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f3mme-f4tale · 8 months ago

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which witch

part one

word count: 4k potential warnings: potential depictions of violence, sexual content, fingering (r! receiving) adult themes (explicit language), tension, angst, world building, more to come... pairing: rebel!ellie x princess!reader (categorized within the knight!ellie aesthetic)

authors note: there are some influences from game of thrones! :))

A cloud of gray smoke lingered above the vine-infested concrete walls of the booming city, machinery roaring to life and wildering conversations floating in the thick air. A war was looming over the Sovereign City, an invading force from the south eagerly plowing through the skin-biting tundra. The hundreds of guilds within the city's walls fed the economy, although some whisper that underground trading of magic folk is what really fuels the financial state. A spy for the rebellion circled the local market, running her hands over the bruised fruit and eyeing the common folk cautiously, trying her best to go undetected. The city center was preparing for the Sun Festival, ironic given the smog that shielded nearly all sunlight.

A local fruit stand was at the center of the market, an older gentleman staffing the exotic fruit from outside the city walls. Bright, intricate starfruit and jelly-filled strawberry papayas littered the concrete mosaic ground. A small goat with a blue bell was tied haphazardly to a post, the yarn fraying with every slight tug from the animal. A group of children dressed in muted shades of brown and green played a game of dice on the other side of the courtyard, daring each other to steal blackberries. The butcher’s son was pushing a small wagon of discarded meat and small fish bones towards an alley, likely to discard the leftovers.

The spy was adorned in local fabrics, muted mismatched stitching holding together a quilt-like material that resembled a shawl. Her deep maple hair cascaded down her neck with a simple silver pin holding some pieces out of her face. Her fingertips were stained with nightshade, her left-hand concealing a small dagger. The weapon was known for immediately striking down any foe, its metal laced with poison. Magic folk and creatures were no exception, despite their enchantments. An abstract fox decorated the handle, a symbol of the rebellion against the empire. On her hip was a small satchel containing various assortments of herbs, sliced plum mushrooms, and powdered oleander seeds. Being a spy, a magic one at that, had its benefits.

The spy detected a woman pocketing something from a guard across the courtyard. She watched her scurry away down an alley, not before stealing a fig from one of the stands. With the day being as slow as it had been, she reasoned that any mischief became her mischief. As she made her way towards where the other woman went, her grip tightened on the weapon. Upon turning down the alley, she seemingly vanished. It was not often that the spy’s prey escaped her sight, not since she was a child at least. At the last possible moment, a speck of red disappeared through a doorway fifty feet in front of her. Swallowing a sigh, she followed.

Inside was a desolate old factory, broken machinery sprawled across the floor and spray paint covering the walls. Sigils were marked on the concrete ground – emblems and allegories from The Blackmoor Book. She questioned how someone within the walls could have such knowledge, risking the high court finding such symbolism.

What was this place?

She did not dwindle on this apprehension long, sinking into the shadows and scanning the place for that woman. A crackly, high-pitched laugh erupted from the other side of the room. Before thinking twice, the spy was across the room in mere seconds, her knife pressed firmly against the mystery woman’s throat, as if in reflex.

“Ya know for as skilled as you are, I figured you’d recognize me,” the woman pestered, her dialect thick. The spy could place the voice, but the face was distant from her mind. The blade stayed against her throat, the pressure never wavering.

“Ellie,” she cooed, “it’s me.”

There was nothing I could do. My feet were lodged between the large stones that decorated the bottom of the fast river, the murky sand blinding my vision and setting my lungs on fire. I was becoming weak, fighting a losing battle with the force of the water. I wanted to give up, to let the depths swallow me whole and my mind run blank. My fingers just barely reached the surface, scratching at the sliver of life that was never fully mine. The anxiety was bubbling up from my stomach and began to make me tremble with complete fear; I wasn’t getting out of this.

Once, when I was young, I would swim in streams and small rivers just like this one. Uncle would be back at the village, father out with the council. My older foster brother would often join me, teaching me how to catch the fish and which plants could be used for medicine. When it was a quiet day, we would read books to the frogs and small insects. Now, at the precipice of death, I can only focus on the day he showed me how to fashion an arrowhead. On how his fingers made sharp movements and the glimmer in his eyes was its purest. He was the mouth of God; I took his words as religion. But he wasn’t there.

My arms grew numb, my body losing sensation. This was it. This was how I was finally going. I screamed against the current and inhaled the river. As my vision darkened and I began to accept defeat, I remembered the reason I was trying to traverse across in the first place; the heaviness of the guilt weighing me down. I made a promise, I swore to him. They were going to die, and it was all my fault. It was a mistake to think I could perform this journey alone, inexperienced.

And then I could breathe again. My fingers dug at my chest, eagerly gasping for air. My eyes burned from the sunlight, my right ankle adorning a jagged cut from the rock that once imprisoned me. My savior hovered above me, breathing just as heavily as I was. Where did they come from?

“T-thank you,” I managed to get out once the anxiety subsided, my throat still burning.

Hesitantly, I glanced up in their direction. They were drenched in luminance, a godliness highlighting their physique, black paint dancing across their nose. Meeting their enticing eyes, I realized I recognized them. A local girl a year older than me from the village, her hair tied tight against her head and half of her body soaking wet. She offered me a curt nod, adjusting the straps on her satchel and securing a few stray pieces of hair. The outfit she wore was jarring, nothing like the large tunics the women wore at home. The breeches and sleek overcoat were skin-tight, a throwing knife strapped securely to her thigh. She did not say anything back, leaving me as fast as she appeared.

“Dina,” Ellie mumbled, her voice rough against the soothing nature of Dina’s. Her eyes scanned the other's face, the memories of her childhood friend rushing back to her like a tidal wave. The same black paint was decorated across her nose, symbolizing her coven. Ellie let her guard down, the blade dropping to her side. The sigils made sense then – she grew up in the same village beyond this city within the Withering Woods, learned from the same potions master, and drank the same Mistmoor river water. Their village Jackson’s Crossing, surrounded by the White Mountains and often disregarded on official cartographer maps, was a cloister of small families from varied ethnicities.

Dina’s fingers were also stained a dark purple – evidence of witchcraft. The last time they had seen each other was years prior, back when Ellie was recruited to fight against the tyranny of the High Ruler, who came into power with varying degrees of support from the public. The last she heard of Dina was that she had joined a coven, practicing magic in secret.

She had grown a lot since their last encounter, her scarlet hair now many inches longer and herself several inches taller. They spared each other the formalities in catching up, Ellie reaching for the item Dina snatched from the unsuspecting general just beyond the door. She let her, Ellie’s mind working through possibilities as she brought the ring of keys closer. She should have known; such an item was predictable. Although, what did Dina need them for?

“Trying to sneak someone out of the dungeons, hmm?” she finally spoke, placing her dagger back into the depths of her clothing. Dina smiled at Ellie again, raising her eyebrows and letting her face do the talking. “Ah, well, sneaking into prison seems more your speed anyways.”

“The council has been very unyielding in my request for an audience,” she began, walking a few steps away from Ellie. “So, I’ve had to find my own ways.”

“Why do you wish to speak to them?” Ellie questioned, puzzled as to what her companion could want with them. Dina’s gaze meant nothing but trickery, her smile growing wider and wider. Whatever her intentions, Ellie considered leeching on, her own assignment from the Rebellion creating a need to be inside those palace walls – although for a quite different reason.

