#she reads frankenstein for fun

[goldendevilsivy]

my friend is drawing my dialtown oc as part of an art trade between us i'm so excited

[queenimmadolla]

𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

(A Lisa Frankenstein, Eddie Munson AU)

next ┊ 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: After a series of unfortunate events in your life, and lonelier than ever, you often turn to a dead guy and his tombstone for comfort. Never in your wildest, fucked up dreams did you imagine he’d turn to you for the same thing, but you find yourself hiding a living corpse, bringing him further to life, reaping some justice, and cutting off a lot of body parts all while trying to fit in and falling in love.

a/n: Part One is here! Just want to say thank you to my friends for hearing me rant and rave about Lisa Frankenstein for weeks now, though I’ve been unbearable with this concept in my head. This will be the longest chapter, just to establish some stuff, but we’ll get to the slaying! Hope you love Undead!Zombie!Eddie as much as I do. Happy reading! (p.s.,there will be some romantic smut in a later part)

Chapter warnings: a bit steve harrington x reader, some eddie munson x other female, death of a family member, brief description of SA (bordered with RED DIVIDERS if you’d like to skip), mistreatment of Reader, suicidal ideation (reader just has dark humor), implied murder, very campy, very cunty.

THEN, 1986.

  “Where you head’n too so in a hurry, boy?” Wayne Munson asked, sat on the couch with a mug of steaming hot coffee in one hand and the television remote in the other as he watched his nephew bounce around the trailer, grabbing all of the the items he let haphazardly around. 

  Wayne always told him to pick up his things, but like the rambunctious boy he was, there was no breaking out of his messy habits.

  “I got people to see, pops. Things to do. Trouble to ‘cause, cops to anger, you know the drill.” Eddie didn’t even need to turn around to know his uncle was scowling but he was proven correct when he turned to throw his father figure a shit eating grin over his shoulder, “Kidding, old man. Mom had me baptized when I was a baby, remember? I can do no wrong, like Achilles.” 

  “Wha’?”

  “Ugh, dad. If I have to explain the joke, it ruins it. I’ll be back by dinner, alright?”

  Wayne fixed him with a pointed look, “You best be on your best behavior, you hear me?”

  “Always.” Eddie gave a mock salute before dipping out the front door, still grinning as he tossed the keys of the van and caught them midair. 

  While he wasn’t necessarily going to cause trouble, he certainly would be providing the fun grass, powder and pills that were often behind it. Eddie knew Wayne was aware of what he did, had implied so when talking about how he knew Eddie was a good kid, just living in the wrong circumstances sometimes. Always said he wanted nothing but the best for his boy and for Eddie to realize he was meant for more than what this particular town forced on him. 

  Made Eddie’s chest tight, but seeing things like the broken patio board—Eddie had accidentally stomped through it after seeing a spider—reinforced Eddie’s belief that he’d much rather help out any way he could than let his uncle bear the financial weight of providing for him. 

  The van roared to life, after sputtering for a good seven seconds, and Eddie revved the engine a little. As he let her warm up, something in the side mirror caught his attention. 

  Someone. 

  Sheila. His neighbor in the trailer across the street. She was hauling a box to a car, looked rather heavy and Eddie would have dropped everything to scramble over and help her, had it not been for Mr.Brawn at her side. 

  Eddie watched as the guy, who stole the girl he was in love with right out of his arms, grabbed the box. The two lovers exchanged words which ended with them laughing at something as she followed him to the car.

  He slid the box into the packed car as she climbed into the passenger seat, and before Eddie knew it, he was watching her drive away, right out of his life forever.

  Eddie hadn’t even realized he was clutching his steering wheel so tight, his knuckles were straining against the skin, hot tears pooling at his waterline but he refused to let them fall. He’d shed more than enough tears over her, over what could have been.

  They started off so promising; throwing flirty waves from their bedroom windows, occasionally at school, before she approached him for weed. After that, came the whirlwind romance and Eddie hadn’t considered himself a romantic before—hadn’t had a whole lot of opportunities to make that discovery but he was so fucking romantic. A big sap. And he wasn’t ashamed of it. 

  Until she’d graduated, and he hadn’t. Again. Turns out, not trying at academics all year and then aiming to ace finals wasn’t enough. 

  Suddenly, all the bullshit naive plans they had to run away somewhere far from Hawkins weren’t possible. At least, Sheila couldn’t with Eddie. 

  He lost her to a guy in another band, had made the mistake of taking a piss after he and Corroded Coffin performed to their tiny ass crowd, and had come back to see her talking to the keyboardist of the band that had gone on before them. She looked entranced, leaning forward to hang on to whatever the fuck he was saying. When Eddie had gone over to ask her if she was ready to head out, fully prepared to tuck her under his arm and way from the keyboardist, she’d insisted and told him to his face, in front of his apparent competition, that she was gonna stick around a little longer and he should head out without her.

  He’d spent the entire night pacing in front of his window, glancing out of it every five minutes and every time he heard a pair of wheels turn onto the dirt road. Eddie got his confirmation when his car happened to be one of them. He’d watched, heart splintering, as the keyboardist got out of the car and walked around to open her door for her before they disappeared into her trailer. Eddie knew her dad worked nights. Knew what she and that musician were doing and he’d thrown up the entire contents of his stomach at the imagery before passing out.

  Eddie woke up to Sheila hovering above him and framed by the glow of the bathroom light like some angel. She’d dumped him right there and left the spare key he’d trusted her with on the table.

  And now, she was living her dream with someone else while Eddie got to stick around this shitty town with these people who could barely stand him for no reason (and yeah, okay, maybe he’d poke their buttons). In truth, while he was a little heartbroken over her, it was the fact that she still got her happy ending that hurt the most.

  The girls around Hawkins might have been interested in maybe hooking up with him, but they weren’t interested in being Eddie’s girl. Weren’t interested in falling stupid in love with him, making plans to start a life together. Didn’t want him in their plans.

  Eddie Munson was lonely. And it sucked.

  With a heavy sigh, he cranked on the radio, fingers twisting the volume dial up to the most obnoxious level before shifting the gear to drive.

  “It’ll get better, Munson. Love ain’t no stranger.” He mumbled, sucking on his teeth and pulling out on the road.

  If he had known then where it would lead him, where the night would take him, he would have at least hugged his uncle. It would be the last time he saw him, and it would be the last time Wayne Munson saw his nephew alive.

  Three days later, he’d be identifying and weeping over his boy’s body in the morgue after reporting Eddie missing when he didn’t come home.

  NOW, 1989

  “Where are you going? It’s almost time for breakfast.” Chrissy called out, head poking out from her bedroom as she watched you race down the hall.

  “Not hungry! I’ll be back soon!” You called over your shoulder, the large sheet of craft paper wrinkling in your hand as you took the stairs two at a time before bounding down the short entryway.

  You’d almost crossed the foyer and then slammed yourself back against the wall as you saw Laura, Chrissy’s mom, fiddling with something at the table. She had the radio on, some garbage self help tape spewing nonsense to her, and that condescending smile on her face.

  Yeah, you’d be avoiding her, lest you wish to be verbally and eloquently belittled. How Chrissy came out of her toxic womb to be such a good person, you’d never understand. 

  When Laura crossed into the kitchen, you sprinted for the door, fumbling a little with the knob in your urgency, but once you got it open, you were out, running across the walkway and the fencing around the house until you were in the woods behind it.

  Only then did you feel safe, the trees a welcome reprieve from your living situation, the magnifying glass this new town had you under, and from the world in general.

  You’d come from a small town before Hawkins, so you were used to small town living. But these people were so judgemental. You hadn’t even grabbed a box from the moving van before your neighbors were casting you snide looks, noses turning up and backs to you as they watered their yard and lounged about.

  Four months later, nothing had changed. If anything, they were more open with their disdain for you, commenting on your demeanor (and you were a cool fucking person), outfits, hair, body. It was annoying. They were annoying. EVERYTHING was annoying. 

  You didn’t even want to be there but you had no real choice. You’d graduated high school a couple of years ago and despite the popular teenage notion that you’d simply pack up your things, go to college and be successful at whatever career you wanted, life did not happen like the movies. The freedom you’d been promised by your own delusions never came. That bitch came with a hefty price tag and you weren’t exactly jumping into a safe of gold coins like Scrooge McDuck with your minimum wage job. 

  You’d gotten into several schools of your choice, but scholarships wouldn’t be nearly enough to cover it, and you’d literally have to sell your entire body to science if you wanted to be able to afford the loans you were being offered, since their interest rates were higher than the standard human beings’ lifespan. 

  So, living with the ‘rents was checked off on your list of things you didn’t want to continue doing past your high school graduation. And hey—you were only 19 years-old! You were still young! Just save up a few years, and maybe one day you’d be able to think about taking a loan. You had time. What could possibly go wrong to throw your plans off?

  Your mother was murdered.

  Yeah, that was a bummer. Could’ve been worse, you supposed. You could have died with her, when your home had been broken into, and sometimes you wish you had. Alas, you were still breathing, albeit extremely traumatized. But only good ol’ mom was six feet in the ground, in an entirely different town, because your father had also moved on a mere few months after her death, with the worst woman to leave flaming footprints on the earth’s crust, and they’d eloped after like six dates before moving you to a town where you knew no one.

  Thinking about it actually made you sick and feel a little delusional. 

  The only real good thing about your entire soap opera of a year was the community college you’d been able to enroll in. You had no real idea what you wanted to do in life, had no real drive for career paths, but you were doing something, and that something kept the she-devil that was your stepmother off your back. Most of the time. Some of the time. She couldn’t say you were a deadbeat yet.

  Chrissy, your sweet to a definitive and insensitive fault step-sister had pushed you into going with her for registration. Convinced you it was the perfect way to make some friends. It was hard to say no to Chrissy, she had a way with people and could make the meekest soul feel like they were capable of anything and everything. She could always see the best in people, and she was outgoing. Your time in Hawkins had been brief, but you’d easily gathered Chrissy was popular, a former cheerleader (and she’d successfully tried out for the community college team) and beloved by all. While part of you felt a little jealous at her confidence, you admired her more. She was never intentionally mean to you, either. She made the occasional comment, but it seemed like Chrissy had more so a filter problem, rather than spitting anything out with sugar coated hostility like her mother. Chrissy was...nice. After everything you've been through, you could use a little nice in your life.

  And sometimes nice was also the woods behind your house, as it led to the Hawkins’ Cemetery. 

  Morbid, sure, but you couldn’t help yourself. After a particularly nasty encounter with Laura the first week of your Hawkins sentence, and feeling lonelier than you’d ever felt before, you’d gone for a walk, tears decorating your face with wet trails as you tried to physically hold yourself together, arms wrapped around yourself. 

  You’d arrived at the cemetery, and because you couldn’t pay your mother a visit, you decided the only decent thing to do was visit other lonely souls.

  You’d stopped to pay your respects to just about every tombstone and plaque, but one in particular caught your attention.

  Tucked away in a corner and separate from the other graves, under a weeping willow, was the most damaged tombstone of them all. Parts of it were broken off, a lot of the information pertaining to the individual underneath it was seemingly grated off. You had no idea who it was, the only remaining legible letters were MUN and you figured it was he simply because you’d taken some paper to the tombstone for etching and ran a black crayon over it. You’d been able to make out the word ‘he’ on the paper and deduced it had once read may he rest in peace. 

  The state of his tombstone surprised you, given how recent the date of death was. While his birth date had also been worn away, the year of death—1986–had been left. It was 1989. No way his grave should’ve looked like that.

  Apparently, even the groundskeeper avoided his part of the cemetery. The grass around his grave was overgrown, and pitiful. So, you’d gone home, grabbed the lawn mower, and pushed it all the way over. You’d ended up disgusting, covered in grass, dirt and sweating like a cheater on a Sunday morning, but his grave was looking better. You’d taken to caring for his grave after that. A bunch of your trinkets and things you'd seen that you immediately thought he’d like surrounded him now and you’d even planted some bluebells. 

  He also made surprisingly good conversation, even though he never talked to you. His presence, while mostly imaginary to you, was comforting. 

  So, during any free time you had, you were sat against his tombstone, chatting about your day, life, whatever you wanted. Felt like he was always listening, no matter the subject and it was really lovely to be heard.

  When you arrived at the cemetery, it was practically vacant, with just the red headed girl you normally saw. You didn’t see her all the time, she was just one of the faces you saw the most, and that was only a handful of occasions. For the most part, Hawkins didn’t seem keen on remembering the dead. 

  “Hope you haven’t been lonely without me,” You greeted as you approached his tombstone, ducking under a few low hanging willow branches that still brushed over you anyways. You’d have to ‘borrow’ Laura’s shears soon, the willow tree was hauntingly beautiful around his grave, but you wanted its branches and leaves to frame his grave, not conceal it, “I missed you.”

  It was a little odd, but you did. 

  When you weren’t at his grave, you were thinking about him, trying to put a face to MUN, wondering what his life had been like. Did he have any loved ones? What had his interests been? How had he died? Had he felt as lonely as you did?

  “I know, I know.” You settled onto the grass in front of his tombstone, securing the craft paper to his tombstone with some masking tape, “I was just here last night.” You imagined he would say.

  “I just can’t stay away from you. You have a very intriguing aura: I can’t see it because you’re dead, and that makes me want to know you more.” You pulled a black crayon from your pocket and went about scribbling on the paper, over where you knew MUN would be etched in stone, “I’ve said it a million times, and you’ve probably turned over in your coffin repeatedly because of it, but you’re the only one who understands me. And you’re the only one here that I care about—probably in the whole world actually, except maybe Chrissy but I know her friends think I’m weird, and I don’t want to drag her down with me.”

  Once the letters appeared on the paper, you sprawled out STER and you dropped the crayon to produce a pretty hot pink marker from your pocket instead, signing your name with a little heart to go with it just above the last name you’d crafted for him.

  The odds of this dude being a Munster were slim to none, but you thought it was fitting for someone who lived in a cemetery.

