobby with a call like that either.

And as much as Buck wants to confide in them, wants to crack his chest open and show his family what has been inside the whole time, there’s another part of him that doesn’t want to share. Not yet. He feels like the newborn calves he saw at the ranch in Montana, young and fragile and unsteady as he tries to find his feet. The world suddenly feels bigger. Brighter. And it’s exciting, it’s freeing, but he can’t help feeling daunted, like he might get lost if he’s not careful.

“Bisexual,” he says aloud, just to hear himself say it, to taste the way it feels on his tongue not just as a word but as an identity. It feels like an exhalation, trembling at the edges but not just with fear, or excitement, but with relief. He thinks of that first breath of air when his head came above water in the tsunami, he thinks of being struck by lightning, he thinks of stepping into Station 118 for the first time, he thinks of catching the Jeep keys Maddie tossed him in the dark of a Hershey street all those years ago. Buck knows what it is like to be reborn, but he has never had a kiss make him feel like this before.

Did the first time you kissed a girl feel like this? he wants to ask Hen. Does it feel like this every time?

Is this the magic you were talking about when you first met Shannon? he wants to ask Eddie.

I figured it out, he wants to tell Bobby. I figured out what being at ease with myself feels like.

He has a shift in six and a half hours, but sleep feels as impossible as it did when he first climbed into bed. Buck lifts a hand to trace his lips in his dark, reliving the memory of Tommy there. He imagines Tommy everywhere else too, trailing his hand down his body, fitting Tommy into all the places a few dozen women have touched before. He feels like a teenager, giddy at just the thought of sex—of everything—and he exhales a laugh in the dark.

Buck opens his phone again and sends a text to the one person he knows is on shift and might already be awake: when you said you’d pick me up on Saturday, you meant in the chopper right?

Tommy replies instantly: those things are a bitch to park

And a second later: maybe on the third date

There it is again: breath stuttering, heart racing, fingers tingling. Buck wonders if this is what it feels like to get behind the controls and fly. He grins at his phone. He can’t wait to find out.

[ryanmarshallryan]

Just Another Day at the Beach (Another Vore Story)

Felt like making a sequel to one of my favorite stories I've posted, "How Far I'll Go - A Day at the Beach." Made it quickly, but had a fun time. Happy Vore Day! Enjoy!

Sean went to the beach to watch the sunset. The little bar of sand was still fairly crowded with folks who had the same idea as him. He sat behind a little family, and just to the right of a surprisingly rotund man, who was lying down asleep on his back on a beach towel so big it must have been custom made. As he watched the red sky turn to twilight violet and blue, he noticed the family cleaning up and getting ready to go. There was a great big blue cooler next to them that they appeared to have forgotten about, so Sean called over to them as they were walking up the beach.

“Hey! I think you forgot your cooler!” Sean hollered.

“It’s mine,” said the big bellied man a ways over to his left. Sean thought the man was asleep and was surprised to hear him. 

“Oh! Sorry about that. It was just closer to their towels, so I thought -”

“I’ve been here all day. Beach was empty when I arrived. People came and settled all around my towel but getting up to move my cooler closer was just too much effort.”

“All day? And you haven’t touched your cooler? You must be starving!” Sean said, eyeing that big round gut slowly rising and falling with each of the big man’s breaths. “Do you want me to pull it closer to you?”

The big man made the slightest motion of his eyes towards Sean, “If you’re offering,”

Sean got up and went to pull the big cooler by the handle a bit closer to the big man. He was caught off guard by how heavy the cooler was. “Woah! This has got to be a hundred pounds! What’s in this thing?”

“Food, mostly,” the big man said, lazily.

After a few moments of struggle, Sean succeeded in getting the cooler into motion and pulling it close to the big man, though Sean’s feet staggered on the big man’s towel, and he tripped backwards. Before he could twist around and throw his hands forward to break his fall, he collided with the man’s belly and bounced over the top of it like he was doing a trick in a bouncy house. 

“Oof! Sorry about that,” Sean exclaimed.

“You all right?” the big man asked, looking ever so casual and unconcerned. 

“Fine. How are you doing? Didn’t mean to collide with your gut that way”

“It’s all right. But if you’re looking to get close with this belly, you’re going about it the wrong way,” the big man sighed, gently moving his index finger upward to point at his face, without even lifting his arm, “the entrance is up here.”

Sean scraped the sand off of his knees, and looked at the big man’s face. The big man opened his mouth in a big yawn.

“Maybe your cooler wouldn’t weigh so much if you ate some of the food in there.”

“I would, but I’m so content to just lay here. Unmoving… and calm.”

“What, do you want me to feed some of it to you?” Sean said as he walked around the big man to open the cooler.

“Only if you wanted to,”

Sean looked down to see a dozen footlong sandwiches, nestled into one side next to a couple containers of fruit punch, a few gallon bags of pasta salad, twenty or so six-inch long churros, an ensemble of fruit kabobs, a tupperware filled with at least fifty homemade arepas, and some half-melted ice packs. “Who are you trying to feed here? You’ve got like a month's worth of groceries in here!”

“You think I can’t down all of that?”

Sean looked from the cooler to the man’s belly, “I think we’d be here all night if you did.”

The big man chuckled softly, and Sean watched his belly jiggle.

“I tell you what, why don’t you unwrap one of those sandwiches and feed it to me. After that, we’ll see if your opinions change.”

Sean smirked, turned back to the cooler, “Do you have any silverware? It’d be easier to cut the sandwich if I had a knife.”

“No. I’ll eat it whole.”

“Whole? Bud, this is a footlong?”

“And?”

Sean was bemused, but did as the big man wanted, unwrapping a sandwich, taking a seat on the edge of the big man’s towel and gently placing one end of the sandwich into the big man’s waiting maw. The big man casually engulfed the sandwich and Sean felt it slip quickly through his fingers and get sucked down into the big man’s belly. Sean’s eyes opened wide as he looked from the big belly to the man’s face. “How?! That sandwich has been sitting all day. It must have been dry as hell! Ain’t your throat all scratched up?”

“Actually it was fairly soggy, but ah well. Food is food.” After a moment the big man turned his eyes over to Sean who was transfixed by the big belly before him, “Is that it?”

Sean came back to reality, and nodded in admiration, unwrapping another sandwich, and watched it slide into the big man’s digestive abyss. And again and again, the act was done. Sean nibbled on an arepa himself, while dropping them one by one into the big man’s maw and watching them slide down so easily. Sean shook his head in admitted disbelief. He put his ear up to the big man’s belly and heard the raucous symphony of digestive juices getting to work on the already massive meal churning away in the big man’s gut.

“How did you get so big?” Sean asked as he poured some pasta salad into the man’s maw and watched it disappear without a trace down the man’s throat.

“Oh, you know, be lazy, eat big,” the big man said after a slow drawn out breath, while Sean turned to grab some churros, “Number one rule, never say no to willing food.”

“Like free food?”

“I’ll let you think on it,” he said with a great big yawn that stretched his chest and pulled his belly up into the air even more than it had protruded before.

“Is this your usual day at the beach? Waiting for some cute guy to feel bad for you and your hunger, and feed you all this food?”

“Hmm… not all the time… but I will admit guys have been eager to fill this gut before.”

“I’m honestly dumbfounded, I have never before seen anyone eat this much and still have room for more. And I’ve been to a buffet with my competitive eater friend as he broke some day long fast! I mean you’ve still got half of this cooler to go!” Sean said, pulling fruit off the kabobs and dropping them into the big man’s mouth.

The big man swallowed and said, “This cooler is nothing, I’ve eaten four times as much as that thing can hold.”

“Ooh, I’m calling bluff on that one, your stomach would explode!” Sean said, tilting a container of fruit punch into the big man’s mouth and listening to the great big gulps, and watching the lumps in the big man’s throat travel down and out of sight into the uncountable layers of fat. “How you haven’t exploded yet, I may never know. And how can you eat so much of something and not get sick of the same old flavor?”

“Well, avoid palette fatigue by bringing some variety to eat. And if you’ve got a lot of one kind of food, just swallow the whole lot in one go, and you won’t have that flavor on your tongue as long.”

“Swallow the whole lot? So you’re telling me you could swallow the last five footlong sandwiches in one go?” Sean said in amusement, then amended, “You know what, I bet you could.”

“You’re starting to get me,” the big man said, as his gut groaned and gurgled. Five unwrapped sandwiches later, Sean watched as the intense mass of food slid easily into the big man’s throat. The big man’s neck seemed to bulge easily, and his chest puffed out making way for the food to find a comfortable home inside the ballooning gut. Sean rubbed the big man’s gut, having to sit up for his eyeline to be higher than the belly was tall. Sean gently shook the big man’s stomach and marveled at the size, the rotundness, and at this moment, the loudness with which it was rumbling!

“A foodie like you must have the best opinions on food. What’s the best meal you’ve ever had?” Sean asked.

The big man thought for a moment, enjoying the feeling of the food churning in his gut, and the feel of the soft hands of a cute guy rubbing the outside of his belly. “My favorite meal… happened not too far from here. On this very beach maybe a kilometer down the sandbank.”

“Soggy cooler sandwiches are part of your favorite meal ever? Wow we are very different -”

“- I wasn’t finished… I once had a guy offer to feed me leftovers from his cooler. He didn’t think I could eat it all, so I bet him I could eat all of it and him too.”

“Him too? Oh my, you are a greedy big guy, aren’t you,” Sean joked, poking the big man’s gut.

“Hey, he offered. And as I said, never turn down willing food.”

“Wait, so you’re telling me you actually ate a guy?”

“Oh yeah, he was the best part,” the big man smiled contemplatively, “Never had someone so excited to become food, practically dove right down my throat and into my gut; it was like an internal massage.” The big man paused for a moment and all that could be heard were the crashing of the waves in the rising moonlight and the gurgling of his belly. “I continue to eat big to remember that little guy, make sure this big belly stays bigger and better just how he wanted it to.”

“Well then, it appears I have discovered the elusive land shark, just waiting for a meal to walk into his midst,” Sean joked, while feeding the last of the churros to the big man, and rubbing his gut more. Sean turned to the cooler and saw nothing was left but tupperware containers and freezer bags.

“No more food?”

“Nothing else in the cooler,” Sean scratched the big man’s belly, stood up, threw his leg over the side of it and pretended to sit on it like a seat, “everything made it into this great big gut of yours!” Sean fingered the big man’s belly button and realized all five of his fingers could nestle easily inside of it, “The rabbit hole goes deep!”

“Well, thanks for feeding me that food. I was wasting away over here,” the big man said, raising his arm for the first time the whole evening and giving his belly a hearty slap, causing ripples in his belly fat. There was a pause as they shared a smile and some eye contact.

“It’s getting late, I should probably head home, but it was nice to meet you, big guy,” Sean said, dismounting the big man’s belly, and turning his gaze away, “But hey if I see you and your cooler around, maybe we’ll do this again sometime.”

The big man sighed, “Happy to make your acquaintance. Hope you enjoyed the sunset,”

“Enjoyed more than that,” Sean said. He noticed the big man glance from his eyes down on his body for a moment. Sean then realized that his swim shorts were a little tighter than they were when he put them on. Perhaps he liked straddling that big man’s belly more than he thought.

They waved goodbye, and Sean started walking back up the sandy beach, thinking back on the night and feeling his heart beat faster as his excitement swelled in his brain and body.

The big man laid back for a few moments, and counted off in his head, “Three… two… one and three quarters…”

“So did you actually swallow that guy whole? Like one big gulp?” Sean asked, suddenly back at the big man’s side.

The big man, lazily opened his eyes and turned his head to meet Sean’s eyes, “One big gulp,” he said, nodding slightly.

“And then what… you digested him? A whole human body?”

The big man paused and sighed slowly, “You’ve been listening to my gut churn all day. What do you think it does with food?”

“And he enjoyed that?”

“For quite a while. I think he fell asleep at some point and… well, became part of my belly fat. Simple as that.”

“That’s crazy,” Sean said, turning to go again.

“Nothing crazy about the miracle of digestion. Simple science.”

Sean turned back again, and shoved his face suddenly into the big man’s belly. He listened to the churning and felt his heart beat through the thick layers of fat. He straightened up and took a deep breath and looked down at the big man’s face.

“Yes?” the big man sighed lazily.

“You probably ate like a hundred pounds already, there’s no way you could eat me, too.”

“I never said anything about eating you,” the big man said.

“But you couldn’t eat me - if you wanted - be for real,” Sean prodded.

The big man was tired of this foreplay, “I already know the answer to that. Do you want to find out?” The big man opened his mouth as if you yawn, but let it hang open in suspense.

Sean let out a little laugh, “No, I’m just joking… No,” he said, poking the big belly. “Who am I kidding, yes, I do, I want to go in there.” 

The big man closed his eyes lazily for a moment, but raised his eyebrows. Sean straddled the big belly once again, leaned forward to peer into the man’s face. The big man’s eyes fluttered open and gave a slight nod. Sean gripped the man’s belly for support, then tilted his head down to meet the big man’s open maw. He felt his hot breath on his facial hair tingle. Sean took a deep breath then felt his face engulfed by a warm, wet tongue, that pulled him invitingly forward, exploring his neck, then his nipples and chest. His head and squeezed tightly into the big man’s esophagus, and Sean felt his arms begin to pin down to his side and crush his chest a little bit. He felt his legs fall backward over the man’s big belly, and his torso tilted down at an angle from the big man’s belly to mouth as it was sucked forward deeper and deeper into the big man’s body. Sean’s hard on scraped against the big man’s belly until it was suspended in midair over the big man’s chest for a moment before being engulfed by the big man’s mouth and squeezed affectionately. Sean’s own belly squirmed with pleasure as the big scratchy tongue of the big man tickled his abdomen. Sean straightened out his feet in elation and his muscles seized, as he felt his head squeeze through a sphincter into the big man’s stomach. He still held his breath as his face was surrounded by a thick soup of digesting cooler food. 

The big man gently raised a hand to his gut and rubbed it slowly, feeling it stretch and gurgle like it had scarcely done since that day long ago at this very beach, when the other had slid down into his belly. He tasted Sean’s skin and noted its salt flavor, from sweat and ocean water combined, and he felt his body yearn for a drink, enticing him to swallow faster and more hungrily. He felt Sean squirm his torso inside his throat, and pull himself deeper into his belly. He lazily opened his eyes to watch Sean’s legs flip about in the air, brushing against his belly and flinging some sand into the air. He felt a soft pressure in the middle of his chest, and realized that Sean was pulling his arms and hands down further into his stomach. Sean pushed against the big man’s insides with his hands, not to prevent himself from sinking deeper inside, but to pull his torso and legs into the big man’s stomach even faster. The big man felt the pressure in his throat ease and his stomach relaxed to make more room as Sean’s legs slipped down his throat. He tasted the scratchy sand clinging to Sean’s hairy calves, and swallowed hard to pull the rest of Sean in quickly.

Sean felt his toes pass from the cool night air into the hot, salivating throat of the big man, and took a deep breath as his face surfaced into an air pocket at the top of the big man’s stomach. He squirmed as the last of his legs passed smoothly through the big man’s throat and into the soup of so many meals churning at once. Once his entire body was encased by stomach walls and digestive soup, Sean curled his legs underneath him and rested his body against the mass of fat surrounding him. Both the big man and Sean took deep breaths and gained their composure. Sean felt the hot liquid around him and imagined he was in the most exclusive hot tub in the world. Fortunately the immense supper that had preceded his own body becoming food masked the scent of digestive juices, so he enjoyed the unique fruit punch with a hint of sweat aroma. He felt the big man’s stomach kneading against his legs and chest, and above his head. His enclosure seemed to shrink a little bit, like the stomach was giving him a strange hug, willing him to give himself over and become belly fat.

After a long pause, the big man drew breath and spoke, “You still with us there, bud?”

“Yeah! Don’t think I’ll ever not be,” Sean joked.

“How are you feeling, then?”

“Like a piece of meat! But in a good way…”

The big man shrugged with his eyes, “In a way you kind of are… Well, relax, eat a churro, and enjoy the ride.”

“I already did! Can’t believe you actually did it! You weren’t kidding.”

“I never do… I never do.”

[evilminji]

Okay, But, >.> Listen...

So MAYBE, just MAYBE, I am an incureable RoFan Isekai nerd. Shut up about it, maybe. What're you a cop? Mind your business. BUT! And hear me out...

W...What would actually? HAPPEN if Danny went into a Visual Novel? Some Otome game? You know, aside from being vague flustered by and then DEEPLY ALARMED by these walking Red Flag Fruitloops that girls are supposed to find "dreamy" or something?

Like we know how MMOs work for him. And probably OTHER open world games? But a visual novel? Would it be like the Christmas Episode? Would he hear narration? Be stuck in static "scenes"? Or would it be like a cut together "only the interesting parts" movie that he's somehow IN?

Like?? At SOME point his curiosity is gonna get the best of him. He's gonna want to know what different video games are LIKE on the inside? What's Pong like? Tetris? Mario? One of those Mama's cooking games? Etc etc.

He probably hits up a game sale. Buys a box or two. Figures he can always resell um or just give them away for free. Might even use them for parts. Who knows. And?

It's kinda cool!

It's even SCIENCE! See? Tucker's in charge of notes. Sam's in charge of hilarious commentary and pizza. Jazz is keeping them from drinking and doing ghost shit (terrible combination, we never speak of What Happened(tm) again). And the Dr's. Fenton got distracted by making fudge and debating what games should be counted towards which categories.

They've made an afternoon of it.

And NOW? They've reached the bottom of box one. It was "Survive The Villainess! My Rose for You!" Or... judging by Sam's climbing eyebrows and growing scowl? A DEEPLY unpleasant porn game about school girls.

You could not PAY him enough.

Yeah, he DOES realistically kinda want to know what happens.. if.. like? You know... sexy games... like would he? Or does he just WATCH or...? *awkward cough* But! That's NOT for Family Science Night! And DEFINITELY not THAT game, THANKS.

He'll find himself an ETHICALLY SOURCED smutty game full of consensual boning. For PRIVATE TIME. Those test results are gonna show up like MAGIC and we WILL NOT be talking about them! Got it? Good.

Now what the fuck is he look at here?

Jazz is surprisingly knowledgeable. They are not allowed to ask. They respect it. The main character "wakes up" inside the body of a "villainess" and must survive. Turn her terrible reputation around. Avoid "death flags". Preferably romance one of the hot guys?

Uuuuuuuh... you realize Danny's in a committed relationship, right?

Sam and Turker allow it. But they reserve the right to blast his taste in Fantasy Guy's. Chose carefully, for their roasting shall be BRUTAL. Luuuuuv yoooou~♡

He wants a divorce. They're not even MARRIED and he wants a divorce. You see how they mock him, Jazz? The cruelty he suffers? He's taking the Blobs and moving to Frightknight's. They always warned him about you living folks and your fast ways, but he didn't listen! *continued dramatics* *is smacked with a pillow*

But actually going IN? The weirdly, vaguely European over the top EVERYTHING? Giant jewels and ridiculous, fancy dresses? The walking red flag Romantic Archtype Leads? He wants to PUNCH half these guys! This is ABUSE! Are people OKAY!?