“Remember Jesse?” she smirks, running a hand through her locks. Ellie snorts at this – because of course she remembers Jesse, how could she not? They were practically joined at the hip before Ellie left Jackson.

“He’s gotta learn to keep his mouth shut in front of the guards. He’s so pretty, but he can be pretty thick headed sometimes,” Dina scolds, shaking her head. “So, naturally, they’ve finally decided to sentence him after years of causing mayhem.”

“Well, I want in,” Ellie says coldly, adjusting with the fabric that covers her shoulder. Dina squints at her friend, questioning her motivations. “I’ve got orders to relocate a member of the royal family, per the Rebellion's bequest.”

Deep viridian ivy covers the cobblestones and beige pillars of the courtyard, dark shadows stretching up the walls. Rain litters the ground, the damp air an inviting aroma. Billowing clouds darken the sky, the thunder a welcoming presence.

You’re sitting at a desk, candlelight framing your face as you attempt to read the book in your hands. It’s no use however, as your mind is swirling with a million different thoughts. The betrayal of your father cuts deep; all that remains is the stark reality of your pain. You trace the outline of the candle's flame with trembling fingers, its flickering dance mirroring your thundering heartbeat.

A knock at the door interrupts your spiral, haphazardly setting down your book and the weight of the chair creaking as you stand. A woman is on the other side, her curly black hair cascading down her back. The servant's uniform does her no justice, her figure cloaked in a tunic two sizes too big. You raise an eyebrow, questioning the intruder at such a late hour.

“Yes?” you ask, voice wavering slightly. You know she can see the dismay in your face, your eyes all too forgiving. You instinctively hunch your shoulders, nails pushing into the meat of your palm, knuckles turning white.

“Lord David sent me to draw you a bath, my lady. He wants you to be clean and fresh for your engagement tomorrow,” she responds, bowing her head. She holds clean linens and a sponge in her hand, a slight look of sorrow crossing her face that you almost miss. You step aside begrudgingly, letting her through.

Large buckets of water make their rounds over the fire as the servant works to untie the laces of your bodice, making quick work of the material. The cool air filtering through the partially opened window makes your skin grow cold, the woman helping you out your chemise, body bare to her wandering gaze. Her hands were warm, a stir emerging within your gut. You always disliked having other people bath you, yet you found yourself straightening your back, showing off. She made eye contact with you, half slitted pupils devouring your form. You welcomed this, using your left hand to remove a pin that was keeping your braids in place. She steps behind you to begin dumping the contents of the bucket into a metal tub.

And then suddenly the servant is several inches away, hands agonizingly tracing your shoulders, her breath hot on your neck. She places a small kiss just underneath your ear, a shudder escaping your lips as you tentatively close your eyes. You’d never had someone approach you this way, not unless you count the several forty-something year old male suitors that you had declined since you turned sixteen years ago.

The servant uses one hand to pull your hair over to one shoulder as the other palms your bare stomach. You suck in a breath, not pushing her away. You knew this was wrong, save for the fact that she was another woman. What would your father say? What would the maids whisper to each other when they thought no one was looking?

Despite protests shouting against your very core, you remained still, leaning into her frame. You could feel her breasts pressing into your back, her right hand dancing dangerously close to the space between your legs. Her left hand dragged across your chest, fingers grazing and pulling. When her right hand plunged into your slick, you leaned your head back against her shoulder.

“Lay down, my lady,” she murmured, gently moving your already wrecked body towards the bed in the corner. You obliged, sitting on the edge. She pushed you down, immediately dropping down to her knees. You were new to this, not even daring to touch yourself. Her mouth felt foreign on your pelvis, but you bucked up into her face regardless.

Her tongue slid across you, pink bud becoming raw from the friction. When she pushed two fingers inside of you, a borderline scream escaped your delicate lips. The swell of your breasts bounced as she began to pick up her pace, rocking your body against the frame of the bed and adding another slender digit. Her tongue continues its assault on your clit, forcing you to take it, to take all of it.

It’s over before you realize, her face covered in you. You pull her up by the collar of her uniform, forcing her lips against yours. She’s taken aback at first, but then melts into the embrace. She’s sticking her tongue into your mouth, the taste of you invading and arousing.

“As much as I’d love to continue Princess,” the woman says suddenly, breaking the kiss. “I did come here to bathe you.” You nod, suddenly extremely aware of your surroundings and how easily you folded under her touch – a woman’s touch.

As she dumped another bucket of hot water into the metal tub, you gazed off absentmindedly. Her coarse fingers work through your locks, detangling the pieces that frame your face.

“You’re so beautiful, but you have to keep him happy. He gets bored easily.”

You glance over at her, noticing the way the fireplace behind her makes her skin glow.

“I don’t want you to end up, well, like the others,” she sighs, moving to grab a rag to clean your skin with. You were so used to the mindless handling of your body that sometimes you forgot how vulnerable you could be.

“W-what others?” you croaked, tension once again creeping up your spine and through your fingers. You felt her movements stiffen, realizing she spoke out of turn.

“Oh, I shouldn’t, it’s all hearsay. I apologize, my lady,�� she replies, her actions becoming more disorderly. You watch her closely, her sudden discomfort adding another layer of unease to the already heavy atmosphere. Despite her attempt to backtrack, your curiosity is piqued, and you press further.

"No, please, tell me," you insist, your voice barely above a whisper. She hesitates, torn between loyalty to her lord and a desire to warn you. Finally, she speaks, her voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire.

"There have been others before you," she begins, her words careful and measured. "Women who were... chosen, like you." Your heart pounds in your chest, the implications of her words sinking in. You swallow hard, pushing down the rising sense of dread threatening to overwhelm you.

"What happened to them?" you ask, your voice trembling despite your efforts to remain composed. She hesitates again, her gaze dropping to the floor as if unable to meet your eyes.

"They... disappeared," she murmurs, her voice barely audible. "Some say that he grows tired of his playthings, discarding them when they no longer amuse him, banished to distant lands never to return. Others whisper darker tales of rituals and… well," she clarifies, her hands shaking as she runs her nimble fingers through your hair once more.

You struggle to process the implications of her revelation, the realization dawning on you with sickening clarity. "You mean... they're dead?" you whisper, the words feeling foreign and surreal on your tongue. You turn to her fully, putting on a show of false confidence. “This is my home. He can’t frighten me.”

“Of course, my lady. Forgive me.”

You nod, still reeling from her earlier words. As she finishes bathing you, you're left alone with your thoughts once more. The warmth of the water does little to soothe the chill in your bones, the weight of impending responsibilities pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket.

“Will I see you again?” You mumble, eyes pleading with the woman as she’s half way out of your chamber, a robe now draped around your figure. A frown catches her lips, a sigh is all the answer you need.

“I’m afraid not,” she finally answers, yet doesn’t move from her place at the door. You feel your stomach drop, reaching out to catch her lips in a kiss once more. This one is less aggressive, a plea for more. She cups your cheek softly, kissing you back. “It’s not safe. We live in a world where desires are often sacrificed for duty.”