  You sat back on your haunches to admire it, it was a cute piece. Would look nice on your wall and whenever you missed him and found yourself longing to be near his grave, all you’d have to do is turn on your side and you'd be able to see part of him. 

  You ripped the paper off his tombstone, and weighed it down on the grass with a rock. With that out of the way, you gave him your full attention, shuffling until your head and shoulder were leaning against the stone, “Would you wanna be dragged down with me? Be seen with me? I’m somewhat of a pariah around here. Did you have better luck when you were still kicking?”

  You figured with how fucked up his tombstone had been, probably not. You imagined he’d confirm it, too. Just out right say, ‘Nah, these assholes hated me.’

  “Yeah, looks like we’re two peas in a pod.” Then you glanced down, fingers, twirling the blades of grass over his grave, “Or, you know. Casket.”

  You let silence fall over you, broken only by the chirping of birds in surrounding trees.

  “Goddamit, why do you have to be dead?” Your eyelids fluttered close, and instead of the cold stone, you imagined your head pressed against a warm chest, rising and falling with breaths, and a heartbeat thumping strong below your ear, pushing blood throughout his body. Imagined he was alive, arms slipping around you, firm and strong to hold you together so you didn't have to anymore.

  But he wasn’t, and you were reminded when the groundskeeper shouted, “HEY!”

  You shot up, glancing around until you saw him by the entrance with a leaf blower, “YOU AWAKE?”

  What kind of a dumbass question was that? Sure, it had looked like you were asleep but you were clearly alert now.

  “YEAH!” You shrieked back to be heard, and he went back to not caring. 

  “He can see me leaning against your tombstone, but he can’t see overgrown grass, weeds, rocks, or your grave in general when I’m not here. Men, always so selective, amirite?”

  You glanced at the stone, half expecting it to respond. “Eh, what do you know, you’re just a man, too.” You reached your arm back, knuckles trailing over MUN.

  “Despite you mouthing off to me most of the time, I brought you something.” You reached into your other pocket and pulled out a necklace, lined with black pearls and a cross pendant. It had been your mother’s. While she had a pension for religion, it wasn’t something you thought about. Dying, sure, but whatever afterlife? Not so much. Felt wrong, sometimes, to carry it around with you—felt like you were disrespecting her a little bit to not believe what she did, even though she had no qualms with it when she was alive. So, you figured why not trust it with the other important person in your life?

  “Pretty, huh? It was my mom’s. She’s dead, like you. You wouldn’t happen to have seen her around, would you?” You joked, fingers stroking over the pearls. There was no risk in leaving them with your dead friend, people avoided him and you had a feeling even grave robbers wouldn’t dare step near the willow, so they’d probably be with him for the rest of eternity, “I want you to have them, take care of them for me.”

  You placed the necklace over the peak of his tombstone, smiling when they didn’t fall from their place, “Mm, you look good in them. Better than I do, I’m not big on pearls. More of a silver jewelry kind of girl. I could do gold and diamonds, though, only for a wedding ring.”

  You held your arm out, admiring your ring hand void of any actual rings, “Nothing too gaudy, of course. That’s what my earrings are for.” 

  Your eyes trailed from your outstretched fingers, to your wrist, and the watch decorating it. The time made you heave a heavy sigh, “I gotta go. Chrissy’s dragging me to a party tonight, so I’ve got to mentally prepare for that. You’ll think of me while I’m away, won’t you?”

  Trailing a finger down the stone, you leaned forward to press your lips to it in a sweet kiss. 

  “I’ll be back soon, and this time I won’t forget my book of sonnets. I know how much you love the cynical poems I force on you.”

  And though you announced your departure, you found it hard to leave him, like you always did. It took all you had to gather your crayon, marker, and your new poster (and you kept dropping all three to have an excuse to linger) and leave the cemetery behind, glancing back impulsively every couple of steps until it was no longer in view, and the moment it wasn’t you wanted to drop everything and run back to him.

  You had to remind yourself he was a stranger, who didn’t care for you, rotting in the ground. And it sucked. 

  “I don’t wanna go.” You announced, staring into the bathroom mirror you shared with Chrissy. You’d just finished your makeup, eyes heavily lined, and lashes coated an electric blue that made your eyes pop. You were always a little heavy handed with your makeup, you figured the whole point of it was to use it as you wanted. Your hair had been manipulated to hell and back, but regardless of what you did, you were unsatisfied with the girl staring back at you, “I’ll just stay home.”

  “Not on my watch!” Chrissy declared, reaching in front of you for her pink lipstick. The bathroom counter was littered with your combined beauty products, “This is the first major rager of the year, the perfect social gathering. You need to meet people, sissy.” 

  You scowled at the idea, “I have met people.”

  Chrissy tubed the lipstick bullet, rubbing her lips together as she gave you a concerned side-eye, “People who like you, sissy.”

  Ouch, there’s that brutal honesty.

  “It’s not good for you to be on your own all the time,” She set the lipstick down so she could place a dainty hand on your shoulder, big blue eyes focused on you, “I worry about you. Daddy and mom worry about you. Your doctor worries about you. You need to get out more.” Chrissy stressed, pink lips pulling into a reassuring smile before she went back to focusing on the mirror and her makeup.

  You let out a heavy sigh, mulling her words over. Definitely could have been phrased better, but Chrissy was right. You were currently the town recluse, and occupying your room and the town cemetery wouldn’t change that. 

  “That blush isn’t the right shade for you, sissy.” Chrissy broke you from your thoughts and your eyes drifted back over to your reflection, the girl looking so unsure and right back at you, “You really have to accentuate your features, compliment them, because you’re already beautiful.” 

  Didn’t feel like it.

  Your expression must have given your inner thoughts away because Chrissy turned to you again, practically bouncing, “Wait a minute, you could use my tanning bed!”

  You deadpanned at the mention of the ridiculous full on salon tanning bed that Chrissy owned. There was a dedicated mini garage in the backyard for it, next to the pool, and complete with neon lights, her beauty pageant trophies and sashes as well as her cheer trophies. The PG&E bill was always through the roof for the Tan Shack alone, and you still had no idea how Laura could afford it.

  “No, Chrissy I-I don’t think that would work on me. At all.”

  Chrissy waved off your concerns, “It’s not about the tan, or even if you can tan. It’s the experience. When I lay in that tanning bed, with those little goggles on my eyes and I can hear the buzzing, I feel myself blooming. Regardless of whether or not my skin actually tans,” It didn’t. Chrissy burned but she somehow still looked good, “I feel amazing about myself.”

  “Are you sure that’s not cancer?”

  “You’re so funny!” Chrissy laughed even though you were being serious, “Sissy, every girl deserves to feel beautiful. If I can provide you with an experience that might raise those confidence levels that are dragging across a nail-covered floor right now, why wouldn’t I?”

  Your eyebrows furrowed, trying to decipher if that was a compliment or not, but you didn’t have long to mull it over before Chrissy was framing your face with her hands. 

  “And I can. Please, let me do this.”

  You groaned, long and drawn out and awkward, before squeezing your eyes shut and slowly nodding your head. She squealed, clapped her hands together and dragged you out of the bathroom.

  After explaining how it all worked, Chrissy bid you a cheerful goodbye and left you to your own devices so she could finish getting ready for the night ahead of you both.

  You’d selected your tan level, positive you wouldn’t see any real results but maybe the ‘experience’ would benefit you and shed your fuzzy slippers and robe, leaving you in some boy shorts and a tank top as you tried to settle yourself in the tanning bed. The dip was awkward, and you couldn’t get a good grasp on the top of the tanning bed since it was meant to only open and close rather than stay in position so grasping onto it for balance as you lowered yourself in led to you conking yourself on the head with a noticeable bonk.

  You hissed in pain, rubbing the sore area as you clambered the rest to the way in. Once you’d stretched your legs out, lowered the top, maneuvered the goggles over your face and waited for the magic to happen as you were surrounded by neon blue lights.

  You heard the buzzing as the tanning bed started up. The magic happened alright. The entire tanning bed shocked you, and you shrieked as you felt the intense electric current ripple throughout your body, sparking every single pore in the worst way possible.

“I’m so sorry you got electrocuted, sissy.”

  Chrissy broke the silence as you sulked in the passenger seat, your hair a little bigger than normal and not a result of styling. After getting all five senses shocked out of you, you’d come out with a hairdo that would not usually be up to par with you, and some serious case of static electricity. You’d tried to gently press your hair down and when you saw a literal spark in it, you decided to just leave it alone.

  Your step-sister had been apologizing since.

  “It’s alright. I survived.” And you wanted to forget about it. 

  You could see Chrissy glancing nervously at you from the corner of your eye as she drove you to the party location.

  “So…how are you liking Hawkins Community, so far?” She asked, thankfully changing the subject. 

  “It’s fine. The campus looks relatively the same as the community college I toured in my old town. Classes are decent.” Pitiful. The classes were so boring and straight out of the book, but it cost you a fraction of a fraction of what you’d have to pay to attend a university. 

  Chrissy lips turned up in a mischievous smile and you internally groaned, fully expecting her next question.

  “See any cute boys?” And then, as an afterthought, “Or…girls?” Then she took her eyes off the road again, squinting at you as if she was trying to assess something, “Or…..anyone?” 

  You betrayed yourself, eyes darting to the window before they were back on her and she perked up in the driver’s seat. 

  “Okay, spill.”

  Your heart started thumping wildly in your chest as one particular guy came to mind, but you hadn’t thought about him too much. Hadn’t allowed yourself to entertain the idea of a romance with him. That’s how people got their hopes up and letdown.

  “Sissy! Sissy, come on. You have to tell me. I’m your only friend!” 

  This time, you could tell she was joking, even though she did have merit. You bit your lip as she ribbed you a bit more, the corners of your lips tugging up into a smile. 

  “Okay, okay!” Your hands flew to cover your face, embarrassed, shy and a little giddy all at once to actually be admitting you had a crush. 

  “Steve Harrington.”

  “STEVE HARRINGTON?” She repeated, incredulous and you shushed her even though it was only you two in the car.

  “Sissy, that’s so unexpected! I haven’t really seen him since high school but I didn’t think he’d be your type.” Chrissy admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

  “He works in the library.” You sighed out, recalling your brief interactions with him when checking out a couple of books. He’d been kind, made a couple of humorous comments about the titles, and always tried to meet your avoidant gaze, which meant he was being nice to you. Coaxing you out of your shell. You actually didn't have much trouble interacting with people, you were more abrasive than you ever were shy, Steve was just a little too easy on the eyes. Made you forget how to talk, and on occasion, walk. It was embarrassing, “Always makes those cute displays with recommendations.”

  “Good for him,” She commented, sounding impressed. “I didn’t really know he was intellectual. Wasn’t, the last I heard. Had a big reputation in high school, seemed kind of mean and everyone called him King Steve.”

  You frowned, feeling the need to protect him, “Didn’t they call you the Queen of Hawkins High?”

  “Yeah, but only to make me seem pretentious.” 

  You raised your eyebrows, glancing away. Chrissy was kind, but sometimes, she could be pretentious.

  “And anyways, I’m not a student at Hawkins High anymore, so they can’t call me that. Maybe Steve really did change. Come to think of it, I haven’t heard much about him since he struck out with a series of girls. Maybe he took a good look at himself and decided a change was needed.” You could feel her eyes on you again. 

  “Does he flirt with you?”

  “No.”

  “See him flirt with any girls?”

  “Nope.”

  “Does he still make his hair all big and poofy?”

  “Looks more voluminous than poofy.”

  Chrissy hummed, “An improvement. Is he all beret wearing and drinking coffee now?”

  You tried to recall ever seeing him in a hat, let alone a beret, “No, I don’t think so. If anything, he’s introspective.”

  “He’s on the spectrum?”

  Your smile waned when you realized she was asking a legitimate question, “Oh. No. That’s—that’s not what that means. I just meant he’s thinking about what he does; how he acts, how he behaves.”

  It got quiet for a few moments.

  ”Well,” Chrissy broke the silence once more, “He might be there tonight. I’m not sure if they’re still friends, but Tommy Hagan is hosting tonight, and once upon a time, they were inseparable.”

  You made a sound of acknowledgment, upper lip twitching in disgust. You knew Tommy, saw him around campus. He was a big jerk, you’d witnessed him throw some guy’s backpack in the trash and pour his drink on it. You wish you’d known it was his party you were going to in advance. Tommy was a nasty piece of work, so his friend group was the same. Out of all of them, though, Carol got on your nerves the most. 

  She didn’t pay you a whole lot of attention, but when you were walking in with Chrissy—and this is Chrissy, so she acknowledged everyone—and she said hi, Carol would just look you up and down before pursing her big mouth like she’d sucked on something sour. One day, you’d like to give her your fist to suck on.

  ”Patrick McKinney is bringing three kegs and I heard Reefer Rick is bringing his whole inventory.”

  “Reefer Rick?”

  “Yeah, he’s the local drug dealer now. I mean, he’s always been but he used to have somebody sell for him while he supplied, but he died.”

  Your eyes widened while your pupils dilated, mind conjuring up some image of a poor dude being murdered for drugs and then the supplier just taking over, not fearful at all of meeting the same fate, “He died?”

  Chrissy nodded her head, looking thoughtful, “Yeah, Eddie Munson.”

  Munson.

  You sat up in your seat, fully alert and invested in the conversation now, “Eddie Munson? Is he buried under the willow tree in the cemetery?”

  You stared at Chrissy, willing her to think faster as she squinted and pursed her lips, “I think Tina mentioned something about someone peeing on a tree over there, so I think so.”

  Your mouth dropped open, expression utterly horrified that someone could do that, “That’s beastly, what the fuck?”

  “I know,” Chrissy sighed with a shake of her head. “I didn't know him all that much, bought some weed off of him a couple of times and he seemed a little scary—appearance and mannerism wise—but he seemed nice when you had to interact with him. He didn’t deserve that.”