Like? I feel like he'd stay way, WAY longer then he needed too? Just out of morbid curiosity? W-where is this plot GOING? It's so dramatic. Why is my dress MORE dramatic now? Why is everything so... Sparkly.

It would be? AMAZING and baffling and I would pay real money to hear their live commentary. "Why not simply judo flip the crown prince off the balcony, then take over the country, sweetie?" "Solid plan, honey! He deserves it!" Beautiful. Flawless. Sage advice really. Too bad Danny can barely walk in his five million bows dress.

It's the BEST Au and I might be a genius. Or deeply sleep deprived. Meh. We'll 50/50 it, six of one, half a dozen of another.

@hdgnj @ailithnight @nerdpoe @the-witchhunter

[hannie-dul-set]

CRASH & BURN.

p — PARK SUNGHOON x gn! reader. g — fluff, humor. w — swearing, one absolutely horrendous dad joke, the secondhand embarrassment is even worse this time i'm not sorry at all, the rest of the en-kids are also losers. 1.3k words.

note — listen, who am i to deny the public from their needs and wants? i have no idea how rizzless hoon became such a hit, but ask and you shall receive. i'm sure this won't be the last you'll see of this loser. PART ONE. if you enjoy loser! hoon, you might also enjoy this other series of mine.

also tagging those who were asking for a part two hope u all don't mind! — @gyulune @jngwnlvs @snowysab @miercerise @karinasswifee @cerealdreamwriter @dinonuguaegi @tyongff-ff

for the past five days, you have been routinely returning to the skatepark at the same time without fail. this has obviously attracted questions from your friends considering the first time you tried out a longboard, you crashed and scraped and bruised your chin within seconds, but you can’t exactly tell them the truth about your endeavor— that you’ve been trying to catch a glimpse of mr. kuromi bandaid with the rollerblades again, and being left disappointed every single time.

he hasn’t shown up. not even once.

it’s day five, and there’s still no sign of him nor his lollipop. it’s day five, and you’re just about to give up until you spot from your peripheral a familiar group of boys that scared the shit out of you the other day— except this time, they aren’t staring at you like maniacs, and they seem to be one person less.

“are you fucking stupid?” you overhear as you hesitantly approach their circle, cautious steps because they’re still as intimidating as you can remember. they all look so serious, two individuals glaring at each other while the rest simply watch, both unconcerned and amused. “oh yeah? you really think you can beat me? wanna duke it out right now, dickwad?”

cold sweat breaks out and you freeze in your tracks, expecting them to spiral into a fist fight.

“my dragonite will sweep your fucking team, loser.”

“your dragonbitch doesn’t stand a chance against my tyranitar!”

nevermind. you really shouldn’t be so quick to judge them again.

you regain the bounce in your step and race up before they could metaphorically kick each other's asses.

“hi!” 

you flinch when the six heads suddenly snap towards you. your smile twitches, discomfort  lasering into your skin from the half a dozen set of narrowed eyes leering at you so intently and so intensely. “who are you?” the one previously bragging about his dragonite asks.

“dumbass.” another one smacks the former on the backside of his skull. “it’s shoelaces.”

the nickname sets a few lightbulbs off, and a pair breaks away from their violent staring at you to give each other knowing glances. “oh, shit!” this time it’s mr. tyranitar who exclaims. “right. the dude hoon absolutely decimated himself in front of. poor guy. he’s still going through the five stages of grief.”

hoon must mean sunghoon. you want to open your mouth and present your business about the missing individual, but it’s not so easy to butt in when they’re busy conversing amongst themselves.

“what do they want?” 

“how should i know? i’m not them?” 

“no fucking shit. but what do you think they want?”

“maybe it’s about hoon?”

“no way. that guy’s done for.”

“hey, don’t be too harsh on him! he’s grieving!”

“what if it’s because we‘re being too loud—”

“what if they’re here to have a pokemon batt—”

“you do realize they can hear you, right?” 

light-haired guy is right. you can very much hear them, and they’ve all finally quieted down, slowly turning their heads to you once more but with a dampened intensity this time. they’re waiting for you to speak. you can’t believe you thought they were scary. you can’t believe you were intimidated by a group of nerds.

“sorry for the intrusion,” you smile, pressing your palms together. “i noticed one of your friends hasn’t been coming around lately. is he okay?”

a cough. a nudge. a silent conversation between the six pairs of eyes. “he’s been sick these past few days,” dragonite owner finally says. “sickeningly unbearab— ow!” 

your smile disappears. “oh no.” he’s sick? he already didn’t seem that strong when you met him the other day, collapsing into the ground and all.

“i think you can help him get better— ouch! jungwon, what the fuck?” one of them gets hit again. you’re sure it’s been the same guy hitting the rest of them since earlier.

“why are you asking about him?”

the nicest looking one squeezes out of their group while asking his earnest question, fishing out the answer from you with bright, curious eyes. “ah,” you sound out. “i just wanted to tell him that i also think his shoelaces are really cool.”

they stare at you, then stare at each other. and then someone spews out, “is that a new pick-up line, or some shit?” before getting hit again, and the light-haired guy comes forward to block the squabble happening behind him, and to tell you that they’ll be dragging their friend tomorrow at the same time (isn’t he supposed to be sick?) so you can compliment his shoelaces in person(?), and that they are looking forward to welcoming you to their family (whatever the fuck that means).

as promised, they do drag the sick man into the skatepark— literally dragging him because the guy who introduced himself yesterday as jake is pulling him forward by the sleeve while jungwon pushes him from behind as the wheels of his roller skates make sure that sunghoon keeps on moving. he looks like he’s ready to move on into the afterlife. your eyes light up when they drag him closer.

“c’mon, hyung! just a little bit more— a liiiiittle bit—

“i told you, i’m never coming back here again!“ you hear him groan, attempting to break away from his escort team. “never ever. never again. this is is where half of my dignity is buried. my pride. my shame. my—”

and then he freezes.

sunghoon gets frozen by an invisible force when your eyes meet, frozen but his cheeks are set ablaze. his friends did a great job in escorting him to you, encasing him and in consequence his view of his surroundings until you’re within an arm’s reach so he doesnt run away. the heat from his face thaws him back into movement, panicked and angry expressions sent to his friends and they all look pretty stupid trying to talk with just their eyebrows, but it’s cute nonetheless.

“hey!” you finally chipper in, causing sunghoon to freeze once more, creaking to meet your gaze. 

“h—hello. hi.”

sunghoon’s greeting comes out as a choke. jake and jungwon send each other signals before hurling the poor boy at you.

it’s like he’s suddenly forgotten how to skate. he can’t control his muscles, sliding over the short path at a dangerous speed that mimics his racing heart and oh shit— oh shit, oh shit. how does he stop again? how does he make a turn? how does he not fucking crash into you like a meteor being sucked into the earth’s orbit?

“oh!”

like all of his (very limited) interactions with you, sunghoon crashes and burns. it’s inevitable. but this time, he crashes and burns into you. you’re both on the concrete and his hand feels like it got crushed between the hard ground and the back of your head, but that pain quickly subsides into a numbing buzz, pumping his arteries with nectar, burning his veins with gasoline, because holy crap—

“close.”

“you’re right, that was a close call,” you breathe out. “i could’ve cracked my skull open.”

“i— i mean, close, you’re— you’re too close.”

does he realize that you can’t exactly move underneath him? he probably doesn’t, not when you can practically see the smoke emitting from his head and the panicked swirl in his eyes and you can’t help but laugh. “ah, sorry.” that was a mistake. sunghoon’s face flushes warmer and like a hammer to his skull, the realization hits and he and slowly pries himself off of you.

“sorry—”

“it’s fine.” you sit up and brush the dust off your clothes, stretching out your legs as you nudge yourself closer to him on the ground. “your friends told me you’ve been sick. are you feeling better now?”

“huh?” 

you’re not sure why he’s confused, but he looks very confused before turning his gaze to his friends. you find jay snapping out a thumbs up and sunoo’s stern face somehow reading don’t fucking blow it. he turns back to you with a lot more sweat on his neck than prior. “oh, yeah i was sick, i was so sick, ahaha—” he stammers. “a—anyway, what’s up?”

“i just wanted to see you again. it’s not everyday that i get a compliment on my shoelaces, you know?” you smile. “what about today? aren’t they prettier than the last ones?”

you wiggle your shoes to show off, laced in a complicated pattern that you’ve been practicing for the past five days, and you expect to receive another compliment for it, but sunghoon is oddly quiet. 

he’s quiet. you’re sure you chose a cool pair of shoes this morning. you’re about to be disappointed, until you notice that he’s actually thinking. he’s thinking very hard he’s thinking of something, and that something comes out of his mouth in the form of a badly timed pun.

“...what about...toe-day...”

park sunghoon only knows how to crash and burn. all his friends are a witness to that. they’re a witness to this events that transpired this afternoon, but what they didn’t expect is for you to have an affinity for disasters. you’re laughing at his dumb joke. you’re actually laughing. they’ve been shitting on sunghoon for being hopeless, but maybe there’s something wrong with you, too.

CRASH & BURN.

© hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[tleeaves]

Rule(heart)breaker

Tokyo Debunker | Ritsu Shinjo x reader/MC Warnings: none Description: the girls (business partners) are fightingggg, minor angst if you tilt your head to the side, potentially ooc maybe idk Author's note: this is my first TDB fic so, um, try not to judge me too harshly maybe if it's totally crap. This is sort of just a snippet of an idea I've been having around a potentially longer/multi-chapter Ritsu fic? Tbh I don't even like this guy that much but something about his character compels me, so, here we are. - T. Lee 🍃

Ritsu Shinjo prided himself on being perfect; efficient and effective in every way humanly possible until he reached ghoul status and could pursue levels beyond any human alive or dead. So, imagine his surprise when his morning cup of coffee—black, no milk or sugar to ruin the raw taste—went flying out of his hand and spilling over his shirtfront and lap, immediately painting his immaculate uniform shades of brown before he could even utter acimo.

Swiftly, one of six handkerchiefs on his person found itself in his hand and dabbing at the hot mess. If he were anything less than a ghoul and if the cup had not already been cooling for four minutes and twenty seconds, this would probably be hurting a great deal more than it already was.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” a voice squeaked, sounding mortified.

Face as blank as ever, Ritsu glanced up with only the slightest hint of distaste in his tone when he said, “You are late. And I will be charging you for the time wasted and now for my uniform’s dry-cleaning.”

“Are you okay?” the Darkwick inspector asked him, hands hovering awkwardly as he continued pressing the handkerchief against his clothes, attempt to draw out what he could. The handkerchief, he realised dismally, would need cleaning too.

“Wet,” he commented tersely, “And now behind schedule, but fine. Where were you that your time was so occupied at nine AM? The very time, incidentally, I informed you our meeting was to occur here at the Mystery Diner. Twenty minutes ago. You confirmed yesterday during business hours that you would attend this meeting.”

Ritsu watched as your eye twitched. Intriguing… and worrisome. You were his business partner; clumsiness could be forgiven through the correct procedure of reparations, but if you were tired and no longer at your sharpest, that would be a problem for him too. How could he rely on a sleep deprived partner to bring Sinostra enough prestige to win the laurel crown at the Gala?

His gaze never left you as you tentatively sat down across the table from him. An opponent’s position. A business partner would typically sit next to him. He took mental note of that to add in with his voice recordings later when he was transcribing.

As you tugged on your sleeves, Ritsu noticed that your attire was in disarray. Buttons missing, small tears, untucked, upturned collar on one side, and a loose tie that appeared suspiciously like it was cut in half—and not intentionally for style. He started listing these items aloud into his recording, completely missing the flush on your face and the odd glint in your eyes where you usually looked so vacant.

“A mission,” you declared suddenly.

Ritsu paused. Gathered his thoughts and offered the recorder out. “Can you elaborate? You were on a mission?”

“I have been on a mission since the closing of business hours yesterday,” you drawled. Ritsu blinked, a dozen thoughts on workers’ rights, Darkwick policies and rules, and legal procedure running through his mind before anything could leave his mouth. He did not get the chance though, as you continued. “I have been on a mission since yesterday and I just got back from being off campus this morning. I have not slept a goddamn wink, I have not changed, I have not showered, and I have not eaten. Another anomaly was killed instead of being caught for study. So, thank you for waiting patiently for me.”

Ritsu was indignant. “You should not have accepted the mission, you have every right to refuse according to—”

“You don’t get it,” you snapped. He watched as the flush on your face deepened, not with shame but anger. “Nearly four months have passed since I was cursed. I don’t care about being overworked; I care about finding the fucker that’s turning me into its clone. So, I accept every mission Darkwick puts my way and I’ll keep doing it until I find a cure. Yes, that might mean I’m not on time to meetings. But don’t pretend like you aren’t just using me the same way Darkwick and all the other ghouls do.”

Ritsu remained silent, the recording still rolling. You took that as an opportunity to stand from the booth’s table and plant a hand on its surface. His empty coffee cup rattled.

“Or do you deny it? We’re spending more time elevating Sinostra so you can continue your little glory quest than we are investigating anything related to my curse.” Your eyes were steely and a small part of Ritsu wavered under that stare. It seemed ridiculous because he was not one to be intimidated, ever. So, what else was the feeling?

Ritsu took a breath, readjusting his blazer, though he stayed seated. “You have adequately addressed your concerns. I make no such admissions or denials at this time on the matter.” He sighed shortly. “We are business partners. It is natural we should not get along and agree on everything, but there is no matter I cannot resolve with enough time.” He checked his gleaming watch. “We should resume this matter at four—”

“Hell no.” Moving around the table to loom beside him, you said, “Let it go on record that Darkwick’s inspector resigns from the business partnership with Ritsu Shinjo, starting now. We have different priorities.”

Ritsu stood. “Sinostra has missions.”

“Sinostra can barely go a week without any warnings from the academy,” you seethed.

“That is why we are working together to preserve its reputation,” he argued.

You gave him a cool smile. “Exactly. Different priorities.” Striding past a bored-looking Ren Shiranami, you said, “Nice knowing you, Thesaurus.” The door shut heavily behind you.

Ritsu watched your retreating figure out the diner’s windows before you disappeared from view around the corner. He sighed through his nose. This was not good. One way or another, he needed to get his business partner back, or better yet, find a suitable replacement.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for baking?

🍰

^ (so I can find later)

I (16f) really enjoy baking as a hobby—it’s one of the only non-computer related hobbies I have, and I make baked goods maybe once every 2-3 weeks. I give a lot of stuff out to my friends and neighbors, but sometimes it’s nice to keep stuff for myself and my household, which is my mom and my aunt, if they want some. But recently my mom and aunt have asked me not to bake anymore, because my aunt is obese and trying to lose weight. But I don’t think I should have to stop engaging in a hobby I enjoy because of that? I don’t force her to eat the things I make, but also her weight loss seems entirely dependent on me and my mom—if my mother or I don’t cook nutritional meals for the her my aunt will just eat chips and fast food, and she has no job and the only time she gets out of bed is to walk from her bedroom to the kitchen, so she’s not making an effort to exercise or be more active. She’s not really trying to lose weight imo because all of her “efforts” rely on people that aren’t her. If I make a dozen brownies and she sneaks into the kitchen into the middle of the night to eat SIX all at once it’s my fault and not hers? I feel like I’m being blamed for an issue that isn’t my fault or my problem. She’s struggled with her weight since before I was born and I sympathize with that, but I don’t think it’s fair to say my hobby is the issue, and I don’t plan on stopping when this will just be another half hearted weight loss effort that won’t work. AITA for continuing to bake after my aunt asked me not to?

What are these acronyms?

[robinsdearest]

This isn't what it looks like

Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Five times the birds catch you, and the one time Bruce finally does.

Damian catches you first. It’s late in the night, or early in the morning, depending on how you view the clock. Six one way, half a dozen the other. No matter because your youngest is already demanding an answer for your whereabouts. He can tell something is wrong from the way you jump from your skin when he surprises you. He found you walking up the stairs from the BatCave, and your question regarding his bedtime was dismissed quickly.  You have a certain smell to you that he immediately places. His interrogation is thorough, you do admit to yourself, because he simply cares about you and your safety. He also loves his father and you can see the conflict in his eyes as the gears in his head turn and turn.  You try your very best to explain the circumstance, but you are failing miserably and cannot fully mitigate this instance. You think your secret will be revealed to Bruce before Damian gives you a slight nod after careful consideration.  Damian promises to keep your secret in return for a new pet. Your immediate question is to know which one he wants. You're not above buying compliance.

Jason catches you second. His confrontation is less aggressive than Damian’s turned out to be. You’re not even home when the Red Hood finds you. You’re coming out of an unremarkable garage when he drops from the roof right in front of you. Your yelp of surprise sends a flock of birds scattering to the wind. Jason only crosses his arm to stare at you in silence while you fidget under his glare.  You are blessedly given another chance to explain the circumstance, and Jason is much more receptive and understanding. His gaze flicks between you and the open door to the garage. When he finally spots what sits there, his arms go slack. He takes off the hood and simply listens to the rest of your story. Once you’re done and you think he’s going to call Bruce, Jason throws an arm around your shoulder and steers you back to the garage. He has a few items to negotiate for his silence. 

Tim catches you third. In truth, you had thought he would be the first to catch you. His hacking and investigative skills rivaled that of Bruce’s on a bad day and far exceeded Question’s on a good day.  You thought you had erased any trail of your small venture out of town, but it seems even attempting to cover your tracks was foolish, as this was child’s play for Red Robin. Tim sits in front of the computer and brings up a map of the area you have just returned from. Your face is hot with strong embarrassment as you grip your bag. He slowly turns the chair to face you, an inquisitive eyebrow raised waiting for your defense. You try to plead your case with hard evidence and logical reasoning: it really was a small venture, and you were only gone for less than ten hours, which is amazing in this day of age, and- In an incredibly surprising twist of fate, Tim only acknowledges your story by removing the map from the screen and deleting the record logs. He sips his coffee and tosses his head towards the exit, dismissing you entirely. Your knuckles are white and tight wrapped around your bag as you head upstairs. 

Cassandra catches you fourth. She’s so quiet, you didn’t even realize she was with you until she tapped your shoulder. Your scream is shrill and you thought the glass from the small window would burst. After your body doesn’t fail you with an imminent heart attack, you look back to Cass as her small smile grows into something more sinister.  You don’t even have a good explanation for tonight’s journey. Your plans are in ten minutes, and if you don't show up on time, your company is going to be so upset. You try and explain as quickly as possible. As she sits there and listens to you, you finally realize that maybe your kids are in on it all together and are waiting for the perfect moment to expose you. Too many people are going to know, and you know Bruce would kill you- even worse, potentially divorce you- if he found out.  She signs something that allows your shoulders to finally relax. 