As she finally steps away, you watch her silhouette fade into the dimly lit corridor beyond your chamber. A sense of loss washes over you, as you're left in the silence of your chambers. The flames of the candles flicker ominously, casting dancing shadows on the walls. You try to shake off the unease settling in your chest, but the seed of doubt planted by the woman’s words grows with each passing moment.

You know you should rest, to prepare yourself for the challenges that lie ahead, but sleep eludes you. Instead, you find yourself pacing the room, the echoes of your footsteps mingling with the whispers of your own fears.

This union is a death sentence, a promise made to satisfy your fathers requests. Your older sister was the next in line to rule, your brother already married off to a Duchess in the East. You would never sit on the throne; the pressure of said title always out of reach but forever a taunt. You could taste the longing for power – a snake wrapping around your heart, squeezing.

By marrying Lord David, you help ease the emerging tensions between the East and South kingdoms within the empire. It had long been kept secret that you were a bastard, a lie living a life of luxury. Guilt ate away at you from every inch of your skin, your real mother a ghost of your past. Of course, maids and servants talked. That said, the effort to uphold the ruler's dignity and honor reigned supreme; Those who were caught gossiping would meet a punishment worse than castration.

You understand the importance of maintaining stability within the empire, of ensuring peace between rival factions. But on the other hand, there's the gnawing fear that grips you, the fear of being trapped in a loveless marriage, of becoming just another casualty in the game of power and ambition.

You remember the stories you heard as a child, tales of kings and queens whose lives were dictated by duty rather than desire. You used to dream of a different fate for yourself, of finding love and happiness on your own terms. But now, as the reality of your situation sinks in, those dreams seem like distant echoes of a naive past.

Tomorrow, you will be betrothed to a man you hardly know; a union forged by politics and alliances. When morning comes, you will rise with a sense of resignation, steeling yourself for the path laid out before you.

Dawn breaks upon a canvas of melancholy, the sky adorned in swathes of slate-hued clouds. You dress in a gown of regal elegance, each layer of silk and lace feeling like a shroud closing in around you. Your reflection in the mirror is a stranger's face, masked behind a facade of composure that belies the turmoil within. As you fasten the intricate clasps of your necklace – a delicate chain of platinum interwoven with strands of glistening rhodonite and sunstone – you can't help but wonder if you're adorning yourself for a wedding or a funeral.

Downstairs, guests mingle in clusters of polished nobility. Their smiles are as artificial as the flowers adorning the tables, masking the alliances and rivalries that simmer beneath the surface. You navigate the crowd with practiced grace, exchanging pleasantries and feigned enthusiasm.

In the grand hall, where sunlight filters through stained glass, illuminating the opulence of the surroundings, you stand amidst a sea of faces, each one a mask concealing clandestine desires. At the center of it all stands Lord David, a towering figure of authority and ambition. His gaze finds yours across the room, a flicker of something unreadable passing between you before he turns to greet another guest.

His eyes, like shards of obsidian, pierce through the veneer of social niceties. As he acknowledges your presence with a nod of his head, you offer a polite smile, concealing the turmoil churning within your breast. His lips curve in response, but there is a hardness in his gaze. With unspoken haste, the sea of guests transitioned into the next room, organizing into rows.

Sunlight streamed through the stained glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns of color upon the assembled guests. The delicate lace of your veil cascaded like a waterfall around you, framing your face in a halo of soft radiance. Lord David, regal and imposing, awaited you at the altar.

As you drew near, the murmurs of the crowd fell silent, and all that remained was the steady rhythm of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. With each step, you felt the weight of expectation pressing down upon you, the gravity of the moment settling like a cloak upon your shoulders.

At last, you stood face to face with Lord David, your hands trembling slightly as you clasped his in yours. The officiant's voice filled the air, the solemn words of the vows binding you together. His grip tightened at your wrists, thumb pressing into your pressure point. You fought against the sinking feeling in your chest, the fear washing over your features.

Concealed behind a pillar, at the room's farthest edge, stood a guest with a blade, its hilt adorned with an abstract fox; A silent sentinel amidst the opulent chaos. Their gaze, like a river's current, flows over your form, lingering on each curve and contour with a cautious reverence. The bodice of the gown hugs your frame, accentuating the gentle curve of your waist before giving way to a voluminous skirt that pools around your feet in a sea of soft fabric. Layers upon layers of tulle and organza lend an air of weightless beauty to the ensemble, each fold and pleat catching the light in a mesmerizing dance.

The spy stole a final glance at the princess, and for a brief moment, she could've sworn she saw a glimmer of fear entrenched in your gaze. Rancorously, Ellie envisioned taking a blade to Lord David's throat and smiling as the congealed mess of his arteries betrayed him. She shoved the wrinkled piece of parchment into the confines of her satchel. Her mission began.

Secure the youngest daughter of the sovereign.

taglist: @seraphicsentences @onlinelesbo @yumimak @elliewilliamsblunt @bready101

#tlou2 #ellie williams #fanfic #lesbian #tlou #ellie x reader #wlw #ellie x fem reader #free palestine #ellie williams fic

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guitarbomb · 1 year ago

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Ibanez Revitalizes AZ Premium Line for NAMM 2024

Ibanez is set to make waves at NAMM 2024 with its latest additions to the AZ Premium series. This update not only introduces three stunning new finishes but also marks the return of an upgraded HSS configuration featuring Seymour Duncan pickups. AZ Premium The highlight of this release is the AZ24P1QM model, sporting a captivating Deep Ocean Blonde finish. It stands out with its HSS…

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urhoneycombwitch · 8 months ago

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I'm currently so bogged down with end of year college assignments and it's distracting me from the really important things in life (Eddie) (and also ur blog). I'll love you forever if you could please write something sweet and domestic (maybe smutty who knows) about reader coming home to babyboy after a long day of being busy and just catching up🥺💕

foreword: wrote this with linecook!Eddie in mind hope that’s ok! some fluff and comfort for ur dash <3

wc: 1.2k

cw: fluff, food eating, soft Eddie who’s also kinda… soft!dom in this, gn!reader (pet names used)

___

The long work day has finally caught up with you, hitting like a freight train just as you drag your weary self through Eddie’s door. Every limb feels heavy as you clumsily pull your arms from your coat sleeves, fingers blundering through the motions of unlacing your work boots.

“Eddie?” Even your voice sounds tired. There’s no sign of your boy in the living room or kitchen; you push open his bedroom door, only to still in the doorframe.

Eddie’s stretched out facedown on his bed, cheeks rosy with sleep and half-squished against the patchwork quilt. His hair is a riotous sprawl down the thin white tank top of his back, dark strands curling in on themselves with the rise and fall of his deep, slumbering breaths.

You tiptoe around the pile of his work clothes on the carpet- he must have just beat you home- and fondly stroke a hand down the slope of his back. He twitches in his sleep, hand tucked under his chest mindlessly seeking your affection.

You give in, for the time being. Strip down to your own underclothes, slot the length of your body next to his, let your bare legs tangle together while you nuzzle at the top of his head.

Eddie smells smoky and warm, like the cigarettes from his smoke breaks; he was on grill today, you think, maple pancakes and the heavy fattiness of bacon faint under the Irish Spring and cologne he’d dotted onto his neck this morning.

You don’t mean to fall asleep, but the next thing you know, Eddie’s lips are pulling you from a dream, hazy with love. He kisses your cheek, the arch of your brow, strokes a ring-cooled knuckle down the column of your neck before kissing there, too.