  “How did he die?” You asked, voice small and heart shrinking. You didn’t like where this was going. Didn’t like it one bit.

  “Well, the official determination, if I remember right, was like a drug deal gone bad or something, but no one really believes it. He was known to have weed on him, kept the harder stuff somewhere else. Everyone knows he was murdered. They did a number on him, it was all everyone could talk about because Sydney Porter couldn’t even get her dad—he worked at the station—to show her pictures. He told her they messed Eddie up bad. People here really didn’t like him. No one knows who did it though.”

  You sunk back into your seat, mind troubled and stomach turning. This whole time, you'd been tending to and caring for the grave of a murdered guy, taken from this world simply because people didn’t like him. He must have been so lonely. So scared. And they killed him.

  Chrissy was wrong. People in this town knew who killed him, because one of them, or some of them, had to have been his murderers.

  Your fingers curled into tight fists, painted nails digging into the flesh of your palms. Chrissy noticed the change in your demeanor.

  “Oh, sissy. You’re such an empath. Don’t be so sad, I know it’s a horrible story, but he’s resting now. In peace.”

  “No, he’s not. They fucked up his tombstone. He can’t even be dead in peace.” You huffed, furious on his behalf.

  “How do you know?” Chrissy asked, raising a perfectly plucked eyebrow. 

  “I go there a lot, it’s nice. Quiet. A little creepy, but that adds to its charm, makes it relatively peaceful. I’ve been visiting all the graves, but I was drawn to him the most. Etched his tombstone. He’s my favorite.”

  Despite the horrors you’d learned, the thought of Mun—Eddie, still brought a wistful smile to your lips. Maybe your presence was enough to settle him, bring him a little bit of peace this town and the people in it refused to give him.

  “H-He’s your favorite…?”

  “Yeah. I feel this….connection with him. From the very first time I visited. Now, I leave him gifts, flowers, pretty stones, poems I wrote, a book of sonnets I stole from the library.”

  “You….should talk to your doctor about this, Sissy. That’s really weird. That’s really weird, sissy.”

  You fought to not roll your eyes. As much as you cared about Chrissy, and knew she cared about you, she didn’t understand you. 

  “Well, since people ruined his grave, I thought it might be nice to clean it up and make sure he’s not forgotten.” You snapped, “It’s not like I call him my boyfriend or anything.”

  Chrissy eyed you skeptically, “Well, then that’s nice of you, I guess. Just don’t go around telling everybody about that, or you’ll be known as the Ghost Whisperer.”

  “He hasn’t talked back to me yet.”

  Chrissy laughed, and freed one hand off the wheel to lightly slap your arm, “See, now that’s funny. If you do tell anyone, end it with that joke. You’ll be a riot.”

  You smirked, staring out the front windshield. You’d let her think it was a joke. For now.

  You made a sound of displeasure as Chrissy pulled into a clear space on the grass and parked. She jumped out to dance over to her friends, some wine coolers cradled in a plastic bag she clutched.

  You allowed yourself a full minute to stew in your misery before getting out of the car and following after her. As you neared her group, you quickly realized that was a bad idea. 

  “Oh my GOD! Vickie, you fixed your teeth! They look so good. I wasn’t gonna say anything because I thought you were happy with the overcrowding, but now that you fixed it, I can’t look away!”

  Yeesh. You beelined away from them and wandered around the crowded front lawn, dodging rowdy friend groups and couples until you spotted a cooler.

  Maybe a drink would calm you down.

  You squatted down and popped the lid, digging around the ice but all you spotted were Pepsi and Squirt cans.

  “The liquid fun is inside.” A guy’s voice came from behind you and you rolled your eyes. You were so not in the mood to be hit on right now. 

  “What?” You asked, tone bored, but you didn’t want to make him seem helpful so you grabbed a Squirt.

  “Alcohol. He keeps it inside.”

  You slammed the cooler shut and popped the tab of the can, rising to your feet, “Yeah, I figured that mu—shhhh.”

  Oh, shit. 

  Steve Harrington was standing before you, eyes alight with mirth as he smirked down at you.

  You swallowed hard, hoping to god your tongue hadn’t gone down with the movement. See? Here you went getting all stupid around him.

  ”Funny seeing you here.”

  You laughed nervously, “Yeah. I—uh, mhm.” You forced yourself to take a drink of your soda to keep from making an even bigger fool of yourself.

  “Sorry if it’s weird of me to just walk up to you. I was chilling on the side of the house and thought I saw you, but I’m a little nearsighted and I didn’t bring my glasses.”

  You pulled the can away from your mouth as your brain registered the lack of metal frames on the bridge of his nose. He looked handsome with and without them, that wasn’t fair. It was still throwing you off. 

  “It’s—It’s okay. Uhm, no harm done.” You shrugged your shoulders, hoping it looked cool and not as stiff as you felt. You even added in a smile with some teeth for a little razzle dazzle.

  “I actually came over here to tell you your books are significantly overdue.” Steve deadpanned, tongue playing with his canine tooth as he scrutinized you and you shrunk, smile falling from your face. You had got to get better at following up on your due dates.

  “Oh.”

  He scoffed, face breaking out into a grin as his shoulders shook with his chuckles “I’m kidding.”

  OH, THANK FUCK. 

  “Oh,” And then, because every god probably hates you, you started snorting with laughter. You cut that shit quick, clearing your throat as you took another sip of your beverage.

  “So,” Steve took a step closer to you, “Are you enjoying─”

  “Hey!” Carol stepped right up to Steve, practically leaning all over him as her ruby red lips spread into a seductive smile, eyes lidded and no doubt a few drinks in with a drink for Steve in her hand. For the billionth time that night, you rolled your eyes, trying not to gag at how desperate she was. You knew Tommy had recently dumped her, the entire town knew and now she was clearly trying to get into Steve’s pants, “I found the keg.”

  She could eat shit, his pants were yours.

  “Oh, Thank you.” Came Steve’s bleak reply and part of you thought he might have actually wanted to talk to just you. Now, you were really annoyed she’d interrupted.

  “Hey, Carol.”

  Carol looked surprised that you’d even dare speak to her, raising her eyebrows, “Hey. Hi— sorry, how do we know each other?”

  “You’re my lab partner.” You were unimpressed, you expected her to be a better mean girl. 

  “Yay me.” The smile she directed at you was anything but friendly, reminding you of the one Laura would make after you did something in public she didn’t like, but she couldn’t yell at you until you were home. Carol swirled the liquid in her cup around, head tilting as she offered it to you, “You wanna sip, partner?”

  “Carol.” Steve warned and she tutted, flicking her wrist.

  “You’re right, I don’t know why I assumed she partied.”

  “I’ll take a beer,” You could handle alcohol, had cleared your mother’s wine cabinet after she was murdered, so this would be no big deal.

  Carol looked annoyed but handed you the cup, and to make sure you wouldn’t gag and vomit, you threw it back, throat opening as you swallowed the liquid as fast as you could to refuse it as much time on your taste buds as possible.

  When you lowered the cup, you realized you’d made a mistake and glanced into it at the small amount left behind, watching as the ground in your peripheral view began to shift.

  Steve seemed to realize something was wrong, quickly taking your cup and ingesting what was left. His suspicions were confirmed and he spat it out on the grass before scowling at Carol, “PCP? Really, Carol? What the fuck is wrong with you? Why the hell would you give that to her!?”

  “Oopsie.”

  But it was too late for you. You dropped the soda can in your other hand and lifted your hands to your face, watching the lines around your palms and fingers begin to move, swirling around and you backed away from them, watching as everything around you began to come undone.

  “Hey!” You heard a voice next to you and someone started rubbing your back, you hadn’t even realized you were crouching. You craned your head up to see Chrissy and you frowned. Her voice was so different, distorted. She sounded more like your dad than Chrissy. 

  Her face was both far away and right in front of you, you reached a hand out to test the theory, see if it really was close. Chrissy caught your wrist, frowning at the state you were falling into.

  Chrissy started asking you questions, about what you’d taken, what you drank but her voice was too loud for you, and the purple behind her head was distracting. Still, you nodded your head.

  At your confirmation, Chrissy’s frown intensified and she helped you to the ground before darting over to chew Steve and Carol out.

  You couldn’t stay on the grass for long, the blades of it stabbing you and sending pain shooting up your palms and into your bones so you crawled some distance away before you managed to push yourself up and stumble towards the house. It was hard.

  Everything was moving. You heard a loud sound and glanced around wildly until you were staring up at the sky, mouth dropping open to see green clouds and lightning. 

  You had to get away, the need to escape, be safe was urgent but it felt like the closer you got to the front door, the farther away it went. Your breathing was heavy and panicked as you kept stumbling forward, arm outstretched and finally you reached it.

  You yanked it open and nearly fell inside, tripping over your feet until you hit the back of the couch and used it to sink to the floor.

  You heard your name being called and lifted your head, eyes crazed as you tried to find the source. Fred Benson approached you, the skinny boy squatting to be eye level with you.

  “You okay?” He asked and you reached forward, grasping his face in your hand and squeezing to make sure he was a real person.

  “You.” Was all you said, booping his nose but still suspicious of him. Was he real?

  “Uh, yeah. It’s me. It’s Fred, we sit next to each other in ASL class.”

  He looked like Fred. You still didn’t believe he was human, squinting as your hands grasped at the back of the couch.

  “You don’t look so good,” Fred pushed the frame of his glasses up his nose, brows furrowed in concern, “Let's find somewhere for you to sit down for a minute. Or maybe a while. Man, what did you drink?”

  He stood up, offering you a hand and you took it but didn’t pull yourself up. Fred heaved with all his might and managed to get you on your feet but he realized just walking you wouldn’t be enough, and so did you because you draped yourself over him, one arm over his scrawny shoulders.

  Fred cursed under his breath but held your weight, leading you out of the populated living room and you watched a couple furiously make out on the couch cushions as you passed.

  “I hate parties. I don’t know why I came—well, actually I do. I never got invited to these in high school, so I guess I’m living out my fantasy now. In all honesty, I’d much rather be watching Weird Science. So far tonight, I’ve seen three cheerleaders throw up and a baby being conceived.”

  “Uh huh,” Was all you could get out, watching people swirl past you like shooting stars.

  “Would you count that as escaping the teen pregnancy statistic? I know they’re out of high school, but we’re all still pretty young.” He commented as he led you up the stairs. You tripped several times and almost sent him flying down them but the two of you managed to make it. 

  Fred was heaving by the time you'd shouldered him into the hallway wall, his face and hands clammy.

  ”Good god, how did I pass P.E.?” The two of you paused there until he regained his breath while you plastered yourself against the wall, cheek pressed to it and hands stroking over the wallpaper. Eventually, Fred peeled you off of it and kept moving until he could find a place to put you.

  “You like movies right? Got any favorite directors? Or favorite films?”

  “Wall.”

  “Huh? Oh, you’re just admiring the wallpaper.”

  “Great Wall of China.”

  Fred positioned you against the wall, looking a little annoyed. You didn’t care, could only focus on the framed photo of the Great Wall of China directly across from you.

  “Oh.” Was all he said when he spotted it. “Stay right here.”

  Then he disappeared and you watched as the painting came to life, and the stones of the wall began moving, rippling. You didn’t even know stones could move like that but now it made so much more sense. 

  Fred appeared again, tugging you along into an empty room. You spotted a trash can and nearly threw Fred into the bedroom wall as you dove for it, retching everything out of your stomach. You could hear Fred gagging, but he was decent enough to make sure your hair stayed out of your way. When you were done, he helped sit you up on the bed, and nearly collapsed next to you.

  ”We did it,” he cheered with no real gusto. And you sat there, still feeling the earth orbiting. It was the most odd sensation, you could feel a spot on your brain pulsing, like a migraine but it felt so euphoric to close your eyes.

  “Here,” They snapped right back open and you glanced to your side to see Fred offering you a handkerchief. Of course Fred Benson carried around a handkerchief. How amusing. 

  “Thank you,” You gave the three versions of him you could see right then a smile and used the handkerchief to wipe your mouth, eyelids fluttering close just as the sound of thunder filled the room, and a flashing of lightning accompanied it.

  “Huh, a rainless thunderstorm, looks like the angels are bowling.” You heard him muse next to you.

  And it brought another smile to your face, “My mom used to say that.”

  At the mention of her, your brain conjured up all the happy feelings and memories of her, huddled on your couch, in your old home watching black and white horror films. They didn’t scare her, so she could tolerate them. You missed her. She made you feel so light, so seen, so—no.

  Something was wrong. Something felt very, very wrong.

  Your smile faded and you felt your belly sink as you opened your eyes.

  “Does that feel good?”

  You didn’t want to, but you looked down to see Fred’s hand on your breast. Your breathing picked up and Fred let go of you to grab your wrist and force you to touch his crotch, “Well don’t just sit there, help me out. Finish what you started.” 

  Anger filled you and you yanked your hand away, “No.”

  Fred opened his mouth as you got up, rushing away from him and stumbling back out the way you remembered while he yelled at you.

  You had to get out, had to get away. Had to be safe, feel safe. You banged against walls as you went, desperate to get out of the house, away from Fred, from everyone, and to safety. That was your only concern as the drug really hit you.

  All you could remember was seeing colors, hearing and feeling the wind against your sweaty skin, leaves blowing with it and gusting around you.

  You had no idea how you escaped the mad house, how long you’d even been walking or how you actually got there, but you found yourself in front of the cemetery, a flash of lightning illuminating the gate.

  To anyone else, a cemetery would have been the worst place to find themselves on a night like this, but you’d already been to hell so you trudged forward, feet taking you to him. Even in your drugged state, you were able to find your way to Eddie. Always would be.

  Your knees dug into the grass as you collapsed in front of his tombstone, fingers reaching forward to trace over MUN and 1986 before your body curled around the large stone, hugging yourself to it. Electric blue tears slipped down your cheeks, staining them with your mascara.