Dick catches you fifth. He’s more disappointed than angry, in reality. Damian had confessed to him in a bit of panic when you hadn’t returned to the Manor after a few hours of being gone. Dick had cornered you in your study as you were finishing a few additional work papers the next day. He demanded to know why you were doing it, if Bruce’s happiness wasn’t enough for you, or if you wanted to send the man to an early grave. You could tell Dick is hurt, and you feel more guilty than you ever had before. You hadn’t taken into account the feelings of your own kids until this conversation.  You know your begging doesn’t work on your oldest; he learned his puppy dog eyes from you, and they’re not very effective when used on each other. Instead, you offer him another solution as an explanation enough. He begrudgingly agrees and follows you out of the manor. A few hours later, Dick is breathless, yet still promises to keep his mouth shut for the time being.

When Bruce finally catches you, he’s shocked, to say the least. Devastated at best.  “You’ve got to be joking.” He’s standing in the middle of the Batcave, sans any and all gear or kevlar. Damn, you had really banked on the Batman being in Metropolis tonight.  “I can explain, I promise!” You have the thought to tell him how good he looks in gray sweatpants, but his face is contorted in anger.  “How long has this been going on? How many times?” He’s circling you in that predator way that you’ve seen Batman circle villains on the street.  You can do nothing but toy with the hem of your shirt that still smells like gasoline and the outside winter air. You sit in the chair next to the Batcycle, the heat of the motor singing a few hairs on your arm.  You had finally been caught, by Bruce, nonetheless. He is for sure going to divorce you; death would be too kind. You explain what has been going on, and like too good of a man, he listens until you are finished speaking.  Bruce calls each of your kids to the cave. When they finally arrive, Bruce demands the truth. To their credit, not one of them lies, and they confirm your story. 

“Hold on.” He stops them from speaking as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “You’re standing there, telling me, that my wife- my wife with almost no training- has been going out at night in the military-grade vehicles specifically made for fighting crime, for months, and not a single one of you was going to tell me?”  You didn't think you had the heart to tell him it was closer to a year. Damian spoke though. “Father, I found her after taking the Batcopter a few months ago.” You couldn’t sleep that night while Bruce was patrolling, so you took the helicopter to Wayne Enterprises to get a few things of work done. It wasn’t the first time you had stolen one of the many vehicles Batman hoards, but it was the first time you had gotten caught.  Bruce’s eyes are digging into you, and you do feel a little guilty now for not telling him any of this.  Jason yells from across the cave. “She had the Batmobile across town.” You had taken the tumbler out to go meet Lucius for a few improvements to the vehicle’s controls; the brake was sticking and you knew it would cause problems for Bruce eventually. You could see Jason’s shit-eating grin from your seat. Bruce held his head with both hands now. “We switched out the tires, too old man.”  Tim didn’t even look up from the computer. “Batplane. She flew to Jamaica and back a couple weeks ago.”  Bruce whips his head to you.  “Alfred said he needed jerk spice, and you know he only likes the traditional kind from the stores in Kingston!” You cry.  Cassandra is only sitting on the boat, which is confirmation enough for Bruce as he turns her way. She had been sitting in the boat cabin while you crossed the Delaware Bay to visit Metropolis for a happy hour with Lois and Diana. You let Cassandra drive the boat back while you talked about your night with the other women.  Dick calls out finally. “B, I was going to tell you after I caught her with the motorcycle.” Bruce throws his arms up as he knows that a contrasting statement is coming. You crack a small smile when it does. “But she challenged me to a race, and I couldn’t say no. She beat me across town, and the punishment for not winning was keeping quiet. That was a few days ago.”  Bruce lets out a mirthless laugh before turning back to you. You give your husband of nearly two decades a sheepish grin. He comes over and drops to squat before you. He takes your left hand where your wedding band proudly sits on your ring finger. He toys with it for a second before turning your hand over and kissing your palm. He sighs dejectedly and lifts his head to kiss you properly.  “You should have told me. I would have made time to make sure things were safe.”  “I didn’t want to worry you. Also, I can take care of myself with my minimum training." You kiss his nose so that he stops scrunching it. "Besides, be proud that our children worked together to help me keep this secret to maintain your sanity. We love you, just remember that." “So you told everyone but me and Alfred?”  You wince, and the movement makes Bruce slap his forehead. He mutters something small beneath his breath that sounds an awful lot like a prayer.  “Alfred might have been the one who gave me the keys for everything.”

[moghraidhs]

because i cannot stop thinking about it, have a bikeriders fic :)

crossposted on ao3.

Johnny's awake when he hears the knock.

He's always been a light sleeper; since the war, light sleeping has turned into the occasional night of no sleep whatsoever. Betty had called it "insomnia", whatever the fuck that is. To him it just means staring at the ceiling until sunrise.

He gets out of bed. Betty's still fast asleep. The knock isn't heavy enough or loud enough to be a Vandal, so it must be something else.

Briefly, he thinks about that punk kid from Brucie's funeral. Mean look in his eyes. He could be standing on the porch right now, waiting with a knife in hand.

Johnny's vaguely surprised by how little the thought bothers him.

He goes downstairs and opens the door.

Benny stands on the porch, one foot already on the steps as if he was in the middle of leaving. Lit up in the yellow glow of the streetlights, he looks for all the world like a hallucination. A memory of the worst night of Johnny's life.

But it's cold outside, and Johnny had heard the knock, so this must be real. Right?

"Hey, kid," he says quietly, not wanting to scare away this maybe-hallucination. And doesn't that just make him the most pitiful man in the world, clinging on to the imaginary vision after he'd driven the real thing away?

"Hey," Benny says, and that's when Johnny realises two things.

1) This is real.

2) Benny's hurt.

His face is angled away towards the street, and one arm is pressed against his middle, almost protectively.

The sight makes something inside Johnny howl. He doesn't want to think about why that is. Refuses to even consider it.

All he says is, "Come on in."

The injuries look even worse under the ugly yellow-white light in the kitchen, but maybe that's just Johnny's thinking. Two cuts, one across Benny's cheek and the other at his hairline, both needing stitches. His knuckles are wrapped up, which doesn't bode well, but he can move his fingers okay so nothing's broken.

"Who was it?" Johnny asks as he awkwardly threads the needle he'd stolen out of Betty's sewing kit. She'd always teased him about his hands. Big enough to cover the whole state.

Benny's hands are big too, but there's something almost fine about them. Those long, slim fingers of his look like they were made for playing a guitar or working with animals or something. Not bikeriding and getting into bare-knuckle fights.

Shut the fuck up, Johnny tells himself harshly just as Benny answers.

"Couple of guys in a bar." He doesn't even flinch as Johnny starts cleaning up the first cut. "It's fine."

Of course it's fine. Johnny's seen Benny in a fight half a dozen times, knows he can handle himself and then some.

None of that does a thing for the side of Johnny that wants to know exactly who and where and then call the others so he can go take care of it. So this never happens again.

He's getting fucking sentimental in his old age, that's the problem. Twenty years ago, someone like Benny wouldn't have made a dent in him. Wouldn't have been allowed to. Real men don't do that shit.

Real men. Johnny's lived through a war, a dozen motorcycle club rumbles, and now another war, and he still doesn't know what the fuck that means. Honestly, he's tired of trying to figure it out.

All he's wanted for the past six months is for Benny to come back. And now he's here, all Johnny can think of is how not to fuck up and make him leave again.

So he swallows the questions and stitches Benny up, carefully as possible. Benny doesn't make a sound the whole time, doesn't even wince as the needle slides in and out of his skin.

A real man. Or maybe someone who's so used to being hurt he doesn't feel it any more.

Johnny doesn't like thinking that last bit, doesn't like the way it makes him want to tear the room apart. He finishes stitching and starts to tidy up. "Your ribs okay?"

Benny nods, even though his arm is still pressed across his middle, the set of his shoulders the only other sign that he's in any kind of pain at all.

The temptation to push the issue threatens, and Johnny gets up. "Want some coffee?"

They sit at the table and drink in silence. After, Benny takes out his cigarettes and offers Johnny one. Johnny lights both of theirs and selfishly uses the opportunity to get a better look at Benny up close. Beating aside, he looks okay. A little tired, maybe. Definitely thinner. Not that Johnny cares. Why the fuck does he care?

"You got somewhere to stay?" he asks halfway through the first cigarette.

Benny nods. "Motel."

"Good. That's good."

Where were you? Are you staying? Are we okay now? The questions tumble over themselves in Johnny's mind, demanding to be spoken.

He doesn't, of course. Being sentimental hasn't made him fucking stupid. He'd already fucked this up once.

A little bit of Benny is better than none at all.

They finish a couple of cigarettes each before Benny gets up to leave. Johnny walks him to the porch. He's surprised to see the sky turning pink-grey, dawn on the horizon.

"Thanks, Johnny," Benny says. He'd looked beautiful enough at night. Dawn makes him look like a fucking angel, wounds and all. Fallen angel, maybe.

He's just a man, though. And so is Johnny, which is why he can't stop himself from asking, self control and fucking sentimentality be damned. "So, you gonna be around now?"

Benny looks up at him, and just for a second Johnny catches what looks like surprise in his eyes. "You want me?"

He sounds almost vulnerable, and it's for that reason and that reason alone that Johnny ignores the thoughts those three words put in his head. "Yeah," he says. "Yeah. You n' me, kid."

That gets him a lightning-swift, half-shy smile, which disappears almost as quickly as it came but leaves him speechless nonetheless. He watches as Benny walks back down the porch steps and climbs back on his bike. The growl of the machine cuts through the morning quiet, and then just like that he's gone, the street empty as if he had never been there at all.

The sun is coming up. Johnny smiles and heads inside.

[esamastation]

Part thirty-five of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four

-

Well, Sephiroth seems to be in a better mood than yesterday. Maybe he was just coming down from his… whatever it was that happened in the training room. Angeal still isn't entirely sure. Though the Turks had debriefed him and even showed him a video, it didn't make that much sense. Especially with the blood vomiting. Which Angeal still isn't entirely over, either.

But Sephiroth seems, while still not quite himself, at least cheered up. He'd relaxed in increments during their walk into the woods, and the change of environment - or most likely, leaving the camp and its staring occupants behind - made him a little less closed off.

"This place is so alive," Sephiroth comments, peering up at the leaf canopy above then. "The air is so fresh."

"Mmhmm," Angeal smiles. "A welcome change from Midgar, huh?"

From the way he's looking around them, carefully taking in everything, Sephiroth can't remember much of anything about Wutai either - it's all new to him. Seeing his fascination kind of makes Angeal want to see his take on Mideel. Or, hell, Gongaga. Sephiroth would be very entertained by the local wildlife there, going by his reactions now.

"What is this thing?" Sephiroth asks, holding up what looks like a fistful of long grass. It wiggles in his hold, little legs kicking at the air.

"Razor Weed - I think the locals call it Leg-Cutting Grass," Angeal says, leaning in to watch the spiky beast wiggling in Sephiroth's grip. "They're pretty common and can deflate truck tires."

Sephiroth turns the little monster this way and that while it makes angry noises at him. "I bet. It's it a plant or an animal?"

"Uh. I don't actually know?" Angeal offers and gives him a look. "Someone back at the camp might. All I know is that they're annoying to fight."

Sephiroth hums, considering the weed, testing the blades sticking out of its head. He seems to struggle with something before sighing. "I can't kill it, it's too cute." He sounds almost disappointed. 

"... It's just a monster?" Angeal says, giving him a weird look. "I've seen men almost lose their legs, stepping into these things."

"Sounds like their own fault," Sephiroth says and crouches down to let the angry weed go. "Off you go, little buddy."

The Razor Weed answers by trying to attack him with its grass blades, all but lunging at him. Sephiroth just snorts and flicks it into the forest with his finger. "Cute," he concludes.

Angeal scratches at the back of his head. Though low-level mobs aren't really that big of a deal, still… "We're supposed to be, ah, weeding the monster population here, you know. That includes Razor Weeds."

"It's just a little grass thing," Sephiroth says. "It barely reaches your knee!"

"They're a menace and can cast spells," Angeal points out. "Your usual Infantry troopers can barely -"

"They cast spells?" Sephiroth asks, fascinated, and stands up, looking around interestedly. "I want to see that! Let's go find another."

Oh, boy. Running a hand through his hair, Angeal hurries after him. Well, it's… a novel experience, seeing Sephiroth of all people so excited about something. And of course it would be monsters. Usually Sephiroth is more interested in fighting monsters rather than just observing them, though, but it's still a definite improvement to his mood from yesterday. Even if it's because of weeds.

That changes when they get surrounded by about half a dozen of the little monsters.

"Still cute?" Angeal asks, fending two of them off with the flat of the Buster Sword's blade.

Apparently, yes, going by the glow in Sephiroth's eyes. "Don't kill them yet, I want to see some spells!" The man - the maniac - says, using still sheathed Masamune to push the monsters back.

"You know, as much as I appreciate your scientific curiosity, these things can actually do some damage in bigger groups, you know!" Angeal calls to him.

"Yeah, yeah," Sephiroth answers, flippantly. "So what do we need to do to make them cast spells?"

One of the Razor Weeds answers for him - by casting a Magic Hammer on Sephiroth. Which, Angeal is pretty sure, Sephiroth just lets it happen! Thankfully it's not a physical attack - Magic Hammer hits you in the MP - though, looking at Sephiroth's reaction…

"Oh, you little Qi-stealing bastard," Sephiroth says, and that's that for the Razor Weeds.

"... Uh," Angeal says, while the Razor Weeds fall over, mowed down like so much grass, and Sephiroth stands over them looking very hurt and disappointed. Angeal clears his throat, trying to bite back a smile. "So. What did we learn?"

Sephiroth rubs at his stomach, and gives him a flat look. "Yeah, haha, rub it in," he mutters and then, "Oh, hey, they left the remains behind!"

"... Most things do when you kill them, yes," Angeal agrees and looks at him interestedly. "So, you remember Mako monsters?"

Sephiroth is crouching again, examining the dead Razor Weeds. "Mm?" 

"Monsters that converge around Mako concentrations," Angeal explains, hoisting Buster Sword back to his back. "You… don't remember?"

"Uh. I remember that some things just sort of… disperse instead of leaving anything physical?" Sephiroth asks, sounding rather hopeful. "Is that a thing, or…?"

"It's a thing - Mako monsters. They're attracted to Mako, they are common around reactors and natural Mako pools - so people call them Mako monsters," Angeal explains. "The slums under Midgar are full of them. They're kind of like more physical ghosts, I think."

"... Huh," Sephiroth hums, and pokes at the dead Razor Weeds. "So monsters around here…?"

"Mostly physical," Angeal agrees. "I think there are some natural Mako springs around here, so there might be Mako monsters too… but I haven't seen any personally."

"Hmmm," Sephiroth hums and stands up. "That is fascinating."

"It sure is," Angeal laughs, because it really isn't, not to him, but Sephiroth has always been a bit weird. "Shall we continue? There's many more monsters to see."

"Yes, let's."

"... And get hit by," Angeal adds and looks at Sephiroth. "Actually, are you going to let all of them get a hit in? Because if you are, I'd like to know ahead of time, just in case I need to have a Remedy in hand."

"I'm not going to let myself get hit again," Sephiroth says, primly. "I wouldn't have, if I realised what it was going to do."

"... Okay. Good." Angeal nods. "There are better ways to figure out your opponents' skillsets, anyway. Or you can just let them do their thing but get out of the way before it hits."

"Right, of course, that's something you can do," Sephiroth says, sheepish, and clears his throat. "I knew that."

Angeal gets a Remedy out, just in case.

-

SY, thinking FF7: ... Oh right, turn based combat isn't actually a thing.

[xer-melody]

Rookie

Cullen family x adopted!human!male reader(!platonic!)

Warning: hurt/comfort, three original characters, readers friend sucking, a potential new friend tho, swearing, fighting, blood, getting arrested, mostly Carlisle centered.

Words: 2364

Summary: Y/n Cullen wants to tryout for the Baseball team

(A/n: I’d just like to say fuck Stephanie Meyers. Also this is my first request fill so yay!)

Request by anonymous : Cullen family x adopted!human!male reader hurt/comfort(?) where R wants to try out for the school baseball team, but his friends have little faith in him so he starts to self-doubt. So the rest of the Cullens help their youngest sibling practice and he eventually gets on the team. :)

The Forks High School baseball team had just lost a player. Well, not ‘lost’ but he decided that he'd rather play basketball instead, leaving an open spot on the team just a month and a half before baseball season. And you decided to fill that spot. Last season, tryouts had filled up quicker than anyone could have possibly thought they would, but the entirety of the old team was graduating that year, so with twenty-six spots open, people -most not even knowing how to play- flooded the coach in applications. And in an attempt at management, a team was hastily picked and tryouts were closed before you even got a chance.

While that first season was beyond painful to watch, they've gotten better over the last year, way better.

Ronan leaving the baseball team was, for the most part, a secret, at least for the time being. But he knew you liked to play, so he told you, and while you weren't friends with Ronan, you're glad you were the first he considered to take his spot.

That same day, in between classes, you practically ran to the coach's office and asked for an application.

Turns out applications had changed a bit from last year. Considering the fiasco that was the previous tryouts, he'd made it a bit harder to join. Instead of applications being a simple one-page, name-birthday-signature ordeal like it had been for years, it's become a ten page contract.

‘To weed out the fakers’ he said.

Now you were sitting in the schoolyard on the second to last step of the bleachers, half watching the team practice, half trying to fill out this seemingly never ending application.

“‘Have you ever broken a bone?’ no..” you muttered to yourself, checking off another box among dozens of other tiny boxes.

While the questions weren't particularly hard, there were hundreds of them. And you understood why but goddamnit this used to be so simple.

Leaning back against the beaches you watched as the eighth inning began, short words were exchanged between members as they switched spot, the catcher, a guy named Thomas, let out a playfully excruciating yell as he stood from his squating position for the first time nearly 20 minutes, his teammates laughed, and you let out a small chuckle along with them before returning your attention to the application.

‘Do you have siblings? If so, how many?’ was the next question on the packet.

Another filler question, as many had been, only maybe 20 of the questions retained to your health, or your ability to play.

A few minutes later and you were still answering questions, but kept a mental score of of who did what and how much longer until the ninth inning.

A few more minutes passed and you were nearly done, just a page and a half to go. You could get that done before practice was even over. You clicked your pen as you tried to think when was the last time you went to a doctor that wasn’t Carlisle.

Then, without warning, the application was pulled from your hands.

Looking up you saw the sudo captain of the Forks Baseball team, Apollo, who you only really knew two things about, both his parents were Greek mythology nuts, and despite baseball teams not technically having a captain, he was the captain. He dragged the team out of the mud by himself, and then proceeded to knock every game of the season out of the park.

And for a reason you couldn’t comprehend, he smiled down at you after quickly glancing over your application.

“You joining the team?” He asked, slightly out of breath (he ran across the field to talk to you).

“I’m going to try..” you responded quickly.

He chuckled, leaning up against the fence separating the two of you he said, “That’s good, we need someone like you-” he passed the application back, “You’ve been at basically every practice and game this team has ever had, won’t take you long to get the hang of things.”