“What d’ya want for dinner, angel?”

His voice is thick with sleep. Your lashes flutter in response.

“Mmm. A nap.”

Eddie chuckles, leans forward to mouth at the top of your shoulder. “How about pasta?”

You hum lightly in affirmation, sliding an elbow into the mattress to start getting up- but Eddie squeezes the meat of your arm, stilling your movements.

“Where you goin’?”

Through bleary eyes, you find the dark chocolate of Eddie’s, which are trained on your face with sparkling amusement.

“Uh. Was gonna help you? I’m not the only one who worked a long shift today-”

“Absolutely not.” His hair ripples over both shoulders as he shakes his head. “You think I’m lettin’ you be sous-chef after starting a fire in my damn kitchen? Forget about it.”

You scoff, defiant, pushing up into your arm to glare- “It was a paper towel that briefly caught alight. Don’t be dramatic.”

“Fat chance.” Eddie puts one big hand over the entirety of your face, pushing until you give, maneuvering your head back to the pillow. “I’m making pasta and you’re gonna lie here all pretty ‘til it’s done. Capiche?”

In answer, you pout, but close your eyes obediently- from experience, you know it’s pointless to argue.

He presses a final kiss to your temple, taking the warmth of his hands with him as he heads to the kitchen.

You doze for the next few minutes, sleep flirting at the edges of your mind, the clanking and bustling noises from down the hall a familiar backdrop that nearly lulls you back to dreamland.

“Soup’s on.” Eddie pads back into the room, light from the hallway cutting a bright path against the floor. His palm cups the side of your cheek, then slips down to pat at your hip. “C’mon. Up.”

He’s irritatingly pushy tonight- but then, he’s always in a mood until you’ve eaten something. That protective nature overrides Eddie’s deep desire to snuggle back up to you on the bed; he slides a hand around your wrist, coaxing gentle but firm until you’re on your feet.

A steady palm at your lower back guides you down the hall, to the dining chair. Buttery smells hang in the air, tantalizing as Eddie places two bowls on the table. There’s a steaming whorl of linguini in both, oily noodles flecked with pesto, roasted veggies gleaming in a colorful arc around one side.

You watch as Eddie quietly slides a fork across the scratched wood surface, settling into his own chair, leaning back with one eyebrow raised.

Out of habit, you pick up the fork to twirl around some pasta, stabbing a piece of broccoli on the end for good measure before taking a bite. The flavors flood in, rich and smooth, a low ‘mmm’ of approval- not solely for Eddie’s benefit. He’s a goddamn fantastic cook.

Satisfied with your reaction, Eddie digs in, too. A pleasant, quiet few minutes pass as you both eat. The last bits of light from the window above the sink dim, the sun giving way to dusk. From the distant forest, a mourning dove coos, and a Joni Mitchell song from a neighbor’s porch radio answers in fragments.

There’s soft lamplight from the adjoining living room, casting Eddie’s face in ochre glow as he scoots both your empty bowls to the side. He rises, then tsks at you when you reach for the dishes- “Don’t even think about it-” before pulling you with him towards the couch.

Stomach full and satiated, you allow yourself to be maneuvered by his hands once again- this time he settles on a couch cushion, tossing a pillow between his planted feet on the ground for you to sit.

“Hardly seems fair,” you argue, weakly, although you’re already sat, his thumbs pressing at the nape of your neck. “You already made dinner and now you’re… you…”

Your resolve gives out in a single move as Eddie starts massaging the tight muscles near your spine, snaking his fingers up with practiced pressure.

“Wha-at,” he complains back in equal measure, faux-pity more on the mocking side when he follows the line of muscle up into your scalp, working underneath your hair now with a scalp scratch that feels so good it should be illegal- “Can’t just let me take care of you? S’wrong with that?”

If you opened your mouth surely nothing but a moan or equally telling, garbled speech would escape, so you shut it. Let your neck loll and go lax into Eddie’s touch, sink deeper into the V of his legs.

He murmurs some praise in response, words that you’re too far gone to hear, but it’s accompanied by a quick brush of his lips to the crown of your head before his fingers soothe further up.

The Joni song ends, fades into the steady rhythm of Eddie working out all the tension from your muscles with loving hands, the promise of a comforting evening like a warm blanket around you both.

#what can i say linecook!Eddie really brings out the sub buried deep within me #not sorry #linecook!Eddie #linecook!Eddie x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #lu’s anons #e.m. thots from lu

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art-that-fucks-you-up-tournament · 1 year ago

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Behold, a bracket!

Text form below the cut because trying to copy all the 256 into the alt text sounded.... horrifying. Warning for 128 matchups, seriously, this list is long, and so I've avoided adding the artists until the polls.

a note: the pinned post has started misbehaving, so only open polls will be directly linked. closed polls instead have the results page linked in the set header, all the polls are linked from there

Set 1

The Lament for Icarus (Miao He) vs The Lament for Icarus (Herbert Draper)

The angel came to me in a fever hallucination, perched upon my bed as I returned from the bathroom. vs Sweet Brown Snail

Figures vs A Philosopher Lecturing on the Orrery

Happy Shoppers vs Hubble Deep Field

Lovers Painting vs Bath Curtain

Dr. Helen Taussig vs Une Martyre

Orangoutang étranglant un sauvage de Bornéo (Orangutan strangling a Borneo savage) vs Can’t Help Myself

Rape vs Technicolor Hiroshima

Set 2

A Walk at Dusk vs Based on “Autoportrait with the Model” by Maria-Rayevska Ivanova

Diary Page vs Les Jours Gigantesques (The Titanic Days)

Dead of Night vs You Won't

Christina's World vs Bobby

Untitled (I’m Turning Into A Specter Before Your Very Eyes And I’m Going To Haunt You) vs Two Sisters (On the Terrace)

Sharecropper vs Lustmord

The Parca and the Angel of Death vs Untitled (Zdzisław Beksiński)

Stress vs The Fallen Angel

Set 3

Device to Root Out Evil vs Travelling Light

Diana vs Fifty Days at Iliam: The Fire that Consumes All before It

The Plains, from Memory vs Exotic Bodies

Doubting Thomas vs Self-Portrait in the Bathroom Mirror

Empty Nest vs Somebody Fell From Aloft

Anguish vs If I Died

Cat in Obsolete Bath vs You're Not Boring Anymore

Salvator Mundi (Savior of the World) vs Untitled (billboard of an empty unmade bed)

Set 4

There Will Be No Miracles Here vs Symphony of the Sixth Blast Furnace

Fox Hunt vs Tarpaulin

Khajuraho Group of Monuments vs Ranakpur Jain Temple

ปราสาทสัจธรรม (The Sanctuary of Truth) vs Grande Panorama de Lisboa

Heroic Head of Pierre de Wissant, One of the Burghers of Calais vs The Weather

The Daughters of Edward Darley Boit vs If this is art

Statue of Vincent and Theo van Gogh vs Jeanne d’Arc écoutant les voix (Joan of Arc listening to the Voices)

Fountain vs Judith Slaying Holofernes

Set 5

Cueva de las Manos (Cave of Hands) vs Cave of El Castillo

Chauvet Cave Bear vs Uffington White Horse

Laocoön and His Sons vs Winged Victory of Samothrace

Crouching Aphrodite vs Statue of Taweret

Guardian Figure vs Kūya-Shonin (Saint Kuya)

Ancient Greek doll vs Arena #7 (Bears)

Enbu (炎舞) (Dancing in the Flames) vs Yearning Shadows

Belfast to Byzantium vs Freedom

Set 6

The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayan vs Portraits

The Blood Mirror vs Nighthawks

Electric Fan (Feel it Motherfuckers): Only Unclaimed Item from the Stephen Earabino Estate vs "Untitled" (Portrait of Ross in L.A.)