  “I wish I was with you.” You whispered, hating everything, hating this town, hating the people, hating Fred Benson, hating Carol, hating Laura Cunningham, hating how your mom wasn’t alive, hating how the one person you’d unknowingly sought for comfort was someone you’d never met before who was six feet under the ground. And you hated how you weren’t down there.

  You laid there, hugging his tombstone for hours under the thunder and lightning as the PCP slowly left your system.

  When you were able to stand up on your own, you gave the tombstone another kiss, rested your forehead against it and quietly thanked him for helping you find your way home before you left, following the path you’d made during all of your visits.

  The house was quiet when you got in, and Chrissy’s car hadn’t been parked in the driveway when you’d walked up so you figured she was still at the party. Sluggishly, you made your way up the stairs, falling into your shared bathroom. Your hand searched the wall, struggling to find the switch. Once your fingertips made contact with it, you flipped it and squinted as the room was flooded with the warm light. It was still too much for your eyes but you kept it on and walked towards the mirror

  The girl looking back at you was not the same one you’d last seen in it. This girl had blue smudged all around her eyes, faint trails of it over her cheeks and a rats nest for hair. Her eyes burned, not from the light, but from a fury within. 

  She was stuck in a life she didn’t want to live and couldn’t do anything about. As a large strike of lightning flashed from the window positioned at the back of the bathroom, towards the back of the house, you decided to put her out of her misery, picking up a blow dryer and smashing it against your reflection with a yell.

  You stood there, chest heaving as you stared at the broken reflection. Then you tossed the blow dryer onto the counter, and went to bed.

  Your dreams were much more pleasant than your reality, eyelids fluttering open to the ceiling of your old bedroom. A glance to your side confirmed your mother’s photo was at your bedside, next to your alarm clock on your old bedside table.

  “Well?” Her photo asked, shooting you that gorgeous smile of hers, “What are you waiting for? Go get him.”

  Your confusion was momentary, your mother raised her chin in a direction and you knew what would happen, you were giddy for it as you looked down to see yourself wrapped in the most beautiful wedding gown you’d ever seen.

  You rose from the bed into a sitting position, picking up the bouquet on the pillow next to you. Your dresser mirror was directly across from your bed and you took a moment to admire the beautiful girl staring back at you. Where you last remember seeing trails of tears were diamonds, glittering against your skin. Her eyes sparkled with a joy you’d never known. You bid her one last smile as you turned your head to the figure sitting on the edge of your bed, dark curls cascading down his neck, past broad shoulders with his back to you. 

  His right arm was out, palm up.

  He was waiting for you.

  You shifted until you were on the edge of your bed next to him, staring straight forward just as he was.

  Without looking, you knew exactly where his hand was, and you placed your left one over it, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. Slowly, the two of you leaned towards each other, until your head was on his shoulder and his cheek was pressed against the top of your head, his fingers curling around your hand to ground you. You sighed, all the tension and weight of the world leaving you.

  “Sissy. . .”

  “Sissy…”

  “SISSY!”

  You groaned as Chrissy shook you awake, eyes prying through all the mascara that had crusted over your eyes. It took a couple of blinks until you regained your clear vision, gaze locking on Chrissy leaning over you. Her face was clean of any makeup, skin glowing and hair wrapped up in rollers.

  She’d gotten home later than you and had still been able to look perfect. 

  What the hell?

  “You better get up, sissy. My mom’s losing it over the bathroom mirror.”

  You were confused for a second until you remembered smashing it with a blow dryer last night—or this morning. Well, it definitely would have broken at the sight of you now, anyways. 

  You frowned but made no move to get up so Chrissy tugged your blanket off of you, giggling when the both of you realized you had your hand in your underwear. Hastily, you yanked it out, and threw the blankets back over yourself.

  “It’s okay, Sissy. Everyone does it. It’s natural.”

  “Oh my god…”

  “So, what happened last night to bring this on?” She wiggled her eyebrows and you stared at her for a second. Part of you wanted to yell at her, berate her for letting you stumble around while high on a drug you’d never taken before, the other half knew in Chrissy’s World, it was all rainbows and sunshine—at least, it had been since she’d forced her mother to respect her boundaries. Chrissy didn’t expect the worst in anyone, didn't expect anyone to take advantage of you and certainly didn't expect you to wind up walking to the cemetery and then home on a bad trip. No, in Chrissy’s World, you’d probably spent the night flirting with someone, probably Steve, maybe fooled around in his car before he drove you home.

  You didn’t see it necessary to shatter her world so you groaned instead, the full force of your migraine hitting you now that you were out of sleep’s clutches, and covered your hands with your face.

  “Ooh, your knees…”

  You glanced down to see what she was staring at and sure enough, your knees were scratched up from kneeling at Eddie’s grave, but in Chrissy’s World…

  “I fell.” Was the only excuse you could come up with and Chrissy smirked.

  “Me, too.” Her eyelid dropped in a wink just as Laura yelled upstairs for you, so, begrudgingly, you wrapped yourself in your robe and headed downstairs to receive your punishment.

  Just as you suspected, Laura had attacked you with allegations—that were true for once, you had smashed the bathroom mirror—and your dad looked like he could care less.

  “You know,” She stated, fixing you with those unnaturally blue eyes of hers, “Your dad wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt. See the good in you, but I knew. I’m an Intuitive Person, you know. An IP. They’ve got seminars for people like me.”

  Your mind flashed to How to Handle a Narcissist. 

  “Laura…” Your dad warned and Laura inhaled sharply, displeased that your dad was sticking up for you. For once. 

  “Did you know there was a tornado last night? It hailed. Wind blew the fence over. The yard is covered in debris, and now I have to focus on repairing the bathroom, too. I don’t think that’s fair.” She huffed and Chrissy spoke up from her place on the couch.

  “It was a tornado watch, mom. Not a real tornado.”

  “Actually, Chris, the weather was downright crazy last night. I mean, it was really something, I saw green lightning. Big balls of it in the sky.”

  You and Chrissy shared secret smiles at hearing your dad talk about big balls.

  “Love muffin, could you swap out being a weatherman for being a father, right now?” Laura gritted out through her chemically whitened teeth.

  “It’s a Meteorologist,” You mumbled and her head snapped over to glare at you before she was speaking to your father again.

  “Honey, your daughter is a vandal. She’s got a taste for vandalism, and she is deliberately vandalizing and destroying property. First, it was my collection of Precious Moments figurines─”

  “That was an accident, you didn’t wrap them in bubble wrap and I dropped the box when I tripped over the front steps.”

  “Mother,” Chrissy chided, hands crossing over her robe. “Be. Nice.”

  “I am being nice,” Laura hissed, glare never leaving you, “But I refuse to coddle her. She’s headed straight to the nut house with this behavior.”

  You frowned, wiping away some of the dried mascara under your eye, “Can you say that if you’re a Psych Nurse?”

  Laura had the decency to look embarrassed before whacking your father’s arm. He sighed, putting his newspaper down, “Sweetheart─”

  You clocked the twitch in Laura’s eyelid at the affectionate name your father used to refer to you.

  “���You’re gonna clean your bathroom, alright? Sweep up all that glass.”

  ”And?” Laura pushed, still staring at you.

  “And…..um. Pay for the mirror, I guess.” Laura turned her nose up, hurmphing. 

  “That’s fine, can I get ready for work now?”

  Your dad nodded and Laura looked like she wanted to protest but you turned your back to her and made your way upstairs, hesitating at the top when your fathered turned the volume of the TV back on and you heard the news reporter reporting from the cemetery, talking about a grave, under a tree, that had been struck by lightning. 

  You wondered if it had been Eddie’s. There’s no way you’d be able to check today, you’d get home from work too late, so you’d have to check tomorrow.

  You tried to stay busy during your shift at the local tailor’s. You didn’t really have a passion for it, but you were relatively good with a needle and thread. With the magnifier headlamp, you were practically unstoppable, altering coats, dresses, blouses, shirts, all with minimal finger injuries—though luminol on some of these clothing items would no doubt reveal traces of your blood.

  But hey—you now knew what it meant to work so hard you put your blood into something and you always had band-aids on you, in case anyone needed one.

  You were so invested in your work, you hadn’t heard the bell above the door chime when it was pushed open, and didn’t notice Steve leaning against the counter, watching you work until he cleared his throat.

  You jumped, head swinging around to see your crush smiling at you and you raised the magnifying glass portion of the head lamp off your face, feeling embarrassed that he’d seen you with the headgear on in the first place.

  “Hey! I didn’t know you worked here.”

  You let out some nervous laughter, mind racing for ways to make this seem cool but you came up short. “Yeah, I—employed.”

  “I can see that,” He chuckled, amused by your lack of verbal sparring.

  You didn’t know what to say after that so you stared, fingers twisting and pulling the thread you’d been working with, desperate for him to say something or get out.

  “Oh! Uh, I heard you guys also get rid of stains? I’ve got this one on my pan─”

  “THAT WE DO!” 

  You sighed, eyes slipping shut as your moron of a boss came bursting out of the office.

  “What can we do for you, Harrington?” Murray asked, leaning against the counter, causing Steve to lean back, smile now less than thrilled.

  “Murray…I forgot you worked here.” Steve said it in a voice that made you think he would have avoided the shop had he known who it was that was currently in charge of running it.

  “Yup, got me this sweet little gig. And no radios.” He gestured around to the shop, void of any technology save for the cash register—and he made sure it was never him operating it, “Would like to see the government try to control me now.”

  “Right, I just came here to drop off my pants, spilled something on—well, it doesn’t really matter, I just spilled something on them.” Steve placed the folded pair of pants on the counter and Murray immediately unfolded them, searching through the fabric until he found the stain by his crotch. To both your horror and Steve’s, he lifted the strained fabric to his nose, sniffing deep.

  “Mm. White wine?”

  It took Steve a moment to find his voice and close his jaw, “Crush. The soda.”

  “Same thing. We’ll get this right out, my man.”

  You and Steve shared one more look of disbelief before he slowly backed away, the bell above the door sounding as he left.

  “He’s a nice guy,” Murray commented and you shrugged your shoulders, wanting this conversation to be over, “I’m surprised you know him, little loser.”

  You shot him a glare.

  “Oh, c’mon, lets not pretend you’ve got an active social life—if I call you in for a shift, you’re available. Nothing wrong with being a loser. I was one throughout high school and look at me now. Who got the last laugh?”

  You were positive the look of pain on your face should have told Murray that anyone other than him got the last laugh. He was a forty something year old, afraid of technology, convinced the government was watching him, who tried to befriend teenagers. 

  You’d have to kill yourself if you were anything like him.

  When he disappeared back into the office, because of course you’d have to get rid of that stain for Steve, you snatched the pair of pants off the counter. Glancing around to make sure there weren’t any eyes on you, you pressed them to the side of your face, imagining yourself hugging Steve instead of the pants. They smelled like him. It was bliss.

  Then your eyes snapped open.

  Oh, god. You were a loser.

  After your shift, you’d gone straight home. Normally, you’d stop to grab a bite or something, you still had to pay for the mirror you broke so fast food was off the table for a couple of weeks, but on your dining room table when you walked into the house.

  A pizza box. Your stomach growled as you imagined the slice of cheese waiting for you.

  “Is there any left?” You asked, already making a beeline for it.

  “Should be a slice left,” Your dad mused and as you tossed the top of it open, all you wanted to do was maybe beat him with it.

  There, on the parchment liner of the pizza box, was the skinniest and tiniest slice of pizza to ever be cut. Not even the width of two of your fingers.

  “Want me to order another one, sweetheart?” Your dad asked and Laura immediately inserted herself into the conversation. 

  “She can eat it, love muffin. Besides, we’ve got vegetables in the fridge if she’s still not full.”

  “I said we should have ordered two, but my mom had a coupon she wanted to use.” Chrissy didn’t sound impressed.

  “Yes, we got a free soda!”

  Chrissy ignored her mom, “Sissy, we’re going to the movies! You could get something there, they sell pizza and nachos, right?”

  You knew she was trying to find a solution for you, but your bullshit meter for the day had already been capped. You didn’t want movie theater pizza or concessions, you wanted a  reasonable slice of this pizza, not some scrap your step-mother had saved you. It was obvious she was implying that she, your dad and Chrissy were the perfect sized family and you were simply an afterthought. Unwelcome.

  “Yeah, I’m passing on the movie.”

  Before you could stomp upstairs, Chrissy caught your hand.

  “Sissy, please? We’ve got to bond as a family, it’s crucial. If it takes two, how can I do it as one?” She pulled you into her side.

  “Really, Chrissy, I’m super tired.”

  “You’re tired?” Laura asked, incredulous. Here we go again.

  “All you do is work with a sewing machine for hours like some old spinster, I can hardly imagine that being tiring, but my Chrissy just got back from a five hour long cheer practice. They were throwing her around like raggedy ann and she stuck every landing.” 

  “Mom, stop.” Chrissy blushed, but you could see how proud she was of herself, “I’m sure Sissy pokes herself with those needles all the time, and it hurts, I’ve been prodded myself during all of my custom fittings.”

  “I have finger calluses so I don’t even bleed anymore,” You begrudgingly admitted, “I can take it.”

  “I bet you can.”

  After they’d left for the movies, you’d gone upstairs, showered, put on your comfiest pajamas and fuzziest slippers, you grabbed a bowl of chips and set yourself up in front of the TV to watch Dawn of the Dead. You had to give props to all these zombie actors, you couldn’t imagine having to act out being one of the walking undead, imagined it felt pretty stupid but the paycheck and experience must have been cool.

  You popped another chip into your mouth just as someone knocked on the front door. As you placed the bowl of chips on the table to get up, the knocking got louder, more aggressive and you hesitated, fear beginning to swell up inside of you.

  Maybe if you ignored it, they’d go away.

  You turned your attention back to the tv, picking up the remote to lower the volume and hopefully hide your presence in the house. 

  Then, much to your horror, you heard the distinct sound of a pained, gurgling groan. It sounded very similar to the ones you’d heard the zombies making on your tv, but this one was louder. 

  And it was coming from outside your front door.