“I play with my siblings all the time, playing on this team shouldn’t be too hard..”

At that, his smile widened.

“You’re confident, I like that. Can’t wait to have you on the team..”

He turned as the current right-fielder called him over.

“I expect you to see you at tryouts- on time, alright Cullen?”

“Alright..”

“Have you lost you’re goddamn mind!” Your self proclaimed ‘best-friend’, Jamison shouted.

You felt like your eardrum was going to burst if he kept yelling in your ear like that. You were driving him home and chatting when the topic of baseball came up, while he wasn’t too much of a fan, his older brother was on the baseball team. The moment you told him you were trying out he blew up.

“Maybe the rest of your siblings might stand a chance but come on Y/n, be realistic for a moment.”

“I am, I’ve been playing for years, I'm pretty sure I can make the team.”

He groaned, rubbing his hand down his face in frustration,

“Dude, the entire team is getting full ride scholarships, you can’t just come in and fuck that up!”

Stopping at a red light you turned to face him, “Who says I’m going to fuck it up?”

“Just..” he groaned again, “You’re not as good as them man.”

“You’ve never seen me play.”

“Still, just think about it playing with your siblings is different, they go easy on you because they don’t want to hurt your feelings, other teams won’t give a shit about you or your feelings!”

The light turned green and you moved your foot from the breaks to the gas, thinking just how wrong he was. This asshole had never seen you play, he didn’t even know anything about the sport and he was trying to tell you that you’d bring the team down.

“Whatever man,” You muttered.

You tried to ignore his words as best as you could, but such heavy doubt coming from one of your closest friends stung. Tapping your finger against the steering wheel, you breathed in deeply in an attempt to calm the anger that was slowly bubbling under your skin.

“Y/n, I love you man, but don’t do this, you’re good at…stuff, but not this. Just let somebody else try.”

You sighed, slamming your foot on the breaks, making Jamison jerk forward, nearly slamming his head on the dash board. You looked at your rear view mirror, no cars as far as you could see, you look forward, no cars. Then, as though the past three years of friendship meant nothing, you said,

“Get out.”

“What?”

“You heard me, get out of my car.”

He scoffed, sitting back in his seat, “Are you serious?”

After a second of silence he got out of the car.

And you got out right after him.

The familiar smell of human blood traveled through the Cullens’ home, followed by your scent, followed by Charlie’s.

Four loud knocks echoed through the quiet house, all were hesitant to move. But Carlisle, being the closest to the door, moved to open it.

Behind it he found a very irritated Charlie who was holding your arm behind your back. Blood ran from your nose all the way down to your chin, but other than that you seemed mostly unharmed.

Charlie gave a quick glance to you, then back to Carlisle.

“Found him fighting some kid in the middle of the road.” He said, sounding almost as disappointed as Carlisle felt.

You refused to met your fathers eyes. You have never disappointed him before, not in this way at least. You knew that fighting Jamison would lead to you getting in trouble with Carlisle eventually, you imagined every scenario as you rode home in the back of Charlie's car, but Carlisle crushing gaze of disappointment was harder to face than anything you could have imagined

You tuned out their conversation, but never missed the looks Carlisle would give you every so often, disappointment and worry clear on his face.

You didn’t move until you felt your fathers hand on your shoulder, pulling you into the house.

You heard something along the line of “don’t do it again” from Charlie and then the front door closing behind you.

Now you were facing the entire Cullen family, your family, as they swarmed you with questions. Questions you really didn’t want to answer, not now anyways. So, the moment you found an opening, you slid passed them and up the stairs. While any of them could have stopped you at any moment, they didn’t, instead watching as you climbed the stair and disappeared behind the wall, a second later they heard your door slam shut.

Laying on your bed, armed crossed over your chest, glaring at the ceiling above you, irritation coming off of you in waves as the fight replayed in you mind. You kicked his ass but he got a single good shot at you and it was with a rock, not even with his own fist the fucking coward. What kind of person throw stones?

You groaned in frustration, you should have put his ass to the goddamn hospital, maybe that would have given him some time to figure out how to not be a total dick!

You don't know how long you sat there stewing in your own frustration, but someone did eventually come to check on you. You heard the knocks, still you hesitated to get up. You didn't feel like talking, or explaining yourself. You did what you did and that was final.

But, then your father's soothing voice called for you and all the stubbornness you'd been harboring to avoid persecution slipped away.

Pushing yourself up and out of bed you walked to the door, and were met by Carlisle's no longer disappointed face, now replaced by worry.

He sighed before he spoke, grabbing your face and examining your still-bleeding nose.

A moment later you were both sat on your bed as he prodded your nose, tissue held to your nose as he asked you.

“Does this hurt?”

“No.”

He moved to another spot.

“What about this?”

“No.”

He sighed again.

“It's not broken, are you hurt anywhere else?”

“No.”

With that he sat back.

“So are you going to tell me why you fought Jamison, I thought he was your best friend?”

“He was,” Groaning, you said, “until today!”

Falling back onto the bed with a huff, letting your legs dangle off the edge.

“Do you remember what happened last year? With the tryout for the baseball team?”

“Yes, you said they were over before they even started, why?”

“One of the members of the baseball team dropped out, and he specifically asked me to try out and take his place.”

Carlisle smiled, but it faded quickly once he saw the hurt expression on your face.

“That's a good thing, isn't it?”

His words only frustrated you more. not with him, but with your so-called best friend, “It is! But when I told Jamison, he blew up on me- told me I'd only bring the team down. Then he told me to not even try because he thinks I'll fuck up their scholarship.”

“Sorry, I just-” you sighed, “it's just so stressful- I don't know if I even want to join the team anymore. I don't even know if I could! I went through all that trouble with applying and I don't know if they’d even let me on.”

Another sigh left Carlisle. Without saying a word he wrapped his arms around you, his cold embrace comforting beyond anything else. You huffed, irritation and betrayal still scorched through your vein but this lessened it.

A moment passes and you mutter, “thanks dad..”

“It’s alright son..” after a moment he continued, “never take advice from someone who doesn’t have your best interest in mind. As your father, I have nothing but your best interest in mind, so I'll tell you this-”

He pulled back for a second, looking down at you, a small smile on his face.

“Try out for the team, you've played with vampires, I'm sure a group of human boys will be more than impressed with your skills.”

With another sigh you held back a grin, your mood- and your heart- feeling tons lighter.

“Well if you insist, I guess I'll have to-”

And then your door was slammed open, the entire Cullen clan standing behind it, except for Emmett, who'd accidentally pushed the door open by pushing his body weight against it while your siblings were violently eavesdropping.

“…surprise?” Alice tried, holding up a metal bat as both a peace offering and mild defense.

“We were just uh-” Emmett started, but fell short.

“-going to help you practice…for your tryout.” Belle finished smoothly- well as smoothly as she could with a speech pattern as unconventional as hers.

With a wide grin Alice tossed the bat at you, you caught it seamlessly, having done it thousands of times over the years.

“Alright, let’s go.”

Tryouts were over. You were laid out on the dirt, which you were also covered in, the other attendees were in similar positions. Though some were closer to passing out from exhaustion than others. You, on the other hand, we’re just enjoying the sunshine and the breeze after a surprisingly tame tryout.

You closed your eyes, taking in your surroundings with your other sense, the most prominent of which was you potential competition gasping for air just a few feet away.

“You’re not even tired?” A familiar voice said.

Opening your eyes, you saw Apollo, nearly blocking out the sun.

“Not really.”

He let out a short laugh, looking over at the rest of the candidates with his hands on his hips.

“Well, shit- ain’t that something.”

He kneeled down next to you.

“So coach is the one who usually makes these calls with who gets picked after tryout, but you know what I’m pretty damn sure it’s gonna be you.”

“Really?”

“Really, I’ll see you at our next practice-“ then, unexpectedly he whipped his baseball cap off and tossed it onto your face, “-rookie.”

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞🪞

💜

99 for 🪞 <3 <3 <3:

---

Eddie doesn’t make it easy on him, either. He doesn’t send Buck a single text. Turns his location share off. Isn’t active on social media at all. He doesn’t even show up for work. When Buck arrives at their next shift only to hear from Bobby that Eddie has taken some PTO, Buck nearly panics. Then, it occurs to him what Eddie might be doing. So he leaves it alone. 

Only, if that’s what Eddie was doing, why wouldn’t he just say so? Buck would understand that more than anything.

Buck tries to press on without worrying too much. He focuses on his kid. On her needs. He has dinner with Maddie and Chim. Enjoys watching Dove and Jee-Yun get closer. He has another appointment with his adoption lawyer. It goes well. He gets an assessment and hearing date for next spring. A big deal, one he wishes he could tell Eddie about. He settles for telling everyone else, instead. 

On the fifth day, Buck takes Dove to her first swimming lesson. Buck is nervous about the whole thing. Trying swimming for the first time at six is sort of nerve wracking, he figures. 

“It’s okay if you’re scared,” he must tell her half a dozen times before the lesson. “But it’s really safe. The teacher has a lot of training. And I’ll be right there watching.”

“I’m not scared!” She insists each time. “I’m brave!”

And, to her credit, she doesn’t hesitate for a second at the actual pool. She’s excited and ready to learn. Buck watches in amazement as the child who has shown so much fear since he’s met her, seems completely devoid of it. She does great for her first try, too. So swimming it is. That’s just one way, he figures, they’re going to build her confidence. 

“You were a rockstar!” He says on the way home. “Did you have fun?”

“Yes!” She exclaims. Buck can still smell the chlorine in her hair. “I can swim now!”

Well, he’s not sure that’s exactly true, but he’s not going to crush her little spirit.

“Tell you what,” he says instead. “You keep taking lessons, and when the weather is warm again next year, we’ll take a day off school and do a beach day.”

“We can do that?” She gasps. 

“Of course we can,” Buck says. “Like a little mini vacation.”

“I’ve never done a vacation before,” she says. 

Buck smiles at her through the rearview mirror. “Well, that just means it’ll be extra special.”

“Yeah!” She chirps in agreement. 

That’s when his phone starts ringing. Eddie’s name flashes across the screen of Buck’s CarPlay display. Buck feels like he’s gone over the drop of a rollercoaster. 

“Dove, I need to take this, okay?” He says shakily. 

“Okay!” She says easily.

Buck picks up the call.

“Eddie?” He answers. “H-hey. Hey, man.”

“Hey, Buck,” Eddie replies. There’s a lightness to his voice.

“I’m in the car,” Buck warns. “You’re on speaker. Dove can hear you.”

“Hi, Eddie!” Dove practically shouts.

“Hi, Duckling,” Eddie says. “What are you guys doing?” 

“I went swimming!” Dove announces. 

“Very cool, kiddo. You’re on your way home?” 

“Yep!” Dove answers. 

“Buck, do you have more plans for the evening?” Eddie asks.

And Buck is reasonably confused. Because what? Five days of silence to is he free? Buck doesn’t know what to think. 

“We were just going to make dinner,” Buck says. “Maybe play some Mario Kart before bed.”

“Okay…” 

“Why?” Buck asks. “What’s up?”

He doesn’t want to demand an explanation. But also? Yes. He does. 

[missybee-writes]

Shadow in the Dark: Chapter One - Cursed

Genre: Sci-fi; Romance; Horror

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

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Summary

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

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

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

---

Chapter two: Munson Magic

Ao3 link

---

Chapter One

Rose was fucked. Some unearthly being had marked her for disaster, she was sure of it.

“This isn’t happening, this cannot be happening,” she chanted over and over to herself. “Hawkins is way too small for us to be lost. I’m cursed. And it’s not even nine a.m.”

Her mother sighed from the driver’s seat. “You are not cursed. I just took a wrong turn at the Memorial Hospital. Maybe if I loop around...”

“How do you explain the alarm clocks? You can’t blame faulty wiring this time, all of the electrics were replaced last week.” Rose gestured wildly.

This morning she had woken slow, bleary-eyed and heavy-limbed, with the gnawing feeling in her bones that something was just wrong. Something beyond the weird disorientation of being in a new bed, and a new house. Wooden beams flexed and creaked - no surprise with half the walls stripped down to boards in the remodel - and it hit her: no radio, no cheery blast of synth or guitar or whatever popular music central Indiana’s finest radio stations had to offer, drifting from the alarm on her bedside table.

One glance at the alarm clock confirmed it; grey pixels where the neon red numbers should be. Dead. Another power cut, she thought. But no, as she sat up, brain-fogged, the light from the floor lamp still glowed buttery yellow, casting a faintly pulsing light on the faces of Simon Le Bon, David Bowie, and the newest addition to the posters that covered the exposed brick wall: Harrison Ford as Indiana Jones, his rumpled shirt slightly unbuttoned, fedora askew, whip hooked on his belt.

No time to ogle Indy, she’d thrown herself from bed, a clumsy hurricane tripping, hopping and falling down the winding stairs to the second storey hall. The old clock was just about visible through the walnut bannister, its gold pendulum swinging back and forth and heralding her own personal doom: seven forty six, just fourteen minutes until Hawkins High closed its doors and classes began.

“Bollocks! Fucking hell!” She’d cried out.

One alarm clock dead? Fine, no problem, plausible. But when her mother and Jerry stumbled from the master bedroom, awakened by her foul mouth instead of their own alarm clock - which also happened to be dead, despite the rest of the electrics in the bedrooms working fine - an eerie feeling of the unnatural crept up her spine. After a manic rush to brush her teeth, grab her neatly stacked books and throw on some clothes, she found the washer dryer had stopped-mid cycle, and her carefully planned outfit options all lay in a damp, musty heap in the machine drum. It only confirmed that fate, karma, whatever one might call it, was stacked against her.

“Jerry said it might be a power surge,” her mother said, eyes on the road and foot on the gas pedal. “The plant is running on a skeleton crew until they fix the new conductor...convection...honestly, I don’t understand anything he says, but it sounds important. He’s called in additional engineers from Indianapolis to help.”

Rose chewed her lip, literally biting back the dozen denials and witty remarks that came to her mind all at once. If the power had surged, the old bulbs in the lamps should have been the first to go. But Jerry was no-man’s land in the battleground between her and her mother; though her stepfather’s goofy behaviour sometimes begged for it, he was too nice to mock. After meeting her mother two years ago, he launched an all-out campaign to win her over, bringing her tapes, magazines, and a new VHS player so they could watch her favourite films together. But most of all, he made her prim and proper mother laugh more than she had ever seen, even more than when Dad was alive. Against all odds, Rose kind of, just about, liked him.

“The teachers will understand, Rosebud. It’s your first day. And besides, you’ll only be ten minutes late.”

“Exactly,” Rose’s head thumped back on the headrest of the passenger seat. “It’s the end of the fucking world.”

The streets here were endless, a thick wall of trees speeding past in a blur of green, broken by the occasional driveways of modest one-storey homes. All unfamiliar, and strange.

They turned a corner, passing bright yellow school buses, already empty and relieved of their precious cargo, but were met with oncoming traffic and a chorus of loud car horns.

“Jesus, Mum, you’re on the wrong side of the road. Right, go right!” Rose said shrilly, panic swirling in her gut and sending her voice a few octaves too high.

A sudden jerk of the wheel had the tires screeching and her stomach flipping upside-down; the car tilted as it swerved into the right lane, Rose’s fingers digging into the beige leather interior of the station wagon like a drowning man clinging to a liferaft.

“Oops,” her mother muttered mildly. She had no longer than Rose to get dressed and run out the house, but somehow she looked just as mumsy as always. Hands perfectly positioned at ten and two, not a hair out of place in her blonde bob or a single crease in her frumpy crochet cardigan, despite the chaotic driving. “I don't know if I'll ever get used to driving on the wrong side of the road. Jerry would have taken you, but he has a meeting with the Department of Energy at the plant this morning. About the promotion.”

“It’s OK. I’d rather be here with you. As much as I like Jerry, you’re my mum.” Rose said.

Hawkins High School appeared at the end of the street, its squat, single-storey front building surrounded by bikes and cars. They pulled into the parking lot, taking up a space by the front doors. Only a few stragglers remained in the lot: someone chaining up a bicycle, another girl running through the front doors with cheeks pink from exertion, a teacher with a worn briefcase.

Rose instinctively grabbed her mother’s hand, and they sat for a moment in pleasant silence. It was always like this, when mum drove her to the hospital. A minute of respite before the shitshow began.

“Ready?” Mum squeezed her hand.

Nope. Not at all. American high school, a more terrifying prospect than any hospital ward, or any of the sixth form schools at home where she would be unnoticed and normal...well, perhaps not normal, but only the sick girl, not the new kid with a different accent, with no idea how any of this worked. Too late to turn back now.

She launched herself out of the passenger door, clutching her leather satchel to her chest. “Ready.”

The shiny window of the station wagon reflected her own image back to her, a mess of long, red-brown curls that looked like a bird's nest, no time today to tame it with a brush and half a can of Aquanet. She dragged her hands through her hair in a vague attempt to tidy it up, until something else caught her eye in the reflection.

“We have to go back. The dress...I can’t wear it,” Rose said. It was faded green and floral, with a square neckline, and ending just above the knee. A bit old fashioned, maybe, and not exactly her first choice, but her favourite clothes all sat mouldy and damp in the washer dryer at home. It was bought at least four years ago, before Rose’s last growth spurt, when she really filled out. But it wasn’t the close fit of the fabric or the definite visible cleavage that had her worried.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Her mother was leaning over to the passenger side of the car, brows knitted in confusion. But when she realised the source of the panic, her whole demeanour changed. Mum’s hands flew to her own chest, and she unbuttoned her cardigan hurriedly. She flung it off her shoulders and threw it to Rose out the passenger door, who swore like a sailor as tugged it over the green dress, buttoning it all the way to the top. The cardigan was shell-pink with a cream Peter Pan collar. It clashed horribly with the dress, but it covered her all the way to her collarbones.

“I'm sorry, are you Rose?” A sweet voice called out behind her. “Rose McAllister?”

Rose turned slowly. The girl behind her was a foil to Rose, hair styled, blue pastel skirt perfectly matching her eyes. She looked like she’d just stepped from a John Hughes movie in those white leather boots, scarf artfully tied at her neck. Preppy with a capital p.

“Hi?” The girl smiled weakly.

“Hi? Am I?” Rose spluttered. “Hi. Sorry, I am Rose. That’s what I mean to say. That’s me, I am she.”

Oh god. Nought to crazy in under ten seconds. It really was her superpower.

Put-together-girl smiled, seemingly not put off by the bundle of awkwardness before her, and shook her hand. “Great, I thought you’d accidentally ended up at the Middle School for a while there. I’m Nancy. Nancy Wheeler, part of the school welcome committee. If you want to say goodbye to your mom, i’ll take you to register for your classes. Janice in the principal’s office has all the forms ready for you, it shouldn’t take too long.”

Rose gave her mother a final smile. “Thanks Mum. See you at three,” she closed the car door soundly.

But nope, instead of leaving, the drivers’ window rolled down and her mother’s blonde bob leaned out the window. “Just one thing before I go...Nancy, you couldn’t point out the nurse’s office, could you?”