Lady Agnew of Lochnaw vs Forgotten Dreams

Saint Bride vs Pixeles (a group of 9 works)

War Pieta vs The Sunset

The Handmaidens of Sivawara Preparing the Sacred Bull at Tanjore for a Festival vs Ajax and Cassandra

Nāve (Death) vs Abstraction

Set 7

Yes vs Meeting on the Turret Stair

Hacked to Death II vs Stańczyk

Closeness Lines Over Time vs Voice of Fire

The Maple Trees at Mama, the Tekona Shrine and Tsugihashi Bridge vs Portrait of Sir Thomas More

Survival Series: In a Dream You Saw a Way vs Takiyasha the Witch and the Skeleton Spectre

Death blowing bubbles vs The Kitchen Table Series

Painting 1946 vs In the Grip of Winter

Untitled (Black and Gray) vs NAMES Project AIDS Memorial Quilt

Set 8

Blue Plate Special vs Red Cedar

Palace of Fine Arts vs Mosque–Cathedral of Córdoba

Le Château des Pyrénées (The Castle of the Pyrenees) vs Susanna and the Elders, Restored - X-Ray

Moby Dick vs Viva la Vida, Watermelons

Venus Envy Chapter One (Of the First Holy Communion Moments Before the End) vs how to look at art

St. Sebastian vs Untitled #12

Carroña vs The invincible one

Untitled (Two Dogs) vs The Dog

SECOND HALF

Set 9

David (Donatello) vs David (Michelangelo)

The Other Side vs The Temptation of St. Jerome

Seated Woman with Bent Knees vs Starry Night

Headdress - Shadae vs Untitled for the Image Flow's Queer Conscience exhibit

Woman with Dead Child (Frau mit totem Kind) vs Les Amants (The Lovers)

Siroče na majčinom grobu (Orphan on Mother's Grave) vs You Make My World a Better Place to Find

Fighting Against SARS Memorial Architectural Scene (弘揚抗疫精神建築景觀) vs Fallingwater

Resting vs The Hull

Set 10

Olive Trees vs Worship

Glow vs Wheatfield with Crows

Study after Velázquez's Portrait of Pope Innocent X vs Untitled (He Plays Very Badly)

D.I.Y. by John Wiswell vs The Tragedy

Judith and the Head of Holofernes vs Beethovenfries (Beethoven Frieze)

The Memory of Me (How Could I Forget) vs oh god i had a really big epiphany about love and personhood but i’m too drunk for words

I am happy because everyone loves me vs 瀕危形態 (Endangered Forms)

Three Scaffolders vs Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan

Set 11

San Giorgio Maggiore at Dusk vs Water-Lilies, Reflection of a Weeping Willow

The Grief of the Pasha vs Monolith in Vigeland Sculpture Park

Passion vs Space Diner

Hamlet and Ophelia vs Two Earthlings

Ellen Terry as Lady Macbeth vs Seer Bonnets

Photograph from "SNAP OSAKA" Collection vs Clytemnestra after the Murder

“Untitled” (Perfect Lovers) vs The Lovers (TIE)

Kedai Ubat Jenun vs Orange Store Front

Set 12

The Apotheosis of War vs Portrait of the Dancer Aleksandr Sakharov

Julie Manet vs Mouth

The Icebergs vs Kaleidoscope Cats III

Maman vs Caza Nocturna (Night Hunt)

The Book of Kells Folio 188r: Luke carpet page vs Ardagh Chalice

Yusuf and Zulaikha vs Dome of the Rock mosaics

Rowan Leaves and Hole vs Untitled (prisonhannibal)

Le Désespéré (The Desperate Man) vs The Dedication

Set 13

Deimos vs Dog and Bridge

The Mocking of Christ vs Prudence

The Broken Column vs Siberian Ice Maiden shoulder tattoo

Transi de René de Chalon (Cadaver Tomb of René of Chalon) vs Head of Christ

The Day vs Spirit of Haida Gwaii

Eleanor Boathouse at Park 571 vs Jatiya Sangsad Bhaban জাতীয় সংসদ ভবন (National Parliament House)

Juventud de Baco (Bacchus Youth) vs Barges on the Seine

Oath of the Horattii closeup vs Visit hos Excentrisk Dam (Visit to an eccentric lady)

Set 14

Christ Crucified (With Donor) vs St. Francis

Thunder Raining Poison vs Piazza d'Italia

The Grove vs Among the Waves

Pintura Mural de Alarcón vs Sagrada Família stained-glass windows

Noonday Heat vs La Dame à la licorne (The Lady and The Unicorn)

Matroser i Gröna Lund (Sailors in Gröna Lund) vs Gielda Plakatu

Reply of the Zaporozhian Cossacks vs The Garden of Earthly Delights

Kuoleman puutarha (The Garden of Death) vs Haavoittunut enkeli (The Wounded Angel)

Set 15

i've wasted a lifetime pretending to be me vs da oracle

minus #37 vs Panel from Fun Home

Excerpt from illustrated edition of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner vs La Mort de Marat (The Death of Marat)

The Veil vs Düsseldorf 4 (Museum Kunst Palast)

Capriccio vs Zodiac calendar for La Plume

The official imperial portrait of empress dowager Cixi vs José y Maria

Blooming Lilacs vs Lágrimas De Sangre (Tears of Blood)

An Interlude vs Boy Staring at an Apparition

Set 16

Mermer Waiskeder: Stories of the Moving Tide vs The Gran Hotel Ciudad de México Art Nouveau interior

Unfinished Painting vs To Arms!

Memorial to a Marriage vs The Island

Dropping a Han Dynasty Urn vs A Few Small Nips

Saturn Devouring His Son vs Guernica

Fairy Princesses vs Lamentation over the Dead Christ

Mummy with An Inserted Panel Portrait of a Youth vs Little Girl Looking Downstairs at Christmas Party

Agnus vs The Cup Of His Murders Is Flowing Over And In His Coat Shall Be Many Curses

#art that fucks you up tournament #announcement #links are in the read more!

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thaliagracesgf · 5 months ago

Text

chapter two: the weirdo on maple street

an: chapter two!! i am flying with these first couple chapters just because i'm so excited about it. please please please do not expect this from future chapters, i am 100% bound to crash at some point. enjoy this chapter! it's pretty fun.

wc: 4.2k

general cws, not necessarily all in this chapter: drinking, alcoholism, drug abuse, smoking, cancer, hopper being kind of a deadbeat, usual canon violence.

masterlist (incl. series)

Your father didn’t get home until long after you had gone to bed, out with Will’s search party. You hadn’t bothered showing up at the meeting point. Hopper had said all he had to say back at the school, and you could see the argument that would ensue in front of half of Hawkins, so you drove home, building up an urge to do something and a nervous energy that nothing was quelling.