  You crouched, duckwalking to the foyer where one of the house phones was placed. You’d just picked it up from the receiver when a shadow from the living room window caught your eye. You barely had time to turn your head when something came crashing through it, breaking the glass and yanking the curtains from the rod.

  Shocked, the phone slipped from your hands, banging against the hardwood floor of the foyer and you let out a scream at the same time as the person on your TV, running away from the figure invading your home. 

  You made it to the dinning room. Literally scrambling across the table to put an obstacle between you and the stranger—no, creature. Tall, caked in mud, leaves and stems, it resembled the Swamp Thing. It grunted, groans low and reverberating off the walls.

  “Uuuhhhnng…”

  This couldn’t be happening to you, you couldn’t die like this!!!! It was supposed to be by your hand or nothing!

  ”STAY AWAY FROM ME!” You shrieked, picking up the decorative plates from the table to throw at the creature. You nailed it a couple of times, watching it stumble as the fine china shattered against it. When you ran out of plates, you bolted from the dinning room, screaming as you scrambled up the stairs, and lost one of your slippers in the process but to hell with it! You had to get out of there. Hopefully, one of your neighbors heard your shrieks of terror and called the police.

  You peaked over the railing at the top of the stairs, to see the creature analyzing your slipper. While it was distracted, you locked yourself in your room and made your way to your bedroom window, pulling it open.

  “Okay, okay. I can do this, no big deal. Stunt actors do it all the time.” You climbed outside of your window, body nearly convulsing as you almost slipped down the roof, “Nonononono.”

  You tried to grip onto a couple of shingles but they gave away, slipping right off the house to shatter against the concrete walkway and you realized Laura had no fucking idea what she was doing when it came to house repairs, the dumb bitch had just laid the shingles out without securing them.

  “OH MY GOD-I’M GONNA DIE! HELP!”

  Your body slipped further down the roofing, until you were forced to grab the gutter, gagging when your fingers squelched against whatever was in it. You dangled a good six feet off the ground, and while it wasn’t exactly a ten story fall, with your luck, you’d land on your head and break your neck.

  Whimpering, you tried to pull yourself back up the roof, but it was no use. You had nothing stable to grab onto as you yanked yet another shingle clean off. You glared at it and muttered a goddammit before tossing it somewhere behind you as you went back to hanging on for dear life. 

  “Oh, no.” You mumbled, terrified as your fingertips began to lose their grip, wet with the mystery sludge from the gutter. “No, NO!” 

  You lost your grip, plummeting down but you didn’t meet the concrete. No, the Creature broke your fall and you were now face to face with it. The pressure of you landing on it, made it spit up into your face, green sludge, and you gasped before breaking out into screams again.

  Pushing yourself up and off of it as you ran around your front yard, nearly blind. You were not opening your eyes to let that bacteria infested swamp slime, water, whatever the hell it was, into your eyeballs. 

  You could hear the Creature stomping around behind you as you bobbed and weaved, could feel his presence and you could not believe you were actually gonna die fighting off a swamp monster in your front yard while blinded—in clear and plain view for your neighbors to see, by the way, and unbeknownst to you, an elderly couple was watching you, not even a little concerned about your well being or the creature chasing you around.

  “Stop it!”

  “Leave me alone!”

  “Go away, I’m just a girl!”

  The timed sprinklers went off and you were soon assaulted with them as well. With just about all your senses done for, and the sprinklers washing the guck away from your face, you made a run for the house, slamming your back against the door and locking it behind you.

  Your chest was heaving, wet body pumping with adrenaline as the back of your head thumped against the door. You weren’t done yet. That creature was still out there!!!

  You dove for the phone on the ground, hanging by its springy cord and shouted out hopefully loud enough for it to hear, “I’m calling the police, so if you don’t want your ass riddled with bullets, I’d suggest you leave! They shoot before asking questions!”

  You frantically dialed 911 but there was no ringing, instead, you could still hear buttons being pressed on the other line.

  Bleak, and accepting your fate, you put the phone back on the receiver, and turned towards the living room, where the other phone was located. 

  On the chair, next to where the table the phone normaly rested on, was The Creature. 

  You grabbed one of the lamps, ready to use it as a weapon but it didn’t attack you, just turned the phone receiver this way and that, as if admiring it. 

  Despite your fear, you took a reluctant step forward, casting the creature in the glow of the lamp you clutched and for like the billionth time that night, you gasped.

  The sprinklers had washed some of the filth off of it, too. Before, its head had been caked in a mud helmet, but now, you could actually see it’s head. It had long, disgustingly dirty curls, and wore a leather jacket, jeans and tennis shoes, all covered in grime.

  When it craned its head up to look at you, you readied the lamp, poised to throw it at it—him. It was a guy. Big brown eyes, stared up at you and he made no move to attack.

  Slowly, you lowered the lamp, and crouched down a few feet away.

  His attention returned to the phone—shoe shaped—in his hands and shakily, with stiff limbs, he put it back on the receiver.

  “It’s…It’s cool looking, right? The-The shoe phone.” 

  He glanced over at you and then the phone again as you mumbled out an explanation, 

“Our neighbor in our old town cheated on his wife and she threw all his stuff out the window at him and my dad snatched the phone.”

  “Merrrruhhhhh.” He moaned out, picking up your slipper and offering it to you. When you just stared, he dropped it and you moved the lamp to the side, crossing your legs.

  “I’ve never seen a zombie before.” You marveled, then squinted, “You are a zombie, right? An undead?”

  It took him an entire minute to choppily raise his shoulders, you realized he was shrugging. Or trying to. Every movement he made was choppy. Reminded you of how stop motion was made, except his scenes weren’t being played fast enough to have fluid movements.

  He tried to get up and promptly slipped, accidentally elbowing the mini sound system at his side. It turned on, Sinead O’Connor’s Drink Before the War playing. You’d been the last to use it.

  You watched as his head tilted in interest as Sinead began to croon out lyrics.

  “Do you like music? This is Sinead O’Connor. She makes music that heals souls.”

  He raised his wrist to his chest and you inhaled sharply as you realized he was missing the hand on it.

  “Uhm, no—I don’t think she healed your soul. I meant like, figuratively. Her music makes people feel.” You placed your hands on your own chest, trying to convey your meaning, “She’s one of my favorites.”

  A surprisingly comforting silence fell over the two of you—though he sometimes made his quiet dead guy gross sounds—as you stared at him, taking in the green-gray tint of his skin beneath the dirt all over him, cheeks sunken in. You had a feeling if you touched his skin, it’d be hard, maybe waxy and it was a bit unnerving how human his eyes were, but duh! Of course they were, he was a human. Just. A dead one. At least he wasn’t a skeleton.

  Man, Hollywood wasn’t too far off with their interpretation.

  “C’mon,” You stood up, eyes taking in the state of your home and all the dirt the two of you had dragged in, “I gotta hide you, new dead friend.”

[bug-bites]

batfam beach episode?? real not clickbait no glue no borax??

cw: nothing! pure vacation beach fluff (p≧w≦q) also barely proofread,,,

pairing: gn!reader x batfam (NOT ALL AT ONCE.)

characters: dick grayson, jason babygirl todd, cassandra cain, tim drake, damian wayne (all intended to be interpreted as either romantic or platonic unless its damian. ik in some comic runs he's like an adult but hes like permanently 12 in my head and i dont fw that :/)

a/n: im back with a new dc obsession tee hee (soz to everyone who wanted more abt the cod guys or spiderverse im comicsmaxxing and redhoodpilled) will probably make a part 2 w/ bruce, babs, steph, and duke eventually :3c

Dick Grayson haha dick

oh he loves the beach so much

the sand beneath his feet make him feel nostalgic from when he would practice tumbling with his parents in the circus ring i think there's sand in circus rings right? I dunno someone fact check me on that one

the victim of being buried in the sand, always asks for a mermaid tail but ends up with something like massive sand tits (courtesy of either tim or jason), he laughs it off anyways

somehow gets the worst tan lines. He wore a swim shirt one time and never again because the tan lines looked SO BAD which is a total shame because he tans gorgeously

will beg to do play shoulder wars i have no clue if this is the right name, again fact check me for this thing where you get a piggyback ride from someone and you try to knock someone whos also getting a piggyback ride over in the water

you’re on his shoulders since bro is strong asf and you square up against tim and damian

obviously you lose because hello that's damian wayne we are talking about but at least its fun!!

cass and jason are forever the undefeated champions of shoulder wars though, that goes without saying

Cassandra Cain

shes always seen beach episodes in animes that damian practically dragged her into watching so when she gets to actually go to a beach she is so excited peak sibling bonding is dragging your siblings into your interests

loves building sandcastles and writing things in the sand, watching it get washed away, and then do it all over again

hold her hand and jump over waves together on the shore and she will be the giggliest and happiest human being alive on planet earth

but out of all the beach activities she loves beach volleyball

shes actually scarily good at beach volleyball for someone who has never played volleyball before

dick thought it would be fun to teach her and have a friendly match between him and bruce vs you and cass

yeah bruce and dick were COOKED. huffing and puffing like they have a vendetta against the three little pigs at the end of it while cass is like “this is so fun, lets go again!”

ends the day with a little sunset stroll along the shore i need her so bad you do not understand please bbyg ill treat u soooo well

Jason Todd

beaches are fun on paper for him, in person not so much

PERSONAL HC INCOMING! He gets migraines after the lazarus pit so he can only have so much fun before needing to lie face down with his head covered with a beach towel to make everything less overwhelming or he wears sunglasses the entire time

he brings a book to read at the beach and stays in the shade the entire time yes he is that bitch

usually at home in the comfort of his little library he likes to read things that have an impact on him or just stuff that makes him want to analyze deeper. think books like frankenstein, lord of the flies, all quiet on the western front, just generally heavier stuff

but his vacation books? totally different. usually something super light, maybe a shitty romance book that you find in walmart which are clearly just results of book packaging, or a some booktok recommendation he got for shits and giggles because it just was so laughably bad, maybe even a childhood feel-good book like percy jackson or the little prince (mostly just books he would not grieve over if sand permanently got in between the pages)

he tried reading a colleen hoover book once and honest to God wanted to toss it into the ocean HE WOULD HATE HER BOOKS AND I WILL DIE ON THIS HILL

but out of everything he likes watching you enjoy yourself, his book wasnt that important anyways. show him that funky sand dollar you found or that really cool piece of seaglass, he’s probably gonna bring it home with him. a little keepsake along with the millions of grains of sand that never seem to go away

Tim Drake

Burns so easily

At first its kinda cute, like hes asking you to help him get that spot on his back he just cant seem to reach and its just a little sweet moment between you two as you rub the sunscreen into his sore muscles

But then it happens again. And again. And again to the point when he goes up to you, you automatically reach for the tube of SPF 100+ 

I just know his vitamin d deficiency goes crazy

Leaves the beach looking like a lobster, sunburnt, a crazy bump on his head from getting hit with a volleyball, and some god awful sunglasses tan lines

Overall, beach activities are not really his thing bros job is NAWT beach

Enjoys the boardwalk a lot more than the beach itself, likes the touristy stuff but still goes to the beach because dick loves it and he loves his older brother :(

Damian Wayne

i feel like he wouldn’t care too much for typical beach stuff. like at every beach that has sand and decently clean water you can do most beach activities

one thing that is never 100% consistent at all beaches is what lives on the beaches. this boy will spend hours staring into tidepools 

bruce was lowk concerned because his son did not gaf about normal beach activities that kids do but eventually he reached a point where he was like "i mean at least hes having fun and being safe"

i feel like talia would always show him books of sea creatures when he was little but he never ended up being able to see them in their natural habitat someone take this boy to an aquarium now

tells you fun facts about each creature you come across

will scold you if you take a shell from the beach, definitely says some shit like “how would you feel if someone ran into your house and just took your bed?”  based though, leave shells at the beach yall! taking them is like bad for the ecosystem

brings his notebook around and has little sketches of the sea creatures

even though typical beach activities arent his favourite, he doesnt hate it. he likes that he can catch a break from all the vigilante stuff and spend time with his family as a family and not just as a team

loves scuba diving. idk it just somehow makes sense and i think he would look really stupid in a wet suit

also i feel like he would never mention it but in his mind hes fully thinking "this is just like a beach episode" but he would rather die than say it out loud FUCKING NERDDD

[melsimps]

Born To Be My Baby

FWB!dilf era!Peter Maximoff x fem!reader headcanons/blurb (kinda).

Tw: discussions of sex, childbirth, and pregnancy. (But not in graphic detail)

A/N: I had to write my own dilfsilver shit. Inspired largely by my oc x Canon fic with him.

We got something to believe in Even if we don't know where we stand

You and Peter were friends with benefits. And that was it. It was casual, fun. A way to de-stress without any strings.

And it was fun, too.

You'd mainly hook up after stressful missions or hard training sessions in the danger room.

And it meant nothing. Just some light fun between friends/coworkers.

That's all it was.

Until that one day.

However it went, you found out you were pregnant. Either a condom broke, or you forgot a pill, or your implant/IUD ran out, it doesn't matter.

What does matter is the fact that you're pregnant.

With Peter's kid.

So, after a doctor's appointment, and with a copy of the ultrasound in your pocket, you went and told him.

"I... are... are you shitting me-?" He asked, eyes wide, mouth agape.

...not the best reaction, I'll admit. But...

After some emotional conversation, it all culminates in...

"...hey," he whispered softly, on his knees as his hands settled on your (still incredibly flat/non visible) abdomen. "Hey in there, baby, I'm-"

"-Peter, what are you-?"

"Shhh-! Quiet, I'm having a conversation with my kid-!" He scoffed, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

And after that, he was right on board.

Project baby was a-go.

When you were reading pregnancy books, you'd chart out the rough size of the baby in fruit. And each week, he'd try and find one the right size. Just so he could visualise how big your kid is. Because hey, that's his little buddy in there.

You borrow a lot of his band shirts, especially when you get further on in your pregnancy.