Nancy Wheeler paused for just a second, and nodded toward a small brick building over to the right. “It’s just there, Mrs. McAllister. It’s shared with the Middle School.”

Mum smiled as she got out of the car, and turned to Rose’s guide. “It’s Mrs. Gruber, but thank you, dear.”

“Do you have to?” Rose asked her mother through gritted teeth. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”

“I won’t be long. I promise, Rosebud.”

Oh god, the shame. She was eighteen, not eight. Nicknames were acceptable at home, but not in public.

“Sorry Mrs Gruber.” Nancy waved to her retreating figure.

Distance. Rose sought it straight away, shiny new sneakers pounding on the cracked pavement beneath the great big tiger poster on the wall, bounding toward the door. Nothing like your mother tagging along on your first day of school to make classes seem more appealing than hanging about outside.

“So,” Nancy caught up quickly, guiding her into hallways striped orange and green. “I should tell you a little about the school. There are almost a hundred students, about seventy per year. We have band, math club, AV club, drama club, and that’s just for starters. Girls have a soccer team. Usual sports, but you should know basketball is bigger than football here. Go Tigers!” Nancy’s little cheer was lukewarm at best, but she seemed genuinely nice. “ I guess it looks a little lame to someone who just moved from England. I mean, the teachers here are good, but you’re probably used to more academic rigour, right?”

“Not really.” Rose eyed her surroundings nervously, big colourful notice boards peppered with hand-drawn signs about pep rallies, someone offering French tuition, and a whole list of dates and match times. “School is school, but I don‘t think we had as many extra curricular activities at home. Except hockey, and the pub.” And definitely not so many weird ones. In one corner, a wad of chewing gum was stuck on the board, pinning up a strange devil-like drawing, letters H E L L interrupted by a pastel yellow flyer advertising auditions for A Streetcar Named Desire. She desperately wanted to lift it up and find out what kind of hell Hawkins High School was hiding.

“Still, must be hard joining in senior year. You must miss your friends.”

“So much.” Rose lied, plastering on a smile. “I’m just calling and writing to them all the time.” Surely her gran counted. And she did call her friend Elaine from the hospital ward, when Elaine could breathe well enough to actually talk back. One benefit to being new? No reputation to overcome. A new slate, a chance to shine. If only shining didn’t involve being so visible. “Thank you for doing this, I know you probably have to, but it’s nice to not be faced with a thousand faces at once, you know?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Nancy shrugged it off with a wave.

Janice in the principal’s office gave her a stack of forms, and she went through them one by one with a freshly sharpened pencil whilst Nancy filled her in on the school.

“People here are friendly, most of the time. If you want, I could hook you up with some clubs. I run the school paper and the yearbook committee. It’s a lot, but I plan on early application to colleges - i’m in this fight with my mom and dad about applying to any Ivies - and then i’ll have a lot of time in the second half of senior year. That should tie in nicely with the production of the yearbook.” Nancy was in full flow, working through all the things on her clearly enormous brain. Rose handed back some of the papers to Janice and got a schedule in return, and Nancy led her into a maze of hallways,

“Here’s your locker.” Nancy smiled, patting a metal grill whose beige paint was flaking away. “Your combination is 2-2-6-2, but you can change that anytime. Your first period is English with Mrs O’Donnell. This semester they’re working on classic short stories. Oh, you should know that homecoming is next week. I’m on the committee for that too, since Heather and...uh...a couple of the members left over the summer. And that means I’m probably on the hook for prom committee too, unless Jennifer P shapes up and actually orders the decorations. I know it’s really soon bearing in mind this is your first day, but I could probably get you a homecoming ticket, if you wanted? My boyfriend moved to California a few weeks ago, so i’ll be there stag, manning the punchbowl probably. What I mean is, I don’t know if you have a boyfriend or anything, but girls go stag all the time. Guys too.”

Rose’s face was flushing warm just listening to it. She followed Nancy with her head buzzing, her smile cracking as they stopped halfway down the hall.

“Nancy, I'm going to level with you. I only understood about half of what you said. I have this very vague understanding of the word homecoming from watching a couple of John Hughes films, but what is the difference between homecoming and prom? Isn’t it all just dancing to shit music without alcohol - something which I'm pretty annoyed about, by the way. At home the pubs will serve you from about fourteen, even in your school uniform if the police aren’t about.”

Nancy was shocked, frozen as Rose started rambling. And once she started, it was like a broken pipe, overflowing without any sign of stopping.

“What’s a yearbook?” Rose continued. “Why do you need a committee of people to make a book? College is University to me, but I couldn’t tell you if it’s early to apply, because I have no idea when people actually apply. And you said basketball instead of football, but then you also said girls play soccer...soccer to me is football, so now I'm thinking to myself, McAllister, have you been living under a rock? Do Americans call it football for boys and soccer for girls? Or do the girls get to play football, but the boys don’t - and by that I suppose I mean soccer, not your football where you have to strap on a helmet and thirty pounds of foam padding just to play a bit of bloody rugby. Because at home, girls play basketball, only we call it netball. But not the tough girls, they play hockey. God, when I think about it, everything about sports is so unbelievably stupid, isn’t it? I have no idea why it's life or death to some people. Sorry, I don’t know if you are big on sports.”

Rose laughed hysterically, “You seem really nice, and I can’t believe I'm already proving that I'm a lunatic with no social skils. I feel like I'm trapped in a film or a play and I don’t know the lines, but everyone else does. And at some point, I'm going to end up naked in front of a chalkboard whilst everyone laughs at me, and then hopefully wake up sweating in bed at home in Oxfordshire. Except this isn’t a bad dream, this is fucking real.”

Nancy covered her hands with her face, blue eyes wide with horror. Her gaze drifted from Rose to a point behind her shoulder that suddenly seemed to be interesting.

Rose’s stomach did another flip upside-down. “Someone’s right behind me, aren’t they.”

Nancy nodded. At some point during her unhinged rant they had arrived at an open door. A door to a class full of open-mouthed teenagers gawking at her, like she had three eyes or an extra head.

“Miss McAllister.” A bespectacled woman in a tweed pencil skirt and addressed her, “How nice of you to join us. I’m Mrs O’Donnell, and it seems I'll have the dubious honour of teaching you English for your senior year. Now I don’t know how you do things in Britain, but in America, we arrive at our classes on time.”

Yep, that checks out. All those years wishing for a clean slate, and within moments she’s covered it in dirt. So much for a new start.

“This is my fault.” Nancy bravely interjected. “I’m the reason she was late, Mrs O’Donnell. I just babbled on and on about school, and I didn’t even think about what I was saying. Truth is, the welcoming committee doesn’t really do that much welcoming. We’ve had one new student in the last year, and he was from Illinois. Not counting Billy...” her face clouded over for a second. “Please don’t punish her for my mistake.”

“Hmm.” O’Donnell hummed, fiddling with her tortoiseshell spectacles, clearly swayed by the appeal on Rose’s behalf. “I don’t like tardiness, and I don’t like disrespect. But perhaps I can let you off this time, Miss McAllister. Why don’t you come in and introduce yourself to your classmates?”

With a nervous apology to Nancy, Rose clutched her books and papers, and stepped into English class as gingerly as if it were Dante’s seventh circle of hell. Thirty teens sat expectantly at their tables, books spilling over desks, bags on the floor. They watched her every move , and at least half of them in some kind of sports gear. Which she just insulted, of course. If only the ground could swallow her up, or make her invisible. Anything to take her away from the thirty pairs of eyes that prickled across her skin. Yup, cursed.

A guy with a mullet and one of those fancy green jackets sniggered behind his fist. “Chalkboard’s right there. You gonna take your clothes off, or what? We can do it elsewhere honey, I wouldn’t mind a more private show, if you know what i’m talkin’ about.”

“Nice cardigan,” someone mocked. Rose’s closed her hands in fists, to stop herself from fidgeting with it. Laughter spread across the class like wildfire. Great. Just fucking great.

“Andy, I will not tell you again,” O’Donnell pointed at the lewd-mouthed jock, chalk in hand. “Talk back once more and you’ll join Mr Munson in the principal’s office. Go on then, introduce yourself Miss McAllister. I’m sure the class is just dying to hear more about you.”

Dead. She was dead alright. Deceased. Six feet under. Nancy Wheeler can write her obituary and put it in the school paper. Rose McAllister, gone, and totally forgotten. Cause of death: foot in mouth.

“Hello.” Her voice cracked. “I’m Rose. I moved to Hawkins a month ago, after my stepdad got a new job. Or, he got his old job back at the power plant. He grew up here. As for me, I Iove to read, classics mostly-”

“Nerd alert.” Quipped a girl in a polka dot blouse, just under her breath enough for the teacher not to notice. Cue more laughing from the sporty side of the class.

“I speak French, I, um, I saw Live Aid this summer in London, just before we moved out here.”

A silent pause. A peppy blonde cheerleader clapped her hands together. “Oh my god, that is so bitchin. Who was the cutest? Was it Spandau Ballet? They’re British too, right?”

Relief washed through her, almost as intoxicating as the cranberry and vodka mixers all the cool girls at home drank in the Nag’s Head. Not that Rose was often in the popular crowd, not since she got sick. “I’m more of a Queen or Bowie girl myself. Freddie was unbelievable, couldn’t take your eyes off him. Status Quo and The Who were amazing too. But...uh...Spandau Ballet, yeah. Martin Kemp is cracking to look at, isn’t he?”

“That’s enough, that’s enough,” O’Donnell quietened them down. “I see we’ve devolved into cute musicians or whatever you young people class as music these days. Settle down. We have a lot to work through before this assignment. And before you ask, Andy, it’s due next Friday, despite the interruption.”

Andy, that wonderful mouth-breathing specimen of idiot found in schools everywhere, flipped off the teacher as soon as her back was turned.

“Was Edgar Allen Poe on your curriculum at home, Miss McAllister?” She said, whilst writing on the chalkboard.

“No. I haven’t read any.”

“That’s alright, just take a seat and listen. You can get caught up over the weekend.”

The class returned to their books, and Rose fled the front of the classroom for an empty desk at the back of the room. At least this way she could wallow in eternal shame without eyes on her back. Her bag deposited on the floor, she collapsed quietly into the wooden desk, shrinking down as far as she could in the arse-numbing seat. Pencil tapping nervously on her book, until her neighbour took mercy on her and passed over a dog-eared copy of Edgar Allen Poe’s short stories, pages folded over at The Tell-Tale Heart.

Shit. Not one she was familiar with. Give her Shakespeare, give her Hardy or Dickens or any of the Bronte’s - hell, even Tolkein or McAffrey or Pratchett - and she’d be talking a mile a minute about them. Poe, not really in her wheelhouse.

Minutes passed as the class read passages aloud, and talked about the imagery. She scanned the story, reading it through as quick as possible, scribbling down some notes as the class discussed it. Rose flipped over a page and found the story was over already, five punchy pages of compact gothic imagery. Concise. That was a blessing, for her first day.

Behind the battered book, something on the desk caught her eye. A grim reaper in a hooded cowl, hand clutching a gruesome looking scythe. The lines were clean, and it wasn’t just inked on the desk, it was etched, scratched into the wood with a pen or a pin or something sharp. It was good. Clearly someone found O’Donnell’s class so riveting, they turned to the visual arts instead.

“OK.” O’Donnell sighed heavily. “So what do we think about the themes? Someone? Anyone? Becky, how about you?”

Polka dot shirt girl ummed and ahed. “I guess, madness?”

“Yes, Becky. Well done. The concept of madness. Anyone else?”

A hand shot up. Jock number two, sat next to his mullet-haired buddy Andy. “I don’t know about the class, but I have some concerns.”

“What a surprise. I would ask you to share them in private, Mr Carter, but that would be a foolish hope, wouldn’t it.”

“That’s right. Mrs O’Donnell. I think my fellow classmates are counting on me to speak the honest truth, and say what we’re all thinking. I’m shocked that impressionable young minds are being asked to read this explicit material. The narrator killed someone in cold blood, and we’re being told he’s not insane, because he was careful and calm whilst doing it?” Blonde jock paused and looked around, working the crowd like a pro. “I mean, to commit murder, to hack a guy to pieces and bury him under the floorboards...that’s the worst kind of evil.

“And don’t we all deserve to spend our formative years studying something that shows the best of humanity? I don’t know about you, but I turn my mind to Psalms 141: Do not let my heart be drawn to what is evil so that I take part in wicked deeds along with those who are evildoers. Mrs O’Donnell, I say we remove this book from the curriculum. My father supports the idea, and he’s willing to take it to the school board next month.”

“Yeah, what Jason said,” Andy piped up, bumping his friend’s fist. “Let’s throw it in the trash, and the assignment due next Friday. I did like the haunted house part though, with the ghost stuck under the floorboards. Don’t know how a ghost has a heartbeat, though. Weird.”

Rose stifled a smile, and turned back down to the grim reaper on the desk. At some point in all the talk of beating hearts her hand had settled over her chest, over the cardigan covering her dress. still buttoned up. A sudden impulse had her grabbing for a red marker pen, and drawing a heart onto the desk, in the path of the grim reaper’s scythe. She was careful not to overlap the original, so the artist could scrub it out if they didn’t like the random addition to their work.

“I’m sure the school board will give it serious thought, Jason,” O’Donnell grumbled, already ground down before second period. “Any more themes in the work? Come on, come on. This will help in the assignment. Miss Buckley, are you with us?”

A girl blatantly napping on her desk in one corner jolted awake at the prodding of a neighbour, her eyes wired, and hair tousled from lying on the desk. “Themes? Right, yeah. Themes. It’s got haunted houses, and death.” The girl turned introspective, eyes glazing over. “There’s guilt, for having lived through something so scary, right? Like he did all these terrible things, and survived. He kinda wants to get it off his chest and admits to murrder straight away, which is a stupid move for someone who calls himself smart, a lot. Reminds me of a dingus I know. He’s so desperate to talk about all the creepy stuff that happened in that house, even though it will get him in trouble. Guilt just eats away at you. Yeah, definitely guilt.”

The teacher looks almost surprised. “Very astute, Robin. If you can keep awake for the rest of your senior year, you might just get an A in this class.”

“Nice,” Robin smiled. “The previously mentioned dingus will be hearing about this later. So much for the senior slump.”

Rose had little time to ponder what on earth a dingus was, as O’Donnell was talking again. “What about comparisons to other work? Does it remind you of anything we studied last year?”

Silence. It was nice and quiet in the back of the room, and being thrust into the spotlight was the last thing Rose wanted. But this was books, this was her element. Something compelled her to raise her hand.

“Miss McAllister, I realise you won’t have covered last year’s work either, i’ll set you up with a reading list.”

“I had some thoughts about this part,” Rose held up the book. “‘There came to my ears a low, dull, quick sound, such as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton. I knew that sound well, too. It was the beating of the old man's heart.’ There’s something so gothic and logical about the prose. It reminds me of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.”

“Sir what-now?” Polka dot girl muttered.

“Uh, Sherlock Holmes,” Robin added, feigning holding a microscope to her eye and pulling a funny face. “You know, its elementary, my dear Watson.”

“Yes, exactly.” Rose grinned, delighted. “Sherlock Holmes. And Lovecraft too. I think they both came after Poe, so he might have been an influence.”

O’Donnell looked like she’d sucked on a lemon, her thin lips pursed until they almost disappeared. “I thought you hadn’t read the material?”

“I just did.”

“Just now?”

“Yes.”

“And you came to that conclusion within the space of a few minutes?”

Rose eyed her suspiciously. “Yes?”

The teacher looked down over the rims of her glasses. “It would not look good for you to lie on your first day, would it.”

“I assure you, Mrs O’Donnell, I am not a liar. Just a quick reader.”

Snickering floated through the air, disturbing the silent battle of wills stretching across the little classroom. “See? Nerd,” Becky in the polka dots said. “But I thought you weren’t supposed to be smart. My mom said you’re eighteen already, and she works in the office at the power plant. You’re a super senior.”

Desks shuffled, heads swivelled, and now everyone was staring at Rose again. Great, just bloody great.

“In case you were wondering,” Andy said mockingly. “A super senior is someone who repeats the year, cause they failed.”

“Strangely enough, I could deduce that,” Rose said bitterly.

“Enough, class,” O’Donnell tried to regain control, throwing her hands up in the air. “We are not going to discuss the intricate personal lives of our students. Save that for the cafeteria. Back to the book.”

Where was that hole in the ground when she needed it? Rose blocked it all out as best she could, focusing on the cool grim reaper on the desk. Whispers and titters floated across the room again, until Jason the preacher-in-training spoke. “Wait. I know who you are. Your dad - or stepdad, whatever - is Jerry the Goober, right?”

“It’s Gruber, not Goober,” Rose mumbled.

He slapped his jean-clad leg. “Yeah, I knew it. He was class of ‘60, same as my dad. You guys bought the old murder house on Morehead.”

Even O’Donnell stopped, making no further attempt to hold back their stampede of questions

“The creepy old place opposite the playground? Jesus, that place is definitely haunted.” “How many people died there?” “Is there still blood in the floorboards? I bet there is...gnarly.”

Her new home was five times the size of her house in England. Hell, ten times. A wrap around porch, original fireplaces in half the rooms, enough space to swing a family of cats. Three floors and a basement, each room panelled in walnut and grander than the last. True, it was a little...different. Grant, gothic, pretty much in ruins. And yes, Rose had heard there were some horrific acts in the house’s past, something she’d rather not dwell on. But it wasn’t haunted.

“Haunting isn’t real, dumbass.” A guy in a plaid cut-off shirt actually said in her defence, aimed at the one of the jocks. “People watch a lot of Ghostbusters and horror movies, it doesn’t make that shit real.”

“God damn freak,” Andy retorted under his breath. “How’d that place even get sold? Isn’t the old dude that owns it still alive?”

“Someone broke into it last year and cut themselves on a pane of glass,” Rose explained. “The Roane County Housing Board declared it unsafe, so they forced the sale. They said it was a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

The bell rang out and made Rose jump, each and every teen grabbing up their books and fleeing for the door. Except Jason Carver, who stayed back for a few seconds to glare menacingly.

“Assignments. Friday.” O’Donnell cried out the door. “And will someone find Mr Munson, he needs to pick up his...never mind, why do I bother.”

---

The crush of students in the hallway moving to their next classes provided Rose with a little anonymity, and the map pushed into her hands by Nancy Wheeler, plus the small size of the school, meant she could navigate to her Chemistry class without asking for help or accidentally pissing off an entire class of peers.

Mr Kaminski’s class was far less traumatic. She said a simple hi to the room and sat down at the back once again, working diligently on a hydrocarbon pop quiz that kept the class mercifully quiet, and focused on something other than the new girl. Chemistry was hardly her favourite, but it was material she had learned long before, schoolwork splayed across the sterile white sheets of a hospital bed, one eye out the window on the world below.

Then the bell of doom rang out again, and the most nerve-wracking forty-five minutes of the day dawned. Lunch. She marched to the cafeteria like a soldier to battle, scouting out the exits, the seating hierarchy and potential to hide from enemy combatants in a corner or behind a pillar of a room.