The door slammed behind you as you got in. You stormed through the kitchen and the junkyard you called a living room before chucking your backpack at the floor and collapsing on your bed. You stared at the ceiling for an eternal few seconds until your limbs were jumping and your entire body itched, and you jumped to your feet to pace around the room.

Slamming your way back through the house, you started pulling ingredients down from shelves with force that the box of sugar probably didn’t deserve. You think you blacked out for a few hours, because by the time your breathing was at a normal pace again, you’d baked six batches of muffins (a miraculous feat, considering the piece of shit kitchen you were working with),your calc homework for the next two weeks was done, and your bedroom looked like a tornado had run through it.

But staring at the trays of muffins, you still had to do something. So you cleaned the house. Your father arrived home to muffins covering the counters, the entire trailer spotless, and you, absolutely crashed out in your bed with wet hair, holding your sister’s old teddy bear. You’d never had a more productive afternoon in your life.

You wake up feeling like your stomach is eating itself alive, and you realize that the one thing you forgot to do last night was eat dinner. You can’t fathom the thought of getting up, so you lay still for a few more minutes. You love your room, with your quilted bed, rugs overlapping on the floor over hardwood that would give you splinters, your bulletin board with pictures of your mom and Sarah, and your Dad. A picture Carol took of you, Steve, and Tina. A photo of Carol and Tommy, and a photo of Dustin, Lucas, and Erica from the first day of school that their moms gave you. You hold Cara a little bit tighter.

You remember when the nurse gave her to your sister. You got one too, also named Cara. She handed them to you in your hospital beds, told you that she got them to remind you that they care-a-bout you. At four years old, you and Sarah thought it was the funniest thing in the world.

You close your eyes tight, then force them open. You pull the blanket back, like a robot, and roll yourself upright, pulling the curtains open. Your trailer is pretty far from the rest of the park, but you can see Eddie Munson coming back from taking out the trash, and Mrs. Kim realizing that the storm last night meant all her clothes were still soaking wet. Her son left for college last year, and you’re getting a little worried about her ability to live on her own.

You brush your teeth and tie your hair back before trudging your way out for breakfast, only to be met with the results of your frenzy from last night. The counter is still covered with muffins, minus the couple your Dad is actively chowing down on.

“These are great,” he says, mouth full of food, raising a muffin in your direction.

“Sale on pumpkins after Halloween,” you shrug. You pass him entering the kitchen, and pull out a container to start piling muffins into.

“Hey!” He barks, in his very Jim Hopper way. “Where are you taking them?”

“You do not need to eat six batches of muffins, Dad,” you say, continuing to box them up. He scoffs, offended. “I’m going to take some to school, and then to Steve’s tonight.” You really hope he just glosses over that last bit.

Unfortunately, you hear him try to speak up, but there’s too much pumpkin muffin in his mouth to be at all intelligible. He sounds alarmed. For fuck’s sake.

“Dad. I told you I had a thing tonight. I’m going, I’ve been planning on it for, like, a week.”

“Yeah, and I said you could go before a kid when missing, Y/N.” He’s raising his voice.

“I’m not stupid, Dad! I’m not going traipsing around town in the middle of the night! I’m going to Steve’s, for God’s sake.”

“And I already don’t like that idea,” he says gruffly.

“Dad, we’ve been friends since we were six, you need to get over this. He literally has a girlfriend, anyway.”

“And what about that Hagan kid?” he retorts. “I’ve had about six complaints about him in a month.”

“Also has a girlfriend. I’m driving Tina, Dad, I can’t just bail.”

“Well, she shouldn’t be going either!” he’s yelling. He’s always been this way with the idea that you might possibly, ever in your life, go on a date or hang out with boys. Naturally, you avoid this by never telling him, but he has got to get over this thing with Steve. It’s been nine years.

“For fuck’s sake,” you mutter. He ignores it.

“Yeah, you’ll be thanking me when you don’t end up dead in a ditch,” he says angrily, grabbing his hat and jacket and storming out the door.

“Well I guess we’ll never know, because I won’t have the opportunity!” you shout as it shuts behind him. Jesus Christ. You were really hoping you weren’t going to have to sneak out.

It takes almost forty five minutes for you to pick out your outfit for the day. Fall is always when your fashion is at its best, and it comes at the cost of sifting through a gigantic collection of second-hand sweaters your mom sent you from the city every morning. Finally, you clasp your earrings, grab your muffin containers, and head out the door, keys in your mouth and backpack on one shoulder. You sigh in relief as you drop them in the passenger seat, before swinging around to the other side and starting up your car, which always takes a few minutes.

You’re halfway to school when you have the idea to drop some at the Byers’ place. You certainly have enough. You pull a probably-illegal u-turn in the middle of the road, and head to the other side of town.

As you pull into their driveway, you nearly slam your head on the wheel as you see the chief’s car, i.e. your dad’s car, in front of the house. Whatever. You’re just going to have to suck it up, as little as you want to see him again this morning.

But as you walk up to the house, raised voices slow your approach.

“No, it was him, it was Will,” Joyce’s distressed voice says. “And he was scared. And then something—”

“It was probably just a prank call. It was somebody trying to scare you,” your father interrupts, and your eyes go wide as you listen, standing on the porch. Is he serious?

“Who would do that?” Jonathan asks. Has he met the people who live in this town?

“Well, this thing’s been on the TV.” Hopper says. It has? You must have missed it in your cleaning coma last night. “It brings out all the crazies, you know. False leads, prank calls, uh…”

“No, Hopper, it was not a prank. It was him,” Joyce says, with a mixture of desperation and determination to convince your father.

“Joyce.”

“Come on, how about a little trust here?” She shouts. “What, you think that I’m making this up?”

“I’m not saying that you’re making it up. All I’m saying is, it’s an emotional time for you.” He cannot be serious.

“And you think I don’t know my own son’s breathing? Wouldn’t you know your own daughter’s?” Oh.

Oh.

That hits you like a bat to the chest. Because, no, you don’t know that he would. And you don’t know if she even means you. You know she knows about Sarah, the whole of Hawkins does. You’re too used to people acting like Sarah was your parents’ only daughter, that she was all they had before she died, and it’s infuriating. She wasn’t their only daughter. She was your only sister.

The silence that follows is loud, and you decide you don’t want to hear any more. Knocking lightly, you push the door open and shuffle in. You don’t see your father around the corner, just Jonathan and Joyce standing together, Joyce with her face in her hands.

“Um… hey,” you say, your voice small. “I brought… I brought you guys some muffins. Figured you might not have eaten… or something. I’ll just… leave them here.”

You place them on the coffee table. Joyce is sniffling with her face covered, but Jonathan comes and meets you halfway.

“I can… I can grab those.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Uh… no, thank you.” He takes the container and nods awkwardly. “I’ll… um, wash this and give it to your dad… or something.”

“Yeah, no, take your time,” you don’t meet his eyes.

“I’m sure he would,” he whispers, so your parents don’t hear. You give him a confused look.

“Recognize… um…”

“Oh. Yeah. Thanks.” You’re desperate to get out of here. You give an awkward wave, and head back out the door, not addressing your father.