But you're not, like...dating or anything. You're just two buds, having a baby together.

It's kind of hard, him having to be the rational one for once, but he's trying.

"...what's going on-?" He asked, slowly creeping into your classroom.

You were in tears, holding a book to your chest.

"They're just so mean to him..." you sniffled out, shaking your head.

He glanced at the cover, and...

"...Frankenstein?" Peter asked.

You nodded.

"...I could've parented him..."

All the while, y'all are still hooking up. Hormones are crazy, man. Especially later on in your pregnancy.

But it doesn't mean anything. Its just sex. Sex with your stupid hot baby daddy and his stupid hot vibrating dick.

Anyway, one night, the two of you were getting it on, riding him good and hard, when he felt a splash against his abdomen.

"Awe, babe, did you just-?"

"...that wasn't an orgasm..." you whispered, shaking your head.

He paled.

"It fuckin' what-?!"

...yep, he broke your water during sex. Pussy so good, it makes you accidentally induce labour.

He doesn't know which emergency bag to grab, so... he just dashes around campus and grabs all of them.

It's a long labour, with a lot of exhaustion and pain. A lot of emotions and yelling, and... crying.

But in the end?

A soft cry pierced the air as that flash of white faded over you, the pressure fading, the pain slowly alleviating.

"Is... is that-?"

"She's here..." Peter murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

And she was.

An itty bitty baby girl.

Luna.

As he holds that baby in his arms, he just... melts. He's crying and holding her so close to his chest, kissing the top of her little head while you sleep.

"Hey... hey, Luna..." Peter whispered softly, his voice shaking with emotion. "Oh my god, you're so small... I..."

He shook his head, tears pricking his dark eyes. God, he was a mess. It was stupidly early, and he was exhausted, and emotional, and-

"...what did I do to make me worthy of a baby as sweet as you and a woman as great as your mom, huh-?" He murmured, trying his hardest not to sob.

Meanwhile, Luna slept happily against his chest, gurgling as she snuggled close to her father.

As you guys adjust and recover together, getting used to having itty bitty Luna in your lives, Peter just... basically moves into the suite at the mansion with you.

I mean, you're raising a baby together. You've seen each other naked. It's not that weird.

Anyway.

He is so helpful during your healing, and is basically your rock during emotional moments (postpartum hormones are crazy, y'all).

He tries to grow out his facial hair.

Key word being tries.

"Babe..." you warned, grimacing slightly as his face nestled into your neck.

"Mmm... whaaaat-?" Peter asked back playfully, his stubble lightly scratching your skin.

"As much as I am loving the beard..." you purred playfully, cupping his cheek in a moment of domesticity in the kitchenette. "...I'm not a fan of the bristles pricking me during cuddle time..."

Reluctantly... shaves (after you promise to let him devour that pussy the second he can).

"Hey, you wanna get married-?" Peter asked one lazy Saturday afternoon as you snuggled into his chest, while Luna was settled in her crib for a nap.

...okay, so maybe y'all are more than just friends.

[duckdodger]

PLEASE DROP MM SISTERS HEAD CANONS AND MY LIFE IS YOURS!!

I think some of these are like more fun facts im gonna put in their bios (are these the same as headcanons ?? Idk LOL) but hope u like it anyway :D !! It’s on keep reading !

(Did some extra doodles for fun)

Venus :

- party costume : Frankenstein bodypaint

- She likes to meditate with splinter & scumbug :3

- Watches countless of YouTube videos on how to gain mystical powers

- Named after “Sailor Venus” from the anime Sailor Moon

Jennika :

- Party costume : Shrek ears headband

- she was the one that braided Venus’ mask and Venus kept the look

- Has a songwriting journal

- She always likes to point out that her & raph look like ketchup & mustard because of their mask colors , ketchup mustard duo >:0 !!

Lita :

- Party costume : pink fairy

- She really wants to go to elementary school >:v

- Obviously not skillful on ninjitsu yet but she’ll get there and tries her best <3

- has a Lee the Eel look-alike toy she keeps and names it “the slithery”

[mothwingwritings]

Can we have Ren/Fox (TPOF) and Mc with a child?Long after Fox decided to stay with MC, they both had a daughter (probably not something with consent and a bit of Stockholm syndrome).The daughter asks her mother how she got the scars and this makes MC have memories of post-traumatic stress.

I was so tickled by this ask that I started manically typing out a response for it nearly as soon as I saw it in my ask box (which at this point, was quite some time ago. Forgive me, I am a mess lul). I wrote the whole damn thing in a fit of passion, excited to release it into the world… But ultimately hated it and thought it was garbo, so I scrapped it and tried again. Wrote a second iteration and thought ‘hell yeah, this is it!!! Sick!’, but then I read it AND HATED THAT ONE TOO AAAHHH!!!

I rewrote this… so much…

But I never give up on my dreams, and you shouldn’t either! Persevere! Don’t give up on yourself! Here’s your daily motivation for the day! Keep writing even it makes you cry!!! :D

Anyway, so I wrote this third one, comprised of new stuff and the stuff I actually did like from the first two stabs, and it ended up being the one. Truly it is a Frankenstein of a fic lol. Regardless of all the reworking, I had a lot of fun writing this and enjoyed the prompt very much!!! I I hope you enjoy reading it just as much. :)

I’m sorry if the writing seems a tad too mature for the reader’s daughter in this, writing children isn’t my forte. ^^;

Due to the nature of this fic, IT IS 18+ ONLY!!! Thank you!

WARNINGS: Incessant mentions of abuse of all kinds for reader and mentions of physical abuse for her child!!! Reader is heavily scarred from said abuse and that’s a main theme in this fic so please avoid if that is upsetting to you. Also, though not the main focus, there are multiple mentions of child abuse in this fic, as well a part where reader goes off verbally on her child, so please be mindful of that as well! Other things of note: reader is a parent in this (which you can probably tell by the prev warning lol), reader getting hurt, blood, manipulation, Stockholm syndrome, being held against your will/isolation, mentions of noncon, sad family stuff :(

Diminishing rays of afternoon light splayed through the open window of your quaint living room, casting a comforting orange glow over everything they touched. The light gave the environment an ethereal and nostalgic feel, wrapping you in peaceful warmth as the sun sunk lower and lower. The loveseat you occupied was plush and inviting, and a mug of your favorite tea stood at the ready on the small coffee table beside you, steadily cooling with help from the last hurrah of winter blowing in gently from the outside. Besides the slight chill, the wind brought with it the heavy scent of freshly bloomed flowers, a delightful precursor to the oncoming spring.

Relishing the rare moment of serenity, you couldn’t help but wish that all your days could be this lovely.

You smiled down at your daughter who sat perched in your lap, happily flipping through the newest gift she had acquired from her Father- a thick picture book full of bright illustrations highlighting various exotic animals. As it lay sprawled across her tiny lap, her chubby finger pointed out each animal she took an interest in, her high pitched voice chirping away as she explained what she liked about the creatures. She got particularly excited when she spotted the page full of foxes, jabbing at the red one feverishly as she exclaimed “its daddy!”

Spotting the foxes began her down a path of assigning an animal to not just herself, but you as well. She didn’t find it fair that only her father had kin in the animal world, even though you pointed out that she technically did as well by sharing half the man’s blood. Your revelation did little to deter her, she wanted something new, something just for herself, and she wasn’t going to stop until she found her perfect soul animal. So she continued on, scanning each page in earnest until she found a creature that suited her.

She ended up picking a bunny for herself, supplying you with a comprehensive reason as to why she chose it. As she explained in great length, skimping no details, you couldn’t help but hold back laughter. She spoke as if she were a professor teaching a class, and you did your best to keep a straight face as she yammered on with her shoddy reasoning, deep down knowing she only picked a rabbit because of how cute they are.

After she was done waxing poetic about bunnies, she continued scouring the book, coming to a halt once she reached the wild cat section. She stopped with a gasp, beaming up at you as she pressed her finger firmly against one of the images on the page.

“Mommy this one is you!”

Your eyes traveled to the picture she was rapidly tapping, “An African Wildcat, huh?” You smirked down at the little girl in amusement, “Why did you pick that one for me?”

“Because it looks just like you!”

You chuckled at her enthusiasm, “It looks like me? How so?”

“It has marks just like you do!”

Her innocuous words sent a chill up your spine. Eying the stripes that crossed the cat’s legs, you felt a great unease begin to overtake your body. Her reasoning was not lost on you, the cats coat did quite resemble the jagged scars that covered nearly every inch of your body, and just like the feline in her book, your limbs were the most prominent location of said ‘markings’. You quickly shook your head, not wanting to dwell on it further. In hopes of moving on from the subject, the outpouring of words that flew from your mouth were jumbled and messy.

“O-oh, I see,” you stuttered, clearing your throat to steady your voice, “well you certainly picked a cute animal for me! Thank you baby, it was a good choice.”

She smiled at you innocently, a gesture that usually made your heart melt with affection. But as her tiny hands moved from the book to your arms, that smile did nothing but fill you with dread, the realization that you wouldn’t be getting out of this sticky situation hitting you like a brick to the face. 

“Yeah mommy, the kitty’s marks are just like these ones,” her stubby fingers gently traced the old wounds, a look of reverence reflected on her cherubic features. “They make you look like that kitty mommy,” her little voice cooed, “I like them a lot!”

Your muscles constricted at her words, a slight tremor coursing through you as you involuntarily tightened your grip on her. She took note of this, looking up at your strained features with a puzzled expression on her face.

“Don’t be sad mommy,” she spoke assuredly, “I really do like them! I think they are pretty!”

Her words burned you, scorching the inside of your frozen shell of a body, leaving you feeling sickly and discombobulated. The room around you started to spin in a hazy blur, a wave of nausea making you nearly wretch. Your breathing grew erratic as you tried to calm yourself, inwardly repeating that your daughter was just a child, a little girl barely four years of age who had an incredibly limited view of the world. Her words were not meant to upset you. Her opinions were coming from a place of total naivety.

Yet still, the mental assurance did little to help with the extremely uncomfortable position you now founds yourself in. It wasn’t as if this was her first time noticing your scars. She had mentioned them before, her curious mind trying to piece together the reason that her arms appeared different from your own. Each time she brought your old wounds up you couldn’t help but feel flustered, responding with weak explanations and misdirection to try and quickly brush off her questioning.

The marks came from a silly mistake, or a childhood accident, or from a careless moment when mommy should have been paying more attention. It was always excuses on repeat. How many lies had you told her on this topic alone?

But even if they were lies, it beat telling her the truth. You didn’t want to have to explain where the scars on your body actually came from to anyone, let alone a child, and especially not to your own daughter. How could you possibly word it gently, or in a way that she would understand, when you barely understood why you had them yourself? How could you look her in the eye and tell her that these markings were a permanent sign that you had been very, very hurt and that it was her own fathers hands that inflicted the pain?

Reliving the horrific moments that left your body in such a state was overwhelming enough on its own, but to also have to lay bare her father’s sins, relay to her the unsavory proclivities of a man who she idolized and adored, was not something you were keen on doing.

She didn’t know her daddy like you knew him. She was ignorant to the constant state of concern you lived in, unaware of the worries that plagued your mind and kept you up each night. All the troubles of the hell she had been born into were completely lost on the small, carefree girl.

But honestly that was for the best. You had made an unspoken promise the moment she entered your life that you would protect her no matter what. From the day of her birth onward it became your mission to keep her as happy and healthy as possible.

Ren had broken you, but she did not have to suffer the same fate.

At this point in her life, your daughter knew nothing of her daddy’s profession or ‘hobbies’, and you wanted it to remain that way for as long as possible, if not for the rest of her life. You dreaded each time Ren came home from an auction, terrified he may let casually slip too many details about his ‘lively client’ or that he would carelessly step through the door with the stains of his liaisons still littering his clothes. Your daughter was at an age where she was brimming with questions, and she was relentless in getting answers to each question she asked. Everything had to be explained in complete detail for her to be satisfied, drop the subject, and move on. She was a smart little thing, possibly too smart for her own good. You highly doubted a silly joke or wave of the hand would assuage her whirring mind should Ren grow too impetuous in her presence.

And should her questioning become too pesky, you fretted over what Ren’s reaction to it may be. The more you tried to avoid thinking about it the more you seemed to fixate on the topic, pondering just how much goading it would take from your daughter before his temper would rear its ugly head.  You, above anyone, had firsthand experience in just how volatile the man could be, the scars that littered your body a testament to his turbulent emotions and violent outbursts.

Looking back on it now, it’s a wonder you survived any of it at all.

Ren often told you he loved you, each confession spoken through honeyed words that spilled from his lips easily and often.  And while you didn’t doubt those words (you knew better than to, at this point), you also knew his sweet nothings weren’t merely a term of endearment, they also served as your curse. He loved you, but he also loved your fealty to him, your adoration and worship of him and only him. Should you not reciprocate his feelings as quickly or ardently as he expected, the mere thought of whatever punishment he would concoct was enough to send you into a debilitating panic attack.

There were few things he loathed more than when you flinched from his affection or if you exhibited any sign of distress towards his presence, especially after he had spent so many years going above and beyond to provide for you, devote himself to you. You had learned early on to keel any feelings of aversion you had to his advances, several of your more prominent scars a brutal reminder of that misstep alone.

 If your daughter uncovered the truth and saw her father for who he truly was, if she began to fear him the way you feared him, how would he respond?  If not only his partner, but his own daughter started shying away from him, what length would he go to to correct this behavior?

Dwelling on it made your skin crawl.

But perhaps all of your worries were asinine. Despite his inclination for cruelty, Ren had never so much as raised a hand towards your daughter, even when she did act up. If anything, he was overprotective of her, barely letting her move faster than a brisk jog lest she fall and hurt herself. He hated seeing his little girl experience even a modicum of physical pain, mentioning to you previously that were he able, he’d keep her locked up in a padded room all day and night to prevent any foreseeable accidents or injuries. Surely it was just his idea of a joke, but the insinuation still made you cringe.