Yes, the student body of Hawkins High School stared at her. No, they did not approach. Either the students didn’t care about the new girl, they hadn’t worked out who she was yet, or her episode this morning had spread so widely throughout the school that no one wanted to talk to her. So she swiped a tray of congealed looking meat in grey sauce and green beans, and found a spot on an empty lunch table in the corner of the room, poking at the food until her stomach calmed down enough to eat it.

The basketball team entered the cafeteria to a round of applause, their green and white uniforms lurid under the harsh fluorescent lights, smiles brittle as they cheered for some kind of game tonight in the gym. She supposed this was what happened when your first day of school was three weeks into September, on a Friday. Novelty worn off by early afternoon.

Justin from her English class held court in the centre of the room, holding a bright orange ball as he worked the room. She heard a thump, thump, thump as he dribbled it up and down by the cheerleaders’ table. They all preened as he spun it around on his finger, and it looked so ridiculous she almost choked on a slimy green bean.

Another thud, another voice, this one louder. White sneakers hit a different tabletop and plastic lunch trays bounced, an earthquake of dark hair, denim and leather, upending some poor kid’s apple and carton of milk. The guy on the table pranced about, spitting out words so quickly she couldn’t make them out. Whatever it was, his friends laughed. His voice dropped mockingly, arms flailing at the jocks dribbling balls across the room.

Denim rocker guy squatted down with the awkward grace of an alleycat, a jean chain smacking against the table, and dragged his knuckles around, grunting like an ape. His friends laughed harder, each one looking up at him as if he hung the moon.

“Eat it, freak,” Jason shouted across the cafeteria.

Denim guy grunted and beat his chest with his fists. It only enraged the jocks; the more they cursed and shouted at him, the more he responded like a monkey. Rose snorted with laughter. His confidence was off the charts, no fucks to give, shame completely absent. It was kind of hard to look away from. Magnetic, really.

“Brutal, but effective,” a voice agreed at her side. “I think that’s the longest I've seen Munson go without talking.”

Robin from English class casually leaned on her table, with a ‘I care so little about this that it's cool’ vibe about her tousled hair, check shirt and an honest-to-god tie tucked into high waisted trousers. Very Annie Hall. “Sup, new girl. What are you doing on the ghost table?”

“Ghost table?”

“The one place in the cafeteria that’s hidden from the view of the jocks table, great exit path to the doors. Yeah. I see your attempts to hide, new girl. Is it OK if I call you that, or is that totally presumptuous? God, it is, isn’t it. Stupid Robin. What about McAllister. Has a nice ring to it, kinda like a detective’s name. McAllister. Buckley and McAllister, one’s a straight-laced pencil pusher, the other’s a beat cop with a dark past who doesn’t play by the rules, together they must solve a murder...or no, old fashioned detectives like Holmes and Watson,” her accent changed to a strangled attempt at a posh accent. “The curious case of the Hawkins High murder.”

Rose beamed, watching Robin’s elbow slip off the table, the girl reeling backward and clumsily righting herself.

“Mystery solved, partner,” Rose joined in. “Victim, one Jason Carver, brutally killed in the cafeteria, bled of his dignity in front of a hundred witnesses. Suspect, one suspiciously intelligent gorilla wearing a curious sleeveless denim jacket. Murder weapon, a crude, yet cleverly executed, parody of his bestial behaviour. And in front of the cheerleaders too.”

“I knew it,” Robin slapped the table. “I knew you’d be cool. I could just tell. And I may have slept through the incident in the hallway, but several reliable sources have since told me it was crushing to the fragile male ego. I love you already. Come and sit with us, you’re not languishing here all alone.”

A flood of warmth spread through her chest. “Really?”

“Really. Come on, partner. And by us I mean Beth and Linda, we’re over here.”

Rose snatched up her tray, led by the frenetic Robin to a table by the stage, walking right around the table of jocks. Jason Carver shot her a look of...disdain? Intrigue? It was something weird, anyway.

Beth and Linda were leaning over the table, whispering in hushed voices when they arrived.

“Buckley and McAllister, reporting for duty,” Robin dropped onto the bench with a thud, saluting at her friends. “This is the legendary new girl I mentioned earlier. Rose, this is Beth Wildfire, retired goalie, with a leg so full of metal she can’t ever go near a magnet,” she waved at a brunette who sat stiffly, with her leg propped on the bench. “And this is Linda Chen, our fearless leader and captain,” she poked the lunch tray of a girl in a numbered sweater, dark hair pinned back with bubblegum-purple barrettes.

“Football girl,” Linda said appraisingly. “We heard about you. So soccer is for wimps, huh?”

Rose winced and choked on a sip of juice from a carton. “Technically, I didn’t say that. I said the tough girls at home played hockey. But everyone plays soccer at home. It’s clearly the superior sport.”

It got a little awkward after that, each of the girls finishing their lunch wordlessly.

Robin cleared her throat. “Oooh, I forgot to mention we’re the girls’ soccer team, didn’t I...” she trailed off. “All the drawbacks of using the sweaty locker rooms, none of the perks of having a letterman jacket or a sweet spot on the social hierarchy. Hey, did I mention Rose went to Live Aid this summer? In London?”

Robin’s contagious smiles and easy banter made it almost easy; the four of them spoke for half an hour and more, Rose cross-examined on her thoughts about every band from the last ten years (Wham was so overrated, obviously) to movies (anything with Harrison Ford) to fashion (in her head, a slightly more punk version of Princess Di. In reality, whatever looked passable at the time). Having the spotlight on herself was not entirely comfortable, but by the end of the lunch hour she may have just avoided being a complete social pariah.

“So,” Robin drummed her hands on the plastic lunch tray. “I admit, I had an ulterior motive in bringing you here.”

Rose braced herself. “Which is...”

“Soccer tryouts,” Linda interjected, rolling up her sleeves. “We’re seriously down on numbers this year. Two of our team were killed in the fire a couple months back...I don’t know if you heard about that.”

“Shit,” Rose said. “I’m so sorry.” The mall had devastated Hawkins just before she arrived. No small place could lose that many of its people without touching the lives of everyone in the town.

“And Veronica’s parents pulled her out of school over the summer; they moved to Maine. Said this town was cursed, which it probably is,” Linda admitted.

“Ha.” Robin croaked. “Yeah, cursed. Like...like that magic shit’s real. Nope, just a regular old mall fire. Nothin’ to see here, except a whole lotta pain and sadness. And ash. From the totally natural fire.”

Linda eyed her suspiciously. “After Beth broke her leg, we’re down to four players. I don’t think we’ll be able to field a team this season, not unless we find another player for a five-a-side. We have tryouts tonight, would you wanna maybe come?”

“Oh,” Rose’s brows raised. “I’m not sure I can. I can’t do gym this year.”

Beth looked confused. “What do you mean, you can’t do gym?”

“I have a note that gets me out of gym for the whole year. I have free periods instead.”

Robin squealed and stood up. “There’s a note to get you out of gym? For the whole year? It’s senior year...that’s all of gym, gym forever, gym never again. That’s an option? What does one have to do to get one of these notes?”

“Major health issues,” Rose said. She didn’t elaborate. It would be nice to go one full day without being sick girl. “Mum had the note signed by three specialists at the hospital, and I think the school nurse.”

Robin sat down again, flushing and averting her gaze. “Okay then, permanent gym-pass is a no-go. Damn, I was excited for a minute there.”

A thousand questions ran around in Rose’s head. “So you like soccer, but hate gym?”

“Yes, and yes,” Robin blurted out. “I can’t face that rope climbing thing one more time. I might be fast, but I have the arm strength of a cabbage and I fall over like a lot. Wait, does that mean you can’t run or move around quickly or do anything strenuous? Should we be watching you carefully?”

“Not really. I’m better, or at least I should be. It’s just my mum, she’s over protective.”

Cogs were turning in Linda’s head, and she chewed and swallowed a forkful of carrot before speaking. “So technically, you can’t do gym. But what about sports teams outside of school hours?”

“Yeah,” Robin clicked her fingers and pointed them like guns. “I love a good loophole. If it’s out of hours, it doesn’t count.”

Rose hummed noncommittally.

“Oh come on,” Robin whined. “None of the other girls want to come, and I won’t even have to explain the offside rule to you. That takes half the tryout! Otherwise it will only be me and Linda.”

Did she want to throw herself into sports on her first day of school? Probably not. In fact, she didn’t really like soccer, and she only pretended to understand the offside rule when the lads in the pub screamed at the telly, cig in one hand, pint in the other. But the vague promise of a friendship group was too strong a lure. “OK. I’m in, i’ll come to tryouts. But I don’t have a change of clothes, i’m completely unprepared.”

“Yes, McAllister!” Robin punched the air, tie coming loose from her pants. “Come to the girls locker room after last period, i’ll find you something. You know where the gym is?”

Rose hung her arms like a gorilla, imitating the rebel rocker raising hell on the table earlier. “If I get lost, i’ll follow the monkeys in letterman jackets.”

“See?” Robin walked backwards out of the cafeteria, tripping over a bench and recovering swiftly. “Knew you’d be cool.”

---

A quick call to her mother on the school payphone by the front door set it in stone. “Pick me up at seven instead of three please, I have an after school club, think I made some friends, love you, bye.” She said it quickly and slammed the receiver down, so her mum couldn't draw breath to argue or question the change in plans.

Rose nearly skipped to her first free period, immersing herself in the library like a drunk stumbling into a bar after a dry spell. She was in school full-time finally for the first time in a couple of years, and she had a year of uninterrupted studying to look forward to. Her fingers skipped over the spines of Chaucer, Austen, Shelley, until she found the works of Hawthorne, Twain, Fitzgerald and Salinger. Most of them were new to her, one of the benefits of moving across an ocean and beginning a new curriculum. The librarian Ms Miller just about died on the spot, having an avid lover of literature to speak to for an hour. Things for Rose McAllister were looking on the up.

History went by in a blur; most of her classmates were not in Mrs O’Donnell’s English class of misery this morning, so she got to introduce herself all over again, without fucking it up with an epicly bad monologue. Her other classes were fine, turns out mathematics pretty universal and if you’re good at it there, you’re good at it here too.

Two forty-five. The home stretch. Her pencil tapped the desk in agitation, thinking about soccer tryouts. Yes, she might be rusty, but she wasn’t half as weak as her mother made her out to be. And she did know her way around a football pitch, even if it was from watching the boys from the sidelines on the rare occasion she was in school and had a few friends to tag along with. This madcap plan of Robin’s might just work.

When Mr Fitz let the class out ten minutes early so he could make an appointment, she was out of her chair like a shot, peering at her school map. Right past the tiger mascot painted on the wall, through the double doors, and into a room...that was dark, and full of shelving. Ah. Definitely not the locker room.

“I just don’t know, Rob.” Linda Chen’s muffled voice sounded on the other side of a cupboard door; clearly the locker room was just next door. “She pissed off every sports team in the school within five minutes of arriving. Basketball, football, soccer...the cheerleaders just by association. If it wasn’t so damaging to me socially to be seen with her, i’d be kind of impressed.”

“Come on,” Robin whined. “I’m a grade-A klutz and I have verbal diarrhoea, and you guys like having me around, right?”

“That’s different,” the other one, Beth, reasoned. “You’re our friend. I know you’ve been a little off since Starcourt, but-”

“Off? Of course i’ve been off. I saw shit you wouldn’t believe, Beth. Forgive me if i’m not as peppy as I used to be.”

“I know you were there, Rob, but we all lost people that day. And I don’t think I have the energy to be all fake nice to this new girl, when i’m just sad and tired, you know? It’s senior year, its too late for that kind of bullshit.”

“Yeah, well clearly this was a bad idea, Forget it.” Robin spat out. “I just wanted you to be happy, but I won’t be making the same mistake twice.”

Doors slammed and voices faded. The darkness was kind of foggy and Rose couldn’t see far ahead of her, but she stood in the dark for a few minutes, still processing what she had just heard. Hopes crushed, balloon deflated. Can't say she was surprised. Don’t want too much of a good thing, that would break a lifelong pattern. Yes, she could tell that Linda and Beth were hesitant, but Robin too? The one person she formed a connection with on her first day?

She crept out of the janitor’s closet, marching toward the front doors of the school...where her mother wouldn’t be for hours, because she had just called to change her pick up time. Shit.

Rose was not above admitting she considered getting back in that closet for a moment, but that would be completely absurd. Instead she trudged back to the library, where tall bookshelves might keep her hidden and their contents keep her occupied for a few hours on a Friday evening.

A steady trickle of people were heading her way, going from classes to the gym for whatever ball-in-hoop sports stuff she had mocked and derided by accident earlier, clearly alienating the more popular half of the student body in one fell swoop.

Head down, with a notebook covering the bottom half of her face, she inched through the thickening crowd and found the welcome fortress of the library doors...closed. Open hours, eight til three.

“Motherfucker,” She mumbled.

More people streamed toward her, but Rose couldn’t face another witness to her shitty day, and ducked behind the lockers.

An unknown guy’s voice floated through the halls. “...I bet Tommy will break up with her, now he’s at community college in Cartersville. Pretty faces are a dime a dozen in college, and Carol P is yesterday’s news.”

“Carol’s hot.” Meathead Andy from English class offered. “I’ll pick up the pieces if her ass gets dumped.”

“You are such a dick.”

“Just saying what we all think, man. But i’m not counting on it. Maybe I should make a move on the new girl. She might be a nerd, but she’s got a couple of redeeming features, if you know what I mean. Probably hotter than Carol.”

“Did you ever think you just have a thing for redheads? Besides, the new girl is irritating as fuck. And she’s not exactly cheerleader material. I thought she was kinda fat.”

Andy sniggered, his voice fading as he walked away. “Nah, she was just standing next to Nancy Wheeler. Wheeler’s built like a broom handle. And I don’t need a girl to be a cheerleader, just give good head.”

The jocks slithered away to the gym, and the garish orange and green walls began to feel suffocating. She pushed hard on the library door hoping it might somehow be unlocked, but it didn’t budge. Her chest was aching, skin flushing and breathing hard. She tried another. Classroom after classroom, door after door, all fucking locked. What is this, a prison?

Her feet pounded the hallways, pushing blindly until one of the doors yielded and she burst into a darkened space. Content there was no one else around, she flung her back across the room like a discus, crashing into some kind of clothing rack, almost exploding in a puff of red velvet and pink taffeta as it dragged some costumes to the floor.

“Aaah,” the roar came out before she could stop it. Some kind of drama room, filled with dark curtains and crowded rows of props, dominated by a big table. She slammed her fist on it impulsive,, scattering some of its contents to the ground in a metallic crash.

This was as good a place as any to wither away and die, so she walked to the far corner, leaned back and slid down the wall, knees folded beneath her.

There was something comforting about defeat. At least, sitting on the floor in a dishevelled heap, she’d hit a literal rock bottom. Nowhere to go but up.

Yes, she could call home and get a ride back home within the next fifteen minutes. But that meant admitting defeat, reliving the entire experience over and over, prodded and poked by an interfering mother. She couldn’t even hope that Jerry would answer. He was far too honest to keep a secret. Nope, she was stuck here amongst the stage lights, costumes, and decaying dreams of Midwestern theatre kids until seven, which was three and a half hours away.

Plastered on the stage curtain was a sign coloured in orange and red, a cool drawing of a horned demon that looked eerily familiar. Just like the flyer from this morning. Sprawled in bold letters: HELLFIRE. Interesting.

Her velvet-lined, backlit refuge from the high school world didn’t last long. Deep voices bickered passionately in the hall, footsteps squeaked on linoleum, and the door was flung open with so much energy that it nearly popped off its hinges.

“...i’m telling you, man, the frozen lair of Iymrith is just a warm up campaign. I needed to test the mettle of you sheepies before the good stuff next semester. I had to see if you knew your ass from your elbow.” Someone breezed into Rose’s view, a mop of dark frizzy hair, just visible over the huge wooden table that dominated the room.

A squeal of laughter followed, a younger guy’s voice. “Or our class from our elbow. Get it, our class? Our characters’ class?”

“Oh my god, stop Dustin,” a third person protested. “He gets character classes. He’s probably been a DM since we were, like, toddlers.”

“Jesus, Wheeler. Crit hit. I’m not that goddamn old.” The older guy spoke, coming into Rose’s view. He stumbled backward with his hand over his denim and leather jacket combo, as if punctured in the heart. The menace from the cafeteria, gorilla boy, now sentient and walking on two legs. “But the DM in me does thrive on this servant-master dynamic, so keep the subservience coming. My ego could do with a little stroking.”

“Ew...” The ‘Wheeler kid’ moaned; he was lanky, with a grown-out bowl haircut and a grimace peeling apart his lips.

Their leader was unperturbed. He leapt onto a heavy carved chair, wobbling, arms outstretched as he balanced on the makeshift throne. “Bow down, minions. Kneel and pledge obeisance. Damn, I could get drunk off this power. I should get a crown, or something.”

“You already have a throne, isn’t that enough? Or have we birthed a tyrant?” A dark skinned guy with braces shook his head, a trace of envy in his narrowed eyes.

Rose froze like a rabbit in headlights. Her position on the floor was hidden by the clothes rack, but not hidden enough. There were more of them, a hurricane of teenage hormones, awkward haircuts and matching Hellfire shirts swirling about the table and taking off their leather jackets, setting up the table with boards and boxes and...game pieces? She had no clue what they were doing, but they had wider grins and more buzz than the all manufactured cheer in the cafeteria put together.

“Uh...Eddie?” One of the older guys says, holding up something beige and cylindrical. “Drama kids have been messing with our stuff again. I can’t find your goblet, and a couple of the candles are broken.”

“Goddamn thespians,” the rocker Eddie’s voice dropped, all gravelly and menacing. “Completely out of touch with the real world, acting out bullshit stories for the man, nothing but corporate message after corporate message. Harris is gonna know about this the next time he wants to buy off me. Touch Hellfire’s stuff, and i’ll add ten dollars to the going rate. S.A.S. Special asshole supplement.”

“I thought you had to be a girl to be a thespian. If Harris is a guy, does that mean he likes girls, or other guys?”

A kid in an eye-wateringly bright shirt over his Hellfire top, and a cap covering his curls, held up his palms in desperation. “He said thespians, not lesbians, Jeff,” he lisped, pent up with manic energy. “Thespians are lovers of the theatre, not girls who like other girls.”

“Ha. Lesbians.” Someone giggled. Laughter erupted. It might appear to be a weird cult, but they were teenage boys after all.

“Silence,” Eddie the rocker snapper. Commanded, even. One word and the group shut up, watching him warily. He dropped to his ripped-denim kees and crawled under the table. “First Sinclair shakes us off for tryouts - I don’t know how big shiny balls have a greater lure than the harsh, yet beautiful, plains of the Icewind Dale, but hey, critical thinking doesn’t really kick in until you at least finish puberty, freshies - and now my goblet has vanished? It’s all stacking up against me, man. I don’t know, i’m not feeling good about this.”