On the car ride to school, you can’t not think about Jonathan’s words. Why on earth would he say that? He doesn’t know you, or your Dad. You know he was trying to be nice, but what the hell does he know about Jim Hopper? It’s playing over and over through your head as you walk into school. Who the hell is Jonathan Byers?

But you’re reminded of your Dad’s fit this morning as you approach your friends.

“Ugh. Problem tonight,” you drag. “My Dad is freaking out, and I can’t drive over anymore. Unless he knocks himself out early, which I would love to count on, but can’t promise.”

Tommy dives into your muffins, making a gigantic mess that leaves you and Tina giving him a disgusted look.

“Oh, fuck,” Tina complains. I was so looking forward to it.”

“We can pick you up,” Tommy says, gesturing between himself and Carol, “but I can’t promise you’ll have a ride back.” He smirks disgustingly. Disgusting really is the best word to describe Tommy Hagan in most situations.

“Ugh. I’ll see if my sister can drive us,” Tina says as you share a worried look for yourselves. The last thing the both of you want is to be sitting downstairs while Tommy and Carol have sex for hours in Steve Harrington’s parents bed.

There’s a moment of silence, interspersed only with the loud chewing of Tommy on a muffin. “Oh my god,” you say. “Why didn’t I think of this already? I’ll just stay at your place, T. I’ll bring my car and we can go. I’ll tell my Dad we were working on a project super late, and I’m “scared to drive home”.”

“Oooooooooh,” Tommy and Carol wiggle their fingers.

“Thank god,” Steve interrupts them, shoving Tommy from the back of the head and turning to you and Tina. “I cannot do this with just them.”

“Scared, Stevie?” Tina teases him.

“Yeah, Harrington’s losing his virginity tonight,” Tommy chortles. You’re so glad he makes himself laugh, you think. He really needs someone to acknowledge the things he says.

“Oh, shut up,” Steve scowls. “Your mom knows that was a while ago.”

Wow, Tina gives you a look. Our friends are so witty.

“Speak of the devil,” Carol says as Nancy and Barb head down the hallway, flashcards in hand. Steve jumps up from his spot on the benches where you make yourselves at home (which is conveniently located under the trophy case, which his name is all over).

The rest of you follow him over, you and Tina giving each other looks as you go.

Steve snatches the flashcards out of Barb’s hands, and she trails off on her question about molecules. “Hey!”

“I don’t know, I think you’ve studied enough, Nance.”

“Steve—” she protests.

“I’m telling you, you know, you got this.” He ignores the annoyed look in her eyes. “Don’t worry. Now, on to more important matters.” He clasps the flashcards, drumming his fingers on them as he talks before pocketing them. “My dad has gone out of town for a conference, and my mom’s gone with him, ‘cause, you know, she doesn’t trust him.”

You laugh as Tommy says, “Good call.” Steve’s Dad is the biggest douchebag you’ve ever met, and considering Tommy, that’s really saying something. Credit where credit’s due, even if it is the bare minimum, he’s never cheated on Carol. Steve almost laughs too as he looks over at him.

“So, are you in?”

“In… for what?” Nancy looks genuinely lost. You would be too. Steve uses a lot of words to say very little.

“No parents? Big house?” Carol looks at her expectantly.

“A party?”

“Ding ding ding.” Tina hits her, and you hit Tommy as he laughs at Nancy.

“It’s… Tuesday.”

“It’s Tuesday,” Tommy mocks. “Oh my god,” he and Carol are both laughing.

“Dude,” you roll your eyes, making eye contact with Tina. Such a dick, you mouth.

“Come on,” Steve persists. “It’ll be low key, it’ll just be us. Are you in, or are you out?”

“Um…” Nancy’s thought is interrupted by Carol.

“Oh God. Look.” You turn your head to where she’s staring. Jonathan.

“Oh, God, that’s depressing.”

“Steve.” you glare at him. Cut it out.

“Should we say something?” Nancy asks. You feel bad for him, but you are one hundred percent out after the disaster that was this morning.

“I don’t think he speaks,” Carol smirks.

“How much you wanna bet he killed him?” Tommy snickers.

“Shut up,” Steve shoves his chest. Your eyes widen again, as if you cannot believe what you are hearing from him right now, but Tina’s laugh slips out, and you give her a pointed look. Obviously none of you are exactly great people, but you’ve never known your best friend to be cruel. Steve bites his lip as Nancy watches Jonathan, his eyes following her as she walks over to him.

You don’t hear their interaction, but if you had to guess, it seems about as awkward as yours. Tommy gives him a wave as he looks over at you.

The bell goes, and Nancy heads back over to you and your friends. Steve and Tina split for their art class, and you walk awkwardly beside Barb and Nancy as Tommy throws his arm over Carol’s shoulder.

“Attention, faculty and students,” your principal comes over the PA system. “At eight p.m. tonight, there will be an assembly on the football field in support of Will Byers and his family. All are encouraged to attend. Volunteer signups for search parties are available in the office.”

You hear the door slam behind you as Jonathan heads back outside the building.

“Where the hell are you, exactly?” Your dad is predictably furious when he answers the phone.

“Tina’s,” you reply, exasperated. “We went to the thing at school for Will, and now we’re studying for chem.”

“Didn’t you just have a test today?”

Fuck. How on earth does he manage to pay attention to the most inconvenient parts of your life? “Yeah, um. We’re working on a project. Doing some math homework too. I just… you know. Studying lumps it all together, didn’t think you wanted the details.”

You mime yourself losing your mind at Tina across her bedroom, who’s trying to hold her laughter in. Since kindergarten, she has found lying to Jim Hopper to be the funniest thing imaginable. For this reason, you’ve banished her to the opposite corner of the room until you hang up. You hope he can’t hear the wide smile in your voice.

“Dad. Please, please chill. I’m just going to stay over here tonight, I don’t want to drive in the dark.”

He looks across the trailer at the random woman that came home from the search with him, and decides that maybe it’s for the best that you aren’t here. “Fine. But you’re home by seven tomorrow night, no later.”

“Sounds great. Love you.”

“Love you too. Bye, kid.”

“Bye.” You drop the phone on the stand in relief.

“Yes!” Tina shouts.

“Tina!” you shout back, laughing and dropping your voice to a whisper. “Your parents.”

“You know they don’t care,” she grins.

“Ok, well, help me decide what to wear.” You pull out your two bikinis, although you know you want to wear the red one.

“Oh, come on,” Tina laughs at you. “First of all, it’s November—”

“His pool is heated.”

“Oh, you’re so right.” She turns and starts digging through her closet. “Second of all,” she adds, her head deep in the monster of fabric that is her wardrobe, “don’t act like I don’t know exactly why you brought that one.”

“Which one?” you ask, feigning innocence and not meeting her eyes.

“The Phoebe Cates one?”

“Shut up.”

“Ha! I knew it.”��

“Come on, just because there are no hot single guys there doesn’t mean I don’t need male validation,” you smile at her.

“You’re a terrible person,” she laughs at you.

“I know.”

She pauses. “I’m totally bringing mine, too.”

The drive over is full of trying to predict exactly how this night is going to go.

“Okay. One hundred percent Tommy pushes Carol in the pool,” Tina says, doing mascara in the passenger seat. “Hey! Easy on the road, I’m doing eye makeup over here.”