It was almost comical, just how greatly the manifestation of his affection for her differed from how he showed his love for you.

His domineering nature shielded her from experiencing any true pain. Every scrape, bruise, and cut she ever received was superficial, nothing that caused major bleeding or left a lasting impression. She had no way of knowing what had been done to you to cause the scars that marred your form, the torment and hell you experienced with each slash, smack, burn. Hell, she probably didn’t even really understand what a scar actually was. All she knew was that her mommy and daddy had strange marks on their skin that didn’t follow any kind of set pattern, weird jagged lines and indents that her soft skin was curiously free from. The mystery of it all was as puzzling to her young mind as it was enticing.

However, some mysteries were best left unsolved, and just as with each other time she brought up this hot topic, you found yourself unable to look into her clear, bright eyes and tell her any semblance of the truth. She may have been forced upon you, but she was your daughter. You loved her, and you refused to be the one to shatter her innocence. You would keep her ignorant for as long as possible, shielding her to the endless nightmare of your daily lives, even if it cost you your sanity.

“Mommy,” her voice jarred you, dragging you from your thoughts, “mommy did you hear me? I said I think they are pretty!”

“T-that’s… I…” You stuttered, struggling to find the right words to say, your voice coming out much smaller than you intended it to. The room felt like it had dropped thirty degrees, your body twitching in response to the sudden chill.

“Daddy told me he gave some of them to you, like this one,” her pudgy, cold finger pressed into the faded heart that resided on your chest, the first of many indelible sins he had etched onto your form. Only the top half of the carved symbol was viewable above the collar of your shirt, so she tugged at the loose hem until she could see it in its horrible entirety.

“Daddy said he gave you this one because he loves you so much,” her voice grew quiet, a thoughtful look in her eye as they drank in wounds you wished you could forget, “Daddy loves me too, right mommy? You think he’ll give me a cute heart someday too?”

You felt as if you had been hit by a train.

“S-top,” the words were forced from your throat, airy and breathless, as if someone was wringing your neck to make them come out, “p-please, just stop talking.”

“What did you say mama,” your daughters sing-song voice responded as her fingers continued to trace and prod your scars, “You are whispering, is it a secret?”

“I told you to SHUT UP!”

As if following your command, your booming voice instantly silenced the small girl. Unused to such a violent outburst from her mother, her happy-go-lucky nature quickly shifted to one of alert, her tiny body going rigid as she stared up at you with fearful eyes.

Seeing her in such a state and knowing that you were the cause of it would normally have killed you inside, making you fall to your knees to beg for the child’s forgiveness. But right now, the thin thread that had been holding you together had snapped, and your words rushed out in a torrent you couldn’t begin to quell.

“Shut up, shut up, shut UP!” You seethed, clasping your hands to your ears to try and block out your own intrusive voice, “Just STOP TALKING about it! What are you even saying? Why would you ever want to look like this?!”

Tears started to flood your eyes, blurring the image of the girl who had quickly jumped from your lap and was now cowering before you. Through your bleary vision, you could see tears were brimming her eyes as well.

“You… You have no idea,” your voice warbled, shaking in equal parts grief and frustration, “You have no clue what you are saying, so just STOP IT. KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT AND DON’T YOU DARE SPEAK OF IT AGAIN!”

You slunk from the chair down to the floor, burying your face in your cold, stiff hands. The soft blubbering of your daughter could be heard through your own sobbing.

“I-I’m sorry mommy. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Hearing her broken voice began to shatter the spell you had been under, instant regret jerking you roughly back to reality. Your head sunk lower, your body scrunching itself up as tightly as possible to hide from this cruel reality.

Your screams were born from deeply buried feelings of hatred, tucked far, far away as a means of self-preservation. For a moment, you felt as if you despised your daughter, her existence tethering you to this wretched excuse of a life, binding you irrevocably to Ren. But as you lifted your heavy head, glancing up to stare into her young face, a face so very similar to your own, a face contorted in panic and sadness over her mother’s abrupt descent into madness… you realized it wasn’t her that you hated.

It was yourself.

Your daughter didn’t deserve this. She deserved normalcy. She deserved a father that didn’t pose a threat to her. She deserved a mother that wasn’t ruined by his hands. She deserved a happy and untroubled life, not to be stuck being raised in a barbed cage, navigating her way through life with nothing but the shattered remains of a battered woman to guide her.

“I’m so sorry,” you choked under the weight of your overwhelming emotions, snot and tears running freely down your ruddy cheeks and chin, “I’m so, so sorry baby…”

“What the hell is going on?”

You hadn’t heard the front door open, nor had you heard Ren’s jubilant greeting as he entered your home. He had no doubt been upset by the lack of welcome-it was one thing to be ignored by a child, but his doting wife? That was not something he was not apt to look past.

But surely any feelings of annoyance or frustration fled from his mind the moment he entered the room, his eyes falling upon your crumpled, messy form collapsed on the floor. You cursed his arrival, upset that he entered the scene at such a compromising time, right as you were struggling to regain an ounce of composure and properly apologize to the little girl who had done nothing wrong.

“D-daddy,” your daughter’s voice warbled as she barreled towards him, colliding into his waiting embrace. You wiped at your face in a desperate attempt to hide your previous outpouring of emotions, doing your best to avoid eye contact with Ren as his sharp gaze quickly flicked from you, to his daughter.

This had already become enough of a scene without Ren’s interference, it was best to try and begin damage control now. 

“Daddy I-I made mommy cry!” Tears continued to pour from your daughter’s eyes, her face twisting into a look of pure dismay. Her misguided admission of guilt made you recoil, knowing full well it would grant her no favors with the person she seeking comfort from. “I’m really sorry daddy! I didn’t mean to!”

After several endless seconds of silence, Ren spoke.

“… You made her cry?”

His voice was far sharper than it needed to be, further agitating the precarious state of affairs. In most cases he would have offered your daughter leniency, letting her get away with far more than she probably should. However that leniency was null and void if you ended up suffering in the process.  Ren could not forgive anyone that caused you any duress (himself, of course, being the exemption) even if that person was his own flesh and blood.

“What do you mean you made her cry? What the hell did you do to her?”

“I-I don’t know,” she wailed, a fresh wave of tears spurred on by the accusatory tone of her father’s voice, “I just told mommy I thought her marks were pretty and then she started crying! I wasn’t lying daddy, I like them! I think they make mommy look really pretty!”

“Her marks…?” Ren’s look of vexation began to dissipate as the meaning of her words donned on him. He lifted his arm, rolling up his sleeve to reveal his own scars to the little girl. Pointing a clawed finger to them, he leaned down until he was looking her in the eye, “You mean like these?”

As she nodded her head vigorously in confirmation, Ren tutted, “That’s the reason for all the water works? An innocent compliment started all this fussing?” He scoffed, shaking his head, “Isn’t that a little bit… silly?

You tensed at the sound of his barking laugh, your frown deepening as an amused grin spread wider across his lips. You wished that you could say it was shocking for him to have such disregard after finding the two of you in such an agitated state, but it was painfully in character of him to shrug off your misery and suffering as inconsequential.  How he could so nonchalantly normalize this hellish situation he kept you and your child ensnared in, you would never understand.

Your daughter was apparently sharing similar thoughts, as her face began to once more morph into a pre-sobbing scowl. She was no doubt wounded that her father was not offering her the comfort she was seeking, her emotional state already greatly weakened by her mother’s venomous tantrum.

To help quell another round of tears, Ren pulled the child closer, wrapping her up in his arms so that her tiny form was nearly enveloped by him.  “Shhh, no more tears angel,” he cooed sweetly, patting her head gently to appease her, “There isn’t any reason to cry, especially because… Well, you’re right! Mommy’s whole body is pretty, isn’t it? Her marks just compliment the beauty that’s already there.”

Slowly but surely, her tears began to dissipate. Hunched over shoulders loosened, and sniffles and hiccups gave way to even breathing. Like clockwork, her father’s gentle handling soothed her, the same touch that destroyed you offering her salvation.

As if under a spell, the turmoil that had overcome your daughter quickly began to vanish, her sobbing fading into quiet sniffles. Once she was fully calmed, Ren continued speaking, “That’s all you meant to say to mommy, right angel? I’m sorry she took it the wrong way, she’s probably just tired or hungry, you know how mommy gets. She’ll get over it in no time flat!”

Heat spread through your body at his flippant dismissal of your feelings, an indignant blush lighting your cheeks as you gripped your hands tightly at your side. Your previous emotional episode left you all but drained, but your will to fight back against his callous commentary could never truly be contained.

“In fact, I bet she is already over it now,” Ren’s voice took on a jovial tone as he directed his focus solely on you, “Aren’t you, pumpkin?”

With the ball suddenly in your court, you flinched as both sets of expectant eyes fell on you. Your own eyes darted from Ren’s piercing glare, down to your daughter’s wide-eyed look of unbridled hope. You felt much like the rabbit that had been caught by the fox, stuck in a lose-lose situation. Seeing him hunched over her small body as she clutched to him as a life line, openly concerned that her mother may once more reject her while her father remained a bastion of strength and understanding, left you reeling. Either you would get heated again and stay the villain, but possibly hold on to an ounce of your dignity, or concede to Ren and have yet another piece of your soul wither away and die-the price to pay so that your daughter could remain in blissful ignorance for another day.

“Aren’t you, pumpkin?” He repeated himself slowly, enunciating each word. The kindness in his voice serving only as a mask for the threat buried beneath.

“Y-yes,” you responded quickly, shooting them both a smile you hoped was convincing, “I am very sorry, baby. Daddy is right. Mommy is just… tired.”

A serene smile lit her face, your words placating her. Seeing her happy once more helped relieve a bit of the ache in your own heart, making the lie worth it.

“Good, good,” Ren affirmed with a nod, carefully detaching himself from your daughter as he stood, “but you know little one, mommy deserves some love too, don’t you think? She may have been in the wrong, but it’s not nice to make her cry like that. Why don’t you go give her a hug, hm?”

With no further persuading necessary, she quickly padded over to you, hopping on your lap with so much enthusiasm that it nearly knocked the wind from you. Her arms tightly latched around your torso as she smushed her face into your chest, rubbing it back and forth like she was trying to burrow beneath your skin.

“I love you mommy,” her voice spoke clearly, any hint of previous sadness long gone. You sighed, relieved that this dramatic chapter was over as you pulled your daughter closer to you.

“I love you too.”

During this show of affection, Ren had made his way behind you, slinking so deftly you hadn’t even known he had moved until you heard him chuckle softly behind you.

“This is what I like to see,” he spoke with a sickeningly dreamy sigh, “nothing makes me happier than when my two girls are happy.”

He placed his hands gingerly atop your shoulders, trailing them down until they rested on your arms. His thumbs pressed gently against the marred skin, rubbing in a small circular motion in an attempt to subdue you. His claws grazed your flesh, uncomfortably scratching against you as they snagged against your skin.

He planted a firm and lingering kiss to the side of your head, pulling away just enough that his lips grazed the shell of your ear. “There really was nothing to cry about,” he whispered breathily, his words quiet enough that despite your daughters’ proximity, she would have no chance of hearing them. “It’s almost unfair how gorgeous you are, scars and all. But you must know that, right my sweet pet? I tell you all the time.”

Ren took in a deep breath, releasing it in a shaky sigh, “Seeing these scars reminds me of all we have been through, all that we share. They are a symbol of our bond.”

One of his claws pressed down sharply, a small bead of blood pooling around the piercing. Leisurely he began to drag his finger up your arm, a thin red line following in its wake. You shivered at the burning sensation, but deigned to give him any reaction further than that.

“Don’t forget pumpkin, these pretty marks are a reminder of my constant love for you.” He chuckled softly, peppering a few kisses to the back of your neck while his claws slowly sunk deeper, “And right now I am feeling  terribly sentimental, so for old times’ sake, why don’t I add a few more to remind you just how precious to me you are~?”

[blackbirdswillsing]

On Gothic

a cute helpful guide on the gothic subculture that no one asked for <3

goth music springing from the late 1970s after the post punk movement was a subculture heavily inspired by the themes found in victorian gothic literature

gothic literature:

frankenstein - mary shelley

dracula - bram stoker

jekyll and hyde - robert stevenson

wuthering heights - emily bronte

rebecca - daphne du maurier

edgar allen poe <3

some keywords that come from gothic literature that can help you spot a goth song:

'dark' 'death' 'black' 'cold' 'heaven' 'hell' 'witches 'bats' 'night' 'roses' 'blood' 'church' 'forest' 'jesus' 'grey' 'horror' 'shadow' 'sacrifice' 'tears' 'ghost' 'spells' 'cry' 'love' 'haunted' 'funeral' 'cathedral'

Some other themes in a song that can help you to decide if it goth or not can be:

heavy bass

synth sounds (the song sounds like it was recorded in an empty church)

mysterious and whimsical vocals

deep vocals

lack of a (electric) guitar

The 1980's and 90's were the peak for the gothic subculture, especially in camden market, london, england

Some bands that were prominent at the time were...

Bauhaus

The Cure

Sisters of Mercy

Siouxsie and the Banshees

Christian Death

Clan of Xymox

The Cramps

Depeche Mode

New Order

Joy Division

Alien Sex Fiend

Fields of the Nephilim

Killing Joke

The Damned

Nick Cave

Softcell

Some other goth band recs:

Boy Harsher

Children on Stun

Earth Calling Angela

Molchat Doma

Forever Grey

Horror Vacui

Lebanon Hanover

London After Midnight

Male Tears

The March Violets

The Merry Thoughts

Paradise Lost

Paralysed Age

Plastique Noir

Rendez Vous

Rosetta Stone

Selofan

She Wants Revenge

Skinny Puppy

Specimen

This Cold Night

Tragic Black

Traitrs

Type O Negative

Twin Tribes

ULTRA SUNN

Xmal Deutschland

Your Funeral

The 69 Eyes

Please let me know which ones i've missed because these are just ones that I have taken from my own playlist!