“Careful Dustin,” one of the group warned. A voice she knew, the one from her English class with the torn up plaid shirt. “You do not want to mess with Eddie’s ambience. I did that once in sophomore year. Set up a session in my garage during the holidays. Let’s just say, the more immersed the DM, the nicer he is during the campaign. You guys don’t want to see him grouchy.”

Wheeler scoffed. “Come on, Gareth. This isn’t grouchy?”

“Not. Even. Close,” Gareth crossed his arms over his plaid-covered chest. “Your buddy Lucas really messed up, skipping out on the third Hellfire night of the year. It’s not even October, and we’re gonna have to bring out a secondary character or something. At least the place could look good.”

“Gareth the Great is right, children. Ambience is a key part of storytelling. It’s all about the mood,” Eddie replied, dragging out the last word. He manhandled the bags on the floor, peering into nooks and crannies, nosing around like a stray dog looking for scraps, completely beneath the table, facing away from Rose. Until, abruptly, he wheeled around on his knees.

Doe eyes met hers, liquid dark and wide, framed by frizzy rocker hair. His manic, dynamic presence froze perfectly, like a VHS tape on pause, cogs in that brain working overtime. He stared blankly at the interloper in his domain, who was scrunched up on the floor, hiding all along in the corner. And right in front of her feet, his shiny pewter goblet.

Rose held her breath. She waited for it. Cursing, shouting, orders to leave. Instead, his lips curled up in a grin, one so contagious and earnest that she couldn’t help but smile back. He raised a finger to his mouth, silver rings pressing against his lips, asking for her silence. She nodded back once. Permission sought: request granted.

Ten seconds passed by without either of them breaking eye contact; Rose hadn’t appreciated just how long ten seconds really was, when you were caught in someone’s gaze. Snared like a rabbit, unable to move, unable to look away. Bordering on weird, but not necessarily bad weird. A standoff, destination unknown.

“Eddie,” The Wheeler kid moaned and kicked his chair leg. “Can we find your goblet later? My sister’s leaving school at seven, and she’s not above ditching us if we’re late.”

“Mike’s not lying,” Dustin backed him up. “She has totally done that before. Ruthless. And every minute we lose searching for goblets is one minute less in the frozen wastes of the Icewind Dale. Just think of how much storytelling you can fit into a minute, Dungeon Master.”

That phrase hit her in the chest. She maintained eye contact, and mouthed Dungeon master?

Eddie, still beneath the table, gave her a wolfish grin, split from ear to ear, teeth shining pearlescent white in the light of the candles. He tried to motion something to her, but knocked his head on the underside of the table in the process.

“Earth to Eddie,” the bigger of the guys called out.

The man in question rubbed the back of his head, snapped out of some deep thinking. “Right, goblet. We have a problem. A naughty nymph must have snatched it and run back to her lair.”

He winked at her, dimple etched into his cheek, and she had to stop her shoulders from shaking with laughter.

Jeff sighed a second time. “What the hell’s keeping you down there? I cannot sub again, I was a terrible DM last year when you had mono. I let you guys defeat Asmodeus in fifteen minutes. Asmodeus, ruler of the Nine Hells. It took me five times as long to plan the damn campaign!”

Rose and Eddie conversed in gestures as the guys above them spoke. A full blown wordless conversation captured with a tiny shrug, a smile, a raised eyebrow. He was clearly trying to tell her something, and wouldn't give her up to the group.

A theoretical light bulb flipped on over Eddie’s head, and he flapped his hands wildly, pointing at the rack of costumes just to her side. Implication clear - get behind it. Wait, what? This wasn’t an escape plan; duck back there would lead her further from the door. Did he expect her to stay there until seven?

“Eddie!” Jeff called out.

Eddie’s shoulders sagged in defeat, and he addressed the group above. “Yup, that’s me. But as Wheeler so kindly pointed out, i’m an old man now. Knees aren’t what they used to be.”

Rose peered behind over her shoulder, checking out the fully hidden spot behind the clothes rack. Target acquired. Unfortunately she couldn’t make it without being seen by the minions at the table.

She nudged her chin toward it and Eddie caught on. Another grin, another gleam in his dark eyes. He rolled out from under the table, groaning theatrically, arm held out.

“Give us a hand, Henderson.”

The freshman smiled so wide his braces almost popped out and complied immediately. It was endearing, actually. He stepped forward, forearm grasping Eddie’s, planting his feet on the floor firmly. But not firm enough.

Eddie grabbed him and tugged him hard, toppling the kid on top of his stomach, wind knocked out with a dramatic groan. They landed in a heap of tangled limbs, with the kid’s neon cap flung across the room.

“Oh my god!” He cried out.

“Sorry, Henderson. Shouldn’t have had that second tray of mystery meat at lunch.”

“You only ate half a bag of pretzels, dude.”

They were distracted, backs turned. She sprung into action, launching behind the clothing rack, cursing under her breath as she nudged the goblet accidentally.

A pink costume became her refuge, layer upon layer of taffeta, the size of a small sedan. She felt hot and itchy just looking at the scratchy fabric. A dress for a princess, or maybe the good witch in Oz?

“This is hazing, isn’t it? Mom told me all about it.” Dustin lisped, hands on hips. “Keep it up, Dungeon Master. If you think a little rough housing will deter this halfling bard, you are seriously mistaken.”

But just as the guys finished helping Dustin to his feet, Mike shooting forward to grab his hat, the goblet where Rose just sat began to roll.

“Gentlemen!” Eddie roared, even more maniacally than before, diverting them again. “Before we begin I propose a detour. A side quest, if you will.”

Rose inched out her hand, slowly enough not to attract wandering eyes, and retrieved the goblet, just as they took their seats, wooden chairs scraping heavily on the linoleum.

“What kind of side quest?” Gareth from English class asked.

“Your party is weak. Your ranger Lucas the Fickle-hearted has abandoned you upon the road-”

“That’s not his name!” Dustin protested.

“Yeah, well, i’m rebranding him,” Eddie declared. “Like I said, Lucas the Fickle-hearted has fallen prey to the cheap thrill of a local tourney, drawn to test his mettle upon the melee ground and take his place as a totally righteous, totally boooring knight of the Kingswatch. But you, good sirs, you make it to a humble tavern on the edge of the forest. There you are greeted by an old companion, Eddie the Bard. Tears streaming down his face, he tells you his cherished goblet is gone, a ring of dried crimson wine staining the table where it once sat.”

He sprung forth, grabbing the back of Mike Wheeler’s chair and narrating directly into his ear. “What’s that, you say? Tis merely a pewter cup, worth nothing more than a couple of coppers on the open market? No, gentlemen. This cup is the secret to the bard’s otherworldly music, spelled to give the bearer great luck and fortune. Charisma off the charts, baby. A Goblet of Rock.”

She had no idea what this Hellfire club was actually doing, but it seemed like a cross between a board game and a storytelling exercise. And this Eddie was...good. Really good. But a knot wound tight in Rose’s stomach as he belaboured the importance of the cup in her very hands. A cup he was no doubt trying to work back into the story.

“I say we retrieve the goblet,” Gareth folded his hands under his chin. “Our party is one man down, and we need all the help we can get if we’re going to defeat the storm dragon Iymrith. Maybe this bard will owe us a favour, and give us a companion or an artefact to slay the dragon.”

“Hear hear,” Dustin thumped the table, shaking about some small pieces Rose couldn’t see. “I walk into the tavern at the head of the party-”

“Hey,” Jeff protested, shooting Dustin a jealous look. “I’m the senior member here. I should lead the party.”

Eddie raised a hand. “No one disputes your position, Jeff. But let the little halfling make his move.”

Dustin took a deep breath. “I open the tavern door, toss my hat onto the table, and flag down a serving wench. Our throats are dusty from the road, so I take a few of our silver coins from the last dungeon crawl and purchase six flagons of mead. Eddie brings them to us.”

Eddie leapt onto his chair, squatting on his heels. “Welcome, patron. I would stay and sup a flagon of mead with you fine warriors, but my troubles overwhelm me. Without the Goblet of Rock, my charisma remains too low to wield my mighty Warlock, and shred to my heart’s content. No guitar, no revellers, no coin for Eddie the Bard. I'm in need of help to keep bread on my table and patrons in my tavern.”

Chris chuckled low and ominous. “If it’s steel you’re after, I, the dwarf Thordus Boulderbash, will take my battleaxe and face any man who dares take the Goblet of Rock.”

“Thordus has a fearsome reputation in these parts, my chaotic-good friend,” Eddie pats him on the back. “But this cup thief is no warrior. A nymph of seriously high stealth crept into the tavern as the guests slept, and made away with the cup before dawn’s light woke me from my slumber.”

For a moment, Rose was too captivated by the story to absorb her supposed leading role in it.

Gareth cleared his throat. “This nymph, she pretty by any chance?”

Eddie leaned in, weight on his elbows. “Fairer than the sunrise over the Greypeak mountains.”

Rose’s brain tripped, lights out, power surged. Even someone with her abysmal track record could recognise the flirtatious tone in his voice. Wait...was this just part of the game? Was he like that with everyone? She wished another girl was in the room, so she could get a sense of normality, something to compare this to.

“Niiice,” Gareth drawled.

“Wait, how would you even know it was a nymph in the first place?” Dustin asked, twirling a pencil between his fingers. “She was gone before daybreak, we have no evidence.”

“Well, gentlefolk, I happen to have an enchanted mirror in the tavern. Caught a glimpse of the wild little thing just as she booked it out the window, leaving behind a lock of auburn hair. And we all know that a nymph cannot be slain by steel alone, so break out your charisma, boys, we’re gonna have to find her, and convince her to return the Goblet of Rock.”

They whooped and applauded, more revved up than a crowd of football hooligans, and Rose had to fist her hands in her crochet cardigan to stop herself from joining in. Something was about to happen, and she was hopping around on the scales between terror and excitement, brimming with a nervous energy.

She couldn’t see the table close up, but she heard dice roll and gasps from the guys at the table, Eddie narrating something about scores, determining the outcome of a battle, or perhaps a decision. It was hard to tell, without any context. It took a few minutes, and her brain didn’t take much of it in.

“Adventurers,” Eddie addressed them after a brief burst of action. “The forest glade beckons, a sea of autumn-gold leaves rustles in the wind. You’ve fought hard to get past the elemental spirits, and emerged bloody, but victorious. Now place down your swords, for the final hurdle is one of wit, not one of might.”

“As our party’s bard, I step toward the tranquil pool,” Dustin says gravely, as if the weight of the world lay on his shoulders. “I take out my lute, and play a tune of such beauty that the nymph hiding in the forest must-”

“Hold on there, halfling,” Eddie silenced him. He looked on edge, his silver rings tap, tap, tapping against the wooden table incessantly. “There are some things a guy’s gotta do himself.”

Mike gawped. “DM’s don’t join in like that, man.”

“You’ll live, sheepies,” Eddie said, dripping in sarcasm. “I, Eddie the Bard, thank the halfling for his admittedly awesome lute playing, and step toward the glassy surface of the forest pool.”

He took a deep breath, stood up suddenly, and turned toward her hidden lair behind the costume rack. Oh god. She was going to die on the spot, she was going to combust from embarrassment if he brought her out. But somehow, even stronger, was the fear that he wouldn’t. He stepped slowly toward her hiding spot, eyes scanning the piles of clothes for a rough idea of where she might be.

“Lady nymph,” he began, voice cracking a little. “You fled my tavern before we could meet, my goblet in your clutches. If you would honour this humble bard with your name, we might determine what you desire in return for the Goblet of Rock.”

“Dude, please don’t make me do a girl's voice again,” Gareth begged. “My vocal cords can’t take it.”

Fuck it. This was the most entertained she’d been all day. All year, probably. Rose swept aside the hangers of clothes with a flourish. She stepped out, to a chorus of shouts and an ear-splitting scream.

Dustin shrieked like a banshee, his hat lost yet again as jolted out of his chair and into Mike’s lap.“Jesus! What the hell?”

“Get off me, man.” Mike said, pushing him away.

“Oh my god, a plant?” Jeff roared. “This is fucking unprecedented Eddie. It’s without precedent!”

“I must be high right now,” Gareth mumbled. “You guys see what I see, right?”

Eddie was right there, tall and frizzy-haired and only two steps away, eyes as wide as saucers. Rose barely had time to notice how tall he was before he dropped to one knee like a chivalrous knight, hand outstretched toward her.

Rose gripped the goblet hard, fight or flight kicking in hard. Ten paces and she’d be out of the door, into the night. Or, at least, into the bleak corridors of Hawkins High.

“Hey,” Eddie said low under his breath, ignoring his friends’ drama behind him. “Eyes on me, sweetheart.”

He held out his hand again, palms wide, sleeves rolled back, ink snaking up his forearm. Close up, he was even more intense, with a jack o’lantern grin. He spoke again, this time loud enough for the group to hear.

“The nymph dares to emerge from the forest pool, bearing the goblet. But will she tell a humble bard her name?”

Brain whirring quickly, Rose realised she’d need a story. Her social skills? Dubious. Eclectic book knowledge, and rambling profusely at the worst of times? Proficient. She couldn’t just use her real name, could she? Nymphs...nature, mythology, natural places. Might just be enough to go on.

“Lady Thorn,” she said, doing her best to imitate his dramatic narrative voice. She placed her hand in his; skin warm, rings cool, surprisingly gentle. “But you, good sir, can call me Rose.”

The group were whooping, chaotic energy rolling off them in waves. Dustin was still hyperventilating, and the guys were giving him shit for reacting like a ten year old girl.

“Lady Thorn,” Eddie clutched her hand in supplication. “We seek the return of the Goblet of Rock. Name your price, fair maiden.”

An hour ago, she’d name a one way ticket back to the Shire. Now, the road to Rivendell was starting to look a little interesting. Question is, was this the Council of Elrond, or a table of leather-jacket clad, hormonal, teenage Nazgul?

“Is that his girlfriend?” Mike asked, face scrunched up in confusion.

“Nope,” Jeff answered. “We have sighted a UFO: unidentified female object. Contact made, presence yet to be explained.”

Rose frowned at being called an object, but there was too much going on in the room to be distracted by it. She held the goblet in her free hand up to the stage light, pausing for dramatic effect, and to figure out what on earth she might say. “I am new to the land of...”

“Icewind Dale.” Dustin supplied quickly, braces sparking in the spotlights as he grinned.

“...to the land of Icewind Dale,” Rose continued nervously. “I was torn from my simple hedgerow in the Shire and cast to these frozen forests without hope or expectation of returning home again. I seek...uh...I seek a guide to help me navigate these new lands.”

“A guide, huh?” Eddie pondered, turning to the table behind him. “Can we do that, gentlemen?”

Mike was the first to respond. “No traveller walks the road alone on our watch. But first, we roll. She has to have a skill check.”

Eddie threw back his head. “Uh, kid Wheeler, remember what I said about my omnipotence earlier? Don’t forget who the DM is here. Me, buddy. I call the shots.”

Gareth sighed dramatically. “Besides, what are you even rolling against? She has no stats, no abilities, just a name and a goblet!”

Chris shuts his gaping mouth just long enough to ask her: “You don’t happen to have a character sheet, do you? Do you have any thoughts on your alignment? I’m sensing lawful good, but nymphs are pretty wild. Maybe chaotic good?”

Rose was at a loss. “Wait,” she said, brandishing the goblet. “I can’t believe i’m about ramble at completely unknown people again, because it worked out so well for me in English class this morning, but I have no idea what you are talking about. What’s an alignment? A character sheet? Stats?”

“I truly hate to use a sports term, but time out, people,” Eddie declared. He stopped, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth, weighing up something behind his dark doe-eyes. “Sweetheart, either that is a world class fake accent, or you’re not from these parts. Have you ever played Dungeons and Dragons?”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are Dungeons and Dragons?”

“What?” Eddie let go of her hand and paced up and down, hands on his hips. “Really? Like, never? Not heard of a dungeon master...the D20...the ‘we’ll sacrifice your firstborn’ brand of satanic panic troubling the hearts and minds of parents all across America? ”

She thought about it. “Is D20 a band? I don’t really watch much MTV, though my stepdad did just get cable. Are they any good?”

He reeled backward until he hit the table, arms flailing in the air. Anyone else would have left it there but Eddie threw himself backward, rolling on top of the table like an invisible hand was dragging him. “No way. No way. That can’t be happening. But you just played along like a pro!”

She burst out laughing. He was really hamming it up, knocking over everything on the table - the candles narrowly snatched by the guys, whose quick thinking prevented the drama room going up in a puff of smoke.

“It’s not a band, it’s a twenty sided dice,” Mike said slowly, like he was talking to a toddler. “There are other numbered dice too. Not just six.”

“Yeah, we use them to make decisions on our actions, the success of our attacks...you know, it’s just how we roll.” Dustin squealed a laugh. “I said, how we roll...’cause it's a dice.”

Groans echoed across the room, second hand embarrassment so strong you could cut it with a knife, but the corner of Eddie’s lips still turned up into a smile. Their teasing clearly stayed on the right side of friendly.

He vaulted off the table clumsily, and staggered back over, approaching Rose gingerly, like she were a flight risk liable to run at any second. “Wait, wait. Before we return to the Icewind Dale I have to ask. Who are you, and how in the nine hells of Asmodeus did you appear in the centre of Hellfire on a Friday night?”

“Hold on, hold on,” Dustin interrupted. “You two really don’t know each other?”

“We go a long way back,” Eddie boasted, chest puffed out. “All the way back to that table incident thirty minutes ago. And trust me, if I'd seen the lady before, I would have remembered.”

That feeling bubbled up again, like warm whiskey coursing through her veins. “I’m Rose. It’s my first day of senior year. My first ever day of high school since we moved. So naturally I've pissed off half the school, some of the teachers, and got trapped in a supply closet whilst the nice girls talk behind my back. My social life has withered and died in a single day, like a fragile desert flower.”

Eddie nodded along. “So a quiet Friday, then.”

“Just fucking fantastic. I found a dark corner to hide my shame, only to find myself in the middle of a satanic cult. Those two John Hughes films that I watched over the summer did not prepare me for this American high school experience.”

“Yeah. It’s less Sixteen Candles, more Nightmare on Elm Street.” He smiled a dopey, lopsided smile, and fidgeted with his hands. “I’m Eddie, by the way. Munson. First days suck, I would know, I've had more than my fair share. The gentlemen behind me here are fellow D&D enthusiasts and members of Hellfire: Jeff, Chris and Gareth are long-time members, and we have some new little sheepies, Dustin and Mike. Lucas too, if he can drop his shiny rubber balls long enough to commit to the campaign.”

A chorus of Hi’s and waves introduced the players to her, but watching them from the corner of the room had given her a decent sense of their personalities and dynamics.

“Come on, guys, shuffle round the table and make space for the lady,” Eddie commanded. He dashed over to the wall and manhandled a heavy wooden chair into place, directly on the right side of his ornate throne. He bowed and gestured at the empty seat, then the colour drained from his face. “I didn’t even ask if you wanted to join, did I. It's not an obligation. You can walk right out of here having nailed the best side quest in Hellfire history.”