“Take it up with the mayor, or something. Fucking potholes everywhere. But, yes obviously happening. We should get in ourselves before they get the chance. This sweater cannot get wet.” You’re wearing your orange striped zippered sweater under the massive Hawkins Police jacket you stole from your father.

“You and your fucking sweaters,” Tina snorts.

You pull in in front of Steve Harrington’s massive house, definitely not running over the grass.

As you get out of the car, a shout comes from behind you. “When are you going to learn how to park?” Steve calls from his front door. You look back at your car, which is sitting diagonally half on his lawn and half on the gravel driveway.

“Oh, shut up,” you narrow your eyes at him as you push past into the house. “Raise a Little Hell” by Trooper is playing on his fancy speakers. “Have you been standing here this entire time?”

“No.”

“Yes!” Tommy calls from the back porch. “He has, it's completely and utterly lame.”

“Wow! Big word there, Tommy!”

“Yeah, your mom taught it to me.”

The doorbell rings, echoing through the house, and the speed at which Steve jumps up and runs to the front door has the four of you in the kitchen all snickering.

“Hello, ladies,” you hear, and you turn your head to see him leaning on the door. You really have to try not to laugh at him.

The scream actually hurts your ears. You and Tina are standing in the pool near the edge, gossiping and observing your friends until Tommy picks his girlfriend up and swings her over your heads.

“Tommy!” you both shriek as Carol screams.

“One!” He shouts, “Two! Three!”

“Stop it Tommy! No! Don’t!”

“You’re going to kill somebody!” You hit his ankles, and he finally puts her down as Steve comes back out from the house with his pocket knife.

You watch as he shotguns it. That sweater really suits him.

“Is that supposed to impress me?” Nancy smiles at him.

“Yes,” Tina laughs.

“Definitely.”

Steve puts his cigarette back between his lips. “You’re not?”

“You are a cliché, you do realize that.”

“You are a cliché,” he lights the cig. “What with your grades, and your band practice—”

“I’m so not in band!” Nancy shakes her head.

“Okay, party girl. Why don’t you just, uh, show us how it’s done, then?” He tosses you and Tina drinks as well, and you grab your keys from the side of the pool, putting out your cig beside them. You see Barb roll her eyes, and Tina nudges you, smirking.

“Don’t be so mean,” you whisper at her.

“What? I don’t even get why she’s here.” Carol gives the two of you a look, like right?

“You gotta make a little hole right in—”

“I got it,” Nancy brushes him off, and he raises his hands in surrender.

“Yeah, she’s smart, you douche,” Tommy chortles. He crushes his empty can against his head before tossing it at the ground.

You push yourself up out of the pool to sit on the edge. Holy shit, it’s freezing. “Here, Nance, let’s do it together,” your teeth chatter. “Like right now, too, so I can get back in.”

You cut the sides of your cans together and raise them to your lips.

“Chug. Chug, chug,” Steve starts, and the others join. “Chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, chug, chug—”

You drown them out as you finish your can before tossing it to the deck. Nancy’s done right after you, and she takes a bow. You laugh, meeting her eyes. You suddenly really hope that you can be really good friends with her.

“Barb, you wanna try?”

The rest of you look about as surprised as Barb herself. “What? No. No, I don’t want to, thanks.”

“Come on,” Nancy pushes her.

“Yeah, come on, yeah!”

“Nance, I don’t want too—”

“It’s fun! Just give it a—”

“Nance…”

“Just…” she softens her voice. “Just give it a shot.”

Barb takes the can and the knife from her, hesitantly standing up. She has an audience; Tommy and Carol look on, interested, and Nancy looks back at Steve to an apprehensive look as he raises his cig to his mouth. She struggles with the can for a second before it slips, and she cuts her hand.

She gasps. “Gnarly,” Tommy laughs, and you hit his leg again.

“Are you okay?” Nancy worries.

“Yeah,” Barb shoots back, obviously annoyed.

“Barb, you’re bleeding,” Nancy looks at her. Drops of blood hit the pool deck.

“I’m fine,” she insists. “Where’s your bathroom?” She turns to Steve.

“Oh! It’s… It’s uh, down past the kitchen, to the left.”

“Okay, thanks.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” You ask her, and she shakes her head without looking at you, walking back in the direction of the sliding glass doors. Nancy looks on, worried, as her best friend walks away and Steve points out the bathroom. Carol and Tommy are still laughing under their breath.

Carol looks up at the sky, shaking her head and enjoying the moment as Barb goes inside.

You see Tommy look her up and down, and before you have a chance to warn her he shoves her into the pool. She and Tina shriek as Tina ducks and Carol flies over her head. “Oh my god, what the hell, Tommy?” He drops his cig, grinning, and dives in after her. You jump back in with Tina, and begin to lose yourself in the splashing and screaming. Nancy laughs from the edge until Steve sneaks up behind her and pushes her in behind them, giving the most over the top jump in after her. Tommy and Carol kiss, you jump on Tina’s shoulders, and Steve grabs Nancy’s shoe and holds it away, teasing her.

You’re so unbelievably happy, here with your friends. For the next hour, all your thoughts about Will and your father are totally out the window.

“I’m freezing,” Carol shivers, wrapping herself in a towel in Steve’s living room.

“Me too, holy shit,” you laugh and dry your hair. You and Tina are the only ones in swimsuits, and you’re looking at each other like thank god you brought them. The idea of trying to peel off soaking wet, cold clothes right now makes you shudder.

“Hmm… well, I hear his mom’s room has a fireplace,” Tommy smirks.

“Are you kidding?” Steve throws his hands up and you and Tina laugh.

“Oh yeah?” Carol says, following him up the stairs.

“Okay, well, you know, you are cleaning the sheets,” Steve calls after his friend and runs a hand through his hair. “You alright?” he turns to Nancy.

“Yeah,” she smiles.

“Yeah? Come on, let’s get you some dry clothes,” he leads her through the house. You and Tina pull on your clothes, finally something resembling not freezing, and grab your bags.

You follow Nancy out to the front of the house, where she’s talking to Barb.

“Nance!” her friend calls as she starts to head up the stairs. “Nancy. Where are you going?”

“Nowhere! Just… upstairs.” Steve moves around her, back down to you and Tina.

“Here, let me grab those for you.” He takes both of you out to your car while Nancy and Barb talk. You step outside, and you’re glad that for a second it’s just the three of you. You’re trying really, really hard to sort of back away from Steve, not do any of the things you’ve always done with him that might make her uncomfortable. But you think that a little bit, you might really miss him.

As you fall asleep that night, next to Tina, you can’t keep him and that damn cigarette out of your head.

an: yay!!! chapter two!! i hope you enjoyed it. as always, any reblogs and other interactions are so highly appreciated, i love hearing what you think so so much whether in these comments or in my inbox! let me know if you would like to be added to this taglist <3

xoxo, thaliagracesgf

tags: @thisisourlovestory, @ladygrey03

#thaliagracesgf #steve harrington x reader #stranger things #steve harrington #steve harrington x hopper!reader #nancy wheeler #jonathan byers #jim hopper #stranger things fanfic #the weirdo on maple street #steve harrington slow burn #sexy to someone by thaliagracesgf #steve harrington x you #mike wheeler #dustin henderson #lucas sinclair #eleven stranger things #will byers

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