“We should warn you,” Gareth imparted wisely, “if you’re looking to be popular around here, this is the wrong place to be. We’re not exactly tight with the jocks or the party kids.”

Eddie pointed to himself with both thumbs. “They don’t call me Eddie the Freak for nothing.”

Her decision was already made, the moment Eddie spotted her from under that table and smiled. Here was a group of strangers going out of their way to make her feel welcome, without knowing a single thing about her.

Rose felt a lump in her throat. “You would put up with a complete idiot who doesn’t know her class from her elbow?”

Dustin’s fist pumped the air. “Yes! Puns are totally cool, I knew it.”

“I don’t mind,” Mike said. “I taught my girlfriend D&D, she had to start somewhere.”

Eddie did a double take. “You have a girlfriend, freshie?”

“She moved to California just before the school year.”

“Ah,” Jeff drew out the syllable knowingly. “Out of state. Convenient excuse.”

“I wouldn’t call it convenient,” Dustin disagreed. “My girlfriend Suzie is in Utah, and that totally sucks. It’s been forty-six days since Camp Nowhere finished, which means two hundred and ninety-nine before I see her again next summer.”

Gareth groaned. “Come on, man. Both the freshmen have girlfriends? How is that even statistically possible?”

Dustin leaned forward intently, “Well if you look at the number of D&D players, profile them by age and cross reference them with the number of-”

Eddie’s hand smothered Dustin’s mouth. “Shh, halfling. He did not mean literally. Besides, the lady hasn’t given us her answer. Sweetheart, do you wanna help us take down Iymrith, the storm dragon? I have a feeling these novices will need a helping hand. It is going to be brutal.”

Rose took a seat at Eddie’s right hand side, and picked up the many-sided lump of red plastic on the board. “I suppose I could join you. Do you know why?”

He fell for it, hook, line and sinker. “Why?”

She dropped the D20 on the table. “Because this is how I roll.”

Dustin dislodged the Dungeon Master’s mouth; fuse lit, laughter exploding from his chest like a stick of dynamite. Groans turned to laughs.

Eddie smiled, and opened his arms wide. “Welcome to Hellfire.”

[nekohime19]

Heart behind the lie # 23 : beginning of the trip

It's the save the emo monkey mission

Sun Wukong was eagerly going through his wardrobe, pulling out every piece of clothes he deemed necessary and throwing it on his bed. The sage was a bit indecisive when it came to what he would need (who knows, maybe the leaves quilt would come in handy?) but his clones, which he summoned to help him, were always quick to stop him from packing everything he owned. 

“No, boss you can't bring the leaves quilt. What would you even do with it?”

“Why do you need four different pairs of sunglasses?”

“Boss, we bought clothes with you, pack those, not this old rag you call a hanfu.”

Sun Wukong glared at his clones, not happy to be stopped every time he tried to pack something deemed unnecessary. He liked peach-printed shirts, so what if he had half a dozen and wanted to pack them all ? Sue him for wanting to look peachy! 

“Why can't I pack this one!? It's cute.” Mumbled the sage with an umpteith pinch-printed shirt in his hands. 

“You already packed four of those.” Sighed one of his clones. “Boss, I know we look good in everything but, like, you can't actually bring everything with you.”

“The ship doesn't have enough space for all these pinch-printed shirts!” Barked another clone as he tried to close the sage's pinch-printed suitcase, he jumped on it and was violently thrown back, the suitcase too full to be properly closed. The clone whined, embedded in the nearby wall, another tried to peel him off as if he was an old bubblegum stuck under a desk. 

“We need a spatula!” Sighed the clone trying to peel off the one embedded in the wall. 

“On it!” Called the third clone as he ran in the kitchen. While his clones were busy (he only summoned three) Sun Wukong sneekly slipped his pinch-printed shirt in the suitcase. 

“Boss, did you just try to put your shirt in this already very packed suitcase when we told you not to?”Grumbled one of his clones as he took the spatula offered by another and started to peel his peer off the wall. 

“What?? Me ?? Never!” Gasped the sage, the clone embedded was finally freed, leaving a monkey-shaped hole in the wall. He looked at the suitcase warily, not willing to jump on it anymore. 

“We need another suitcase.” Sighed one of the clones. 

“We already have like five, it's too many.” Groaned the one with the spatula. 

“Pff, what's one more? Besides, I'm the boss here. And I say we do another one.” Decided the King as he made a brand new suitcase with a piece of hair. 

“This trip is doomed before it even begins.” Muttered the clone that was embedded in the wall. 

“Hush with your negativity. We have things to pack!”

In the end, the King settled with six suitcases, each clone took two of them while he was charged with the very important mission to carry their lil lady. The clones grumbled the whole way to Sandy's airship, he was the first there, like often when he had an appointment with Sandy. The blue giant greeted him joyously, faltering slightly when he caught sight of the numerous suitcases. The sage waved his worries away and left for his room, or at least the chamber Sandy's pointed to as his. 

Unfortunately, like his clones predicted, the room was too narrow for all his suitcases. But, he was the great sage, nothing was impossible for him, he shrinked them all with a flick of wrist and stacked them in a corner. 

“What a waste of magic.” Sighed one of his clones as he fluffied Sock's cushion in one corner of the room. 

“You're just salty because your worries were unfounded.” Snarked the sage, a smug smile on his lips. 

“Of course we're salty, we’re you, we hate when we're not right.” Snickered another clone as he played with Sock, letting her pawe at his snout with delight. 

“Jerks.” Muttered the sage. “I'll call you if I need you.” Sighed the King as he turned towards the three gremlins wearing his face. They all swarmed Sock before he could poof them, drowning her in pets and coos. Sock meowed, confused, but enjoyed the pets nonetheless, always taking the chance to bask in affection. 

Once the clones disappeared the sage took his lil bud in his arms and decided to visit the airship. Sock settled in his arms, comfortably laid on his chest, and together they roamed the airship. It didn't change much from the short time they spent on it after the Bone Demon's mess, but Sandy did add more rooms, and a few more engines. There were three simple rooms, each with at least two beds (some with three), a wardrobe, a desk and a porthole ( Sun Wukong wondered if he could create some pinch-printed curtains, he didn't want to be awake by sun rays each morning.) There also was a nice kitchen, not big enough to let the entire group in, but large enough for three or four people to work comfortably. Sun Wukong snooped around the closets a little and stuffed some peach chips in it, hidden behind others food. There was another room, probably made to be a lounging area, neatly furnished with green plants and nice wooden furniture, Sun Wukong let Sock roam a little in it, she slightly rubbed her scent on the large couch in the room's heart before jumping in his arms again. The last room (except for the engine room but it was probably not wise to go in there) was a common bathroom with one shower, one toilet and a few sinks. 

Sun Wukong rejoined Sandy once he finished his little adventure, Sock still in his arms. He let her play with Mo and watched fondly, with the tea-lover, as the two cats chased one another on the ship's deck. The rest of the group arrived shortly after and settled in the different rooms. Tang and Pigsy chose to share one with Sandy, and the two high-energy kids jumped on the occasion to claim one for them and Red Son, which left behind him and Macaque. Sun Wukong awkwardly turned towards the warrior, a bit worried, and melted in place when Macaque didn't oppose the idea. He bit his lips to repress the happy trills tickling his mouth and eagerly guided the warrior to his - their–room, Sock stopped playing with Mo to follow them, ever so curious about the sage's antics. 

Macaque settled rather quickly, he chuckled when he caught sight of Sock's cushion and petted her when she climbed his bed, she purred happily and rolled around on his bed, showing her fluffy belly. Macaque cooed and greedily rubbed her belly, the King watched it all with fondness, and a speck of jealousy, Sock never let him pet her belly (he also longed for the other's belly scratches, he remembered how damn good they felt). 

“Feeling jealous?”Snickered the macaque as he side eyed the sage, Sun Wukong quickly turned away, cheeks dusted with red. 

“Not at all.” Mumbled the sage as he de-shrinked one of his suitcase and pulled a little chest out of it, the one where the witch's compass was sealed in. 

“You're sure? Because you were staring pretty hard~”

“Whatever, leggo, the others are waiting.” Muttered the sage as he left the room, chest in hands. 

Macaque giggled and followed after him with a skip in his steps, Sock trotted after them, sometimes weaving herself in-between their legs while they walked. The others were settled in the lounging room, around a map laid in the middle of the room, on a lively wooden table. The two monkeys weaved themselves around the table as the lil lady walked towards Mo, who was napping on the couch. Mo looked up the second Sock approached, the lil sage climbed on the couch and pawed at the older cat, Mo huffed and moved a little, making room for the lil lady. Sock dived next to him, enjoying the already heated spot. 

Sun Wukong was tempted to hover over them and took a million pictures, but the map in front of him was currently more important. 

“So, you got the compass, Monkey King?” Asked his successor with an excited smile. 

“I got it right in there.” Replied the sage as he carefully opened the chest and took out the compass, everyone shivered when they felt the freezing aura coming out of the bluish device. He put it beside the map and opened it with a frown, not liking the coldness nipping at his fingers the second he grazed it. “Now, how does this thing work?” The needles turned in every direction before settling in Macaque's way. 

“With no direction it points to what the owner wants the most at the moment. But you can also simply think of what you want and it will point at it.” Explained the little Bull. 

“And what do ya do to be the owner of this thing?” Asked the pig with a raised eyebrow. 

“The last one to touch it is considered the owner. So the ginger simian is currently the owner.”

A silence embraced the room as each person carefully turned towards Macaque, who made a point to not look at any of them. Sun Wukong sputtered, tail flickering in agitation. 

“W-well then, do something!!” Stuttered the sage with drooping ears, embarrassed by his own want. While not surprising, to him at least, it was incredibly awkward, especially since Macaque was in the room. 

The kids snickered between them, looking at the sage with wiggling eyebrows, Red Son, bless him, put an end to their antics when he touched the compass, immediately the needles pointed east. 

“Hm, so I guess the next lantern piece is in the east.” Sighed the dragon girl as the little Bull began to circle some eras. 

“That's it? Ya don't even know where the next piece is exactly?” Asked Pigsy. 

“We can easily calculate it based on where the witch's mech shattered, and with it where the lantern shattered. Besides, we just have to follow the needles and do some scouting, quite easy.” Replied Red Son. “I suspect it might be in this era in particular, but, well, I'm not really sure. We will know better when we approach it.” The little bull pointed at a mountain chain a few days of flight from here. Sun Wukong recognizes this as a neutral territory, normally devoid of demons. 

“Alright, so can we go over this plan one more time..?” Tentatively asked the scholar. 

“We find the three missing lantern pieces, we fix the lantern to help Mackie, and, boom, Mackie is healed!” Excitedly replied Mei. 

“Quite simplified, but yes, basically.” Added Red Son. 

“It might be better if we leave the compass with the steering wheel then.” Proposed the tea-lover, Red Son agreed with that. Sun Wukong carefully put the compass inside of the chest and passed it to the cat-lover with a firm warning of only pulling it out when needed. 

After this, the group scattered. The kids stayed in the lounging room, talking about every little thing, Sandy left to turn on the engines and began their flight, the pig left to the kitchen to prepare the evening dinner, Tang hot on his heels. Macaque rose and walked outside of the room, tail swaying lazily at each of his steps, Sun Wukong watched him until his figure disappeared from his view, but didn't dare to follow him, it would come across as too clingy. 

“Ohhh, Mister King, you're not even trying to hide it anymore~” Teased the dragon girl as she nudged him with her elbow. 

“Hide what?” Mumbled the King. 

“The shadowpeach is sooo real.” Giggled his mentee, Red Son looked at the kids with a tired face, perhaps used to their antics. 

“You should go after him!”Exclaimed Mei. 

“Yeah! Monkey King!”

“I'm…good. Macaque has his own things to do.”

“Booo, disappointing.” Muttered Mei. 

Sun Wukong decided to ignore her and approached his lil bud, she meowed happily when she spotted him and nuzzled in his hand. The ship took flight, leaving the earth and traveling in the sea of clouds. The sage watched the landscape change outside of the porthole, he decided to leave the room once the ship stabilized itself in the sky. 

“I'm going, ok. If you cause trouble, do it discreetly.” Mumbled the King as he kissed his lil lady forehead, he ignored how the kids, minus Red Son, watched him with knowing eyes. 

The sage was leisurely walking in the ship’s corridors without a true direction in mind, well, he did have something (or rather someone) he hoped to find but he didn't want to make it too obvious. After the compass incident, he didn't want to come across as too desperate. It would be nice if he could find the other coincidently and, maybe, spark one or two talks. Something light hearted, that would be nice after their rather heavy talk at the last therapy session. 

He found Macaque on the deck, the warrior was leaning over the railing, letting the winds glide in his midnight fur. Sun Wukong took a moment to admire the scene before him, once ready he walked over the other and cleared his throat. 

“H-hey, nice seeing you there.” This was incredibly awkward but he had to start somewhere, didn't he. Macaque turned towards him with a raised eyebrow, but luckily he said nothing of his poor social attempt. 

“Hm, the wind is nice.” The sage was happy to get a reply, it meant the other was willing to talk with him.

“Yeah.” The King racked his mind to find something to talk about, something they shared in common, and in his grand stupidity he blurted out : “Last time we were on this ship you were attacking everyone, remember?” This was probably the worst thing he could have said, he wanted to jump off the ship just to avoid the awkwardness slipping between the two of them. 

“Hm, well, sorry about that, I guess.” Muttered the warrior. 

“O-oh, no, I mean yes, but I didn't…ok.”

“You're okay there? Why are you so awkward?” Sun Wukong shuffled on his feet, uncomfortable, but he guessed it was better if he was honest. 

“It's just, I don't really know where we stand anymore. After our fight, I mean. Like before, we could talk and all, almost like friends, but now, I don't really know.”

“Well, we're talking now?”

“Yes, but it's so awkward!” Sighed the sage as he rubbed his left arm.

“...I don't know.” Mumbled the warrior. “I'm surprised Red Son's parents agreed to let him be there?” Tentatively tried the macaque, the sage immediately jumped on the subject, relieved to see that Macaque was trying as much as him to make this work. 

“Yeah, with how strict Iron Fan is I'm quite surprised!”

“Hm, especially with you there. She's gonna beat you up if he's hurt.” Snorted the warrior. 

“Hugh, don't talk to me about it.” Wailed the sage as he leaned over the railing. “I'm surprised Red Son accepted to come here in the first place.”

“Hm, I'm not surprised.”

“Why?” Asked the King, tail swishing curiously behind him. 

“I mean, did you see how the red boy looks at your successor and the dragon girl?” Macaque turned towards him expectantly, like he was waiting for him to have an epiphany, the epiphany didn't come. “Come on, you can't be this blind, can't you?”

“What–hey! I'm not blind! They're best friends or whatever, maybe.” Gasped the sage, offended to be called blind. 

“You're really obvious.” Snickered the macaque and, well, even if Sun Wukong wanted to be mad at him he couldn't when the other looked so good with a smile on his lips. “The red boy has a crush on the kids.”

“No way!”

“Yes way. Wanna bet?”

“You're on! What are we betting?” 

“Winner gets to order the other around for a day?” Proposed the warrior. 

“Cool. You're so gonna lose this one.” 

“In your dreams.”

They easily let the silence fall between them, each looking at the passing landscape and the occasional birds flying near them. Macaque stretched after a while, he looked at the birds flapping in the sea of clouds and turned towards the sage with mischief etched on his lips. 

“Wanna bird race?”Asked the other, chin held high, as if he already won. 

“You're sure? Aren't you low on magic?”

“I'm fine. You gave me plenty at the last therapy session and besides I need to exercise a bit. Let's say, we dive towards this weird tower thing and then the first to get to the ship wins.” Sun Wukong looked down at the said weird tower thing, the city weather tower, he was almost tempted to correct the other but instead he chose to jump off the ship and transform into an eagle. “What-hey, no fair!” Macaque jumped after him, changing in his falcon form, and flew alongside him. 

It was nice to feel the winds ruffle his feathers, it felt almost exhilarating to plummet down to the ground and to see the buildings becoming larger and larger, if he turned a little, he could caught sight of the other black winds, but he didn't want to get mesmerized by Macaque and lose the race, so he chose to not look at him. He opened his wings the second he was near the city, stopping his fall with the grace of a dancer. 

They both flew towards the tower, Macaque passed before him the moment they reached it, using his smaller stature to glide faster in the sharp turn of the tower. 

“You cheater!”Called Sun Wukong. 

“Not my fault you're a big ass bird who can't turn well!”Snickered the macaque and Sun Wukong gasped at that, greatly offended. The great sage grumbled and followed after the other, a bit behind him, he decided to discreetly use a bit of wind magic to boost himself a little. 

They both reached the ship at the same time, stumbling on the deck as they transformed back to their real forms. 

“I won!”Laughed the macaque, hands on his hips. 

“What, no you didn't! I was here before you!” Protested the King. 

“No way. Besides you used wind magic, so you cheated, therefore I won.”

“You have no proof.”

“I don't need proof, I know you.” Replied Macaque, before the sage could reply they were both interrupted by Sandy, who wanted them to know that dinner was ready. 

“This is not over, I won!” Proudly exclaimed the King as they walked towards the lounging room, the only room with a table large enough for all of them to eat comfortably. 

“You're just a sore loser~”

“Oh, you're on, we're so gonna race again, and I'm gonna win!”

They stopped their argument when they reached the lounging room. Pigsy's meal was heavenly, as usual, and if the kids did ask them why they looked so ruffled (side effect of their race) they easily brushed their questions aside with waves of hands. Both not wanting to be scolded for being reckless. 

“Oh my, don't tell me, you were having some quality time with Macaque!? Is that why you're both ruffled??” Squealed the dragon girl. 

“I guess?” Replied the sage, in a way, a race was some sort of quality time. He looked over Macaque, but the other didn't seem to understand the shared excitement between the kids. 

Once the meal was finished, they all helped clear the tableware. They stayed a bit in the lounging room afterward, watching a movie at his mentee's demands, something about dragons and vikings. It was nice, he made a note to watch the sequels if he ever had time for. They each retreated to their rooms once the movie ended, Sun Wukong changed once Macaque left for the bathroom. He suddenly became a bit conscious of his pinch-printed pajamas. Was it too silly? Maybe Macaque was gonna make fun of him for it? He shouldn't have packed so many peach-printed things. 

His musing was interrupted once the warrior came back, Macaque said nothing of his outfit, but his eyes did linger on his neck with surprise. The warrior turned away after a few seconds of intense staring and awkwardly cleared his throat, he slipped in his bed and mumbled a shy : “Night Wukong, today was nice.”

“O-oh, yeah, Night Macaque.” Muttered the King. He climbed on his bed and curled around his lil lady, and then he remembered he was wearing the warrior's scarf, like he always did for the past months, and realized why Macaque was staring so intently just a few minutes ago. Sun Wukong hid himself in his lil sage fur, face blooming red. 

He hoped he wouldn't embarrass himself further on this trip. 

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