The music is the number one most important part of goth subculture and you don't have to dress goth to be goth... but it sure is fun to do so! Goth fashion holds its roots in thrifting, upcycling and sustainable fashion (buying 'goth' clothes from shein, dollskill and killstar is a big no no).

Anyone can style their gothic outfits however they like but here are some examples of different styles:

Trad(itional) Goth:

Romantic Goth:

Victorian Goth:

The styles can get very similar so let me know if i’ve mixed any up!

I’ve reached the limit on the number of pictures i can add so here are some more examples of goth styles:

Corporate goth

Gothabilly

Mall Goth

Cyber Goth

J-Goth

Baby Bat

Mopey Goth

Vampire Goth

Steam punk

To end the post i'm circling back to gothic literature by listing some films too (which are often based on the books)

Everyone's beloved: Bela Lugosi in the first adaptation of Bram Stoker's Dracula in 1931

The Crow 1994 which comes with a song from The Cure

Interview with the Vampire 1994

The Rocky Horror Picture Show 1975

Edward Scissor Hands 1990

The Addams family 1991 (if he's not like gomez then i don't want him)

The Craft 1996

That's all I have for now and if you made it this far thank you so much for reading and have a nice day <3

current goth song on repeat:

[zepskies]

Wake Me Up - Part 3

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Reader

Summary: A few weeks after you and Ben celebrate your first Christmas together, Ben is returning from another mission with the Supe Affairs team. When he discovers that you’ve been taken, he’ll do whatever it takes to find you. And then, to help you heal.

AN: Get ready for some angsty, but fun attempts at memory jogging. 😅

Song Inspo: “I Can Read Your Mind” by the Doobie Brothers.

Word Count: 4.3K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only for some...mature talk lol. Angst and hurt/comfort, fluff, PTSD, protective Ben, tinge of spice~

💚 Wake Me Up Masterlist || Break Me Down Masterlist

Part 3: “When You Hold Me”

Those first few days were the hardest ones.

Marie ran out of paid time off, which meant she had to go back to work. That left you alone with Ben during the day.

He was standing in the middle of the kitchen, arms crossed, and glaring at you after you’d just pushed away the bowl of bland instant oatmeal he’d “made” for you.

“We’re not gonna have this discussion again. You need to fucking eat,” he said. “I could feed you, though I promise you’re not gonna like it.”

His surly, frowning face was annoying you. His deep voice was annoying you. His tall, ridiculous wall-of-man body in your line of vision was annoying you, clothed in the rumpled shirt and sweatpants he’d slept in.  

Everything about him annoyed you right now.

But that could also have something to do with the pounding ache in the back of your skull, radiating forward and between your eyes.

“Bro, I’m on like, three kinds of medication,” you replied in weary irritation. “With what appetite do you expect me to eat?”

Bro? His eyebrow twitched. He saw the pain and tiredness written across your face though, and the way you were sitting hunched at the breakfast bar, arms crossed on the counter. He softened a little.

“Look, I get it,” he started to say.

“No, you don’t,” you snapped. Your eyes closed as the pain sharpened. You lifted your hands to either side of your temples. “You don’t know what this feels like.”

You huffed and dropped your hands flat on the counter in frustration. Your eyes opened, and you looked down at the various healing scars littering your arms. You knew there were a few more across your neck and chest, and even your thighs. No matter how you stood, sat, or laid, it was painful to move your body. Even your face still hurt, with the fracture and bruises.

“You’re not the one who looks like Edward Scissorhands had a party,” you said, gesturing at yourself as you glared up at Ben. Emotion began to rise in your throat. “Or for a reference you’ll actually understand, how about this: I’m the Bride of goddamn Frankenstein. A fucking patchwork quilt.”

Ben hardened again, even with the deep pit forming in his stomach.

“That’s enough—”

“And despite what little you, or my mom, Grace, Annie, or even the doctors have told me, I can’t even remember who did this to me or what the hell happened,” you said. Hot tears welled up in your eyes. You wiped at them furiously and turned your face away.

“So no, the indestructible supe doesn’t understand. You literally can’t!” You pushed away from the counter and did your best not to lose your balance when a wave of vertigo hit you.

Ben started toward you, but you held up a hand against him.

“Just leave me the hell alone,” you muttered.

It wasn’t the first time you’d ever said that to him, but somehow, this one cut into him worse than the last.

Over the next several weeks, you did begin to heal from your injuries. Your doctor even noted that you were healing better than she expected. Bruises faded, wounds slowly became scars, some of their stitches removed, and with the right topical medication, a couple of them began to disappear.

The memories remained—at least for Ben. Finding you in that dark, disgusting place, breaking your chains, seeing how thoroughly that piece of shit had worked you over…

It still made him angry at times. He’d broken a couple of mugs, and one near-empty beer bottle. (You’d only caught him once, though he’d given you some bullshit excuse as to why.)

Your memory, on the other hand, still didn’t return.

And you weren’t an easy patient. That episode in the kitchen wasn’t the first, nor was it the last. Often the pain made you crabby and irritable, whenever your medication wore off. The head injury was also causing vast mood swings that Ben could barely keep up with.

It was all he could do to stop himself from snapping back at you at times (and sometimes he failed). He wasn’t exactly Mr. Rogers.

Marie was the only buffer. At least, when she was home. On more than one occasion, she’d had to try and diffuse the tension.

She was working during the day though, which of course, left you with Ben.

You were prone to headaches and dizziness, so he was careful with you, more than he’d ever been. You were starting to notice how he sometimes had to correct himself before he touched you, or forced himself to be deliberately slow when he helped you. 

Your mom had also been doting on you, laying out your clothes, brushing your hair, trying her best to cook for the three of you in the evening. Apparently, she’d been taking lessons, though she still couldn’t cook for shit. Ben often suggested takeout, since he was also no “Betty fucking Crocker,” in his own words.

Still, it was a foreign feeling to be taken care of. It often left you unbalanced, even after your vertigo settled, or your headaches eased.

You considered it while you and Ben were channel surfing together from opposite ends of the couch in the living room. Your mom had just given you a blanket to cover your shoulders, before she went off to water your potted plants on the balcony for you. It was a Saturday, so she had the day off work.

You watched her go with a measure of disbelief.

“Look at Mother Theresa go,” you remarked. “You’d think they replaced my mom with one of the Stepford Wives.”

Ben snorted, because he actually knew the movie you were talking about. You’d forced him to watch it with you a few months ago, mostly to tease him.

“She’s never babied me this much in my life,” you said. “Not even when I was still old enough to be babied.”

Instead of commiserating with you, Ben just sighed, shaking his head a little. He glanced away from the History Channel on the screen to shoot you a glance.

“Maybe you should cut your mom some fucking slack,” he said. “She’s doing a hell of a lot for you. Even more than I am.”

You raised a brow at him. While you had a feeling that wasn’t so easy for him to admit, something about his words annoyed you.

“You clearly don’t know her like I do,” you said.

Your childhood had been no picnic. While you didn’t necessarily blame your mom (anymore) for staying with your father when you were a kid, you had never truly been a child. Your self-imposed job had been to protect your sister’s childhood, and sometimes, your mother too.

Ben gave you a more direct look.

“I know plenty,” he said.

And in his eyes, you saw that he did know something. Perhaps too much. You gathered the throw blanket closer around your body and sank further into your side of the couch.

The last thing you wanted to talk about was your messed up childhood, let alone your father. You couldn’t even remember his death, though Marie told you that you had been there. And so had Ben.

You snuck a look at him while his attention had returned to the TV. He’d settled on Ice Road Truckers. You weren’t impressed.

“Ugh. Can we watch something else?” you asked. “Something funny maybe, like How I Met Your Mother?”

Ben shot you a look. “Sounds like a chick show.”

“Not true! It has universal appeal,” you argued. Slowly you raised yourself from your corner of the couch, grimacing just a bit as it disturbed the delicate equilibrium of your still-fractured skull. It was healing, but that, of course, would take the most time. Your headaches would turn into migraines if you weren’t careful.

Ben knew that full well as he watched you move towards him across the couch. He couldn’t help but reach out a hand to steady you by your arm. You gifted him with a smile and grabbed onto him.

“Please?” you implored.

Ben tried to remain unaffected, but that smile of yours was endearing. Plus, it wasn’t often that you willingly reached out to him, touched him.

“I’ll do you one better,” he said, turning off the TV with the remote. You gave him a curious look. He turned to you with a smile.

“Let’s go for a ride.”

Of course this man would have a Benz, you thought. The car was black and sleek with beige interior, and it was both comfortable and decked out with all the modern bells and whistles.

You wondered if he knew what half of these buttons did as you gazed across the dashboard, but the path of your eyes continued until you settled on the man himself. Ben was casually dressed in a burgundy sweater and dark brown slacks, a silver Rolex on his wrist. He had one hand casually on the wheel and the other resting in his lap.

Part of you itched to take his hand, but you decided against it. You could admit, if only to yourself, that you were warming up to him.

Maybe you even liked him.

You knew you didn’t always make it easy, but he had been as patient and gentle as he could be with you, for a man who clearly wasn’t used to being either for anyone.

Despite his gruff exterior, however, you knew he had to care about you to put up with all this. It made you more willing to trust him…and even more curious about him.

“What’s my favorite color?” you asked.

Ben gave you a furrowed look. “What?”

You crossed your arms over your blouse.

“We’ve supposedly been together for a year,” you reasoned. “You should know what my favorite color is.”

He shook his head in disbelief.

“Come on,” you nudged his arm, trying to get him to smile. You succeeded, just a little.

“I don’t know…blue,” he guessed. Your mouth fell open in shock.

“How do you not know my favorite color’s red?” you said. “That’s the most basic thing ever.”

“What are you, five years old? Who fucking cares?” he said, rolling his eyes.

“I do!” you said. “Well, fine, Mr. Grump. When’s my birthday?”

With another shake of his head, he did correctly answer that question, at least.

“What’s my favorite food?” you asked.

“What’s with the goddamn quiz?” he retorted.

“I’m seeing how well you actually know me,” you countered. “Come on. Impress me.”

Ben slowed to a stop at a busy intersection. He’d been trying to jog your memory by passing certain landmarks he thought you might recognize, like the grocery store you two always shopped at, or the park where you liked to go for walks. So far, you seemed disinterested in the sights and more interested in grilling him.

Despite his longsuffering sigh, he had to wrack his brain in order to come up with something for you.

“The Beatles are your favorite band. Specifically the Abbey Road album,” he said. 

That didn’t exactly answer your earlier question, but…he wasn’t wrong. 

“Okay, you get a point there,” you said.

“And you fucking love Christmas,” he said, somehow with both annoyance and fondness. “Tacky as hell, with the…the ribbons, and the red flowers, and the jingle balls, and whatever the fuck else you can get your hands on. You love that shit. Because when you were a kid, that was the only time of the year your family got any peace.”

You were smiling at his description, but you sobered when he got to that last bit. Ben met your gaze. 

“I know that you’ve had three boyfriends before me,” he said. Then, a smirk grew across his face. “But I’m the only one who’s made you come. Every time. Like a goddamn faucet.”

You gaped as your face grew red with a hot blush. “Excuse me—”

“You claim to like getting taken from behind the best. And you do. You’re all too happy to get bent in half for me. Hair pulling, ass-slapping, the whole sticky nine yards,” he continued, with an even fonder gleam of memory in his eyes. His hands caressed the leather wheel of his car, long fingers flexing.

“But you actually like it better when you can see my face, watch me work. I don’t blame you,” he added, smiling. “I mean, if there was an Oscar for laying it the fuck down, I would’ve taken that shit year after year. Would’ve beat out Burt Reynolds by a fucking landslide.”

You thought you were about to combust, whether from indignation, or straight up embarrassment, you didn’t know. (And you were going to ignore the little tremble of heat between your legs.)

But just as you were about to blow your top, figuratively speaking, Ben’s expression became more serious when his gaze returned to you.

“I know that you’ve had to take care of yourself. And that you’ve been alone all your life,” he said. Then a slight pause, before his attention went back to the road. “That’s something you and I have in common.”

The light turned green. Your anger and embarrassment settled, somewhat, into contemplation. You didn’t know what to make of this man.

He was infuriating, with all kinds of audacity. He was crass, and at times, he grated on your very last nerve.

But somehow, he knew you. He seemed to know the parts of you that you didn’t even want to know.

Sensing your angry gaze on the side of his face, he turned to you with a devil-may-care grin.

“You hungry?” he asked.

“Ben, I’m not dressed for this,” you said, leaning in close to whisper to him.

He’d taken you to a nice steakhouse for dinner, on the even more affluent side of town. You still couldn’t believe you’d moved out of New York City to Scarsdale, of all places.

Ben wrapped an arm around your waist and guided you closer, enough for you to feel his body heat.

“You’re just right,” he looked down on you with a teasing wink. It made you blush, despite yourself, with a small smile.

You went with him to a secluded booth in the back, by his request with the hostess. They seemed to know him, so maybe he was a regular. Or more likely, both of you were regulars. This place was only vaguely familiar, but when you saw the menu, you knew you were going to get the salmon.

Ben snorted when you said so.

“Yeah, that’s what you always get,” he said.

He smiled though—at the fact that this little outing was helping you make progress after all.

He didn’t need the menu either. He always ordered the dry-aged porterhouse steak. You couldn’t drink on the medication you were on, but he ordered a glass of bourbon for himself.

When the meal eventually came out, you glanced at his enormous plate with wide eyes. That had to be the biggest damn steak you’d ever seen, along with a huge loaded baked potato and a side of broccoli. You doubted the greens would do all that much for him, nutrition-wise. 

“Whoa. Did they cut up a stegosaurus back there?” you quipped.

Ben chuckled. He’d actually missed your sense of humor, no matter how dumb it was sometimes. He unwrapped the steak knife they gave him from his napkin and started to carve a big piece.

You raised your brows, but shifted your attention to your fish and mashed potatoes. It was delicious. Like melt-in-your-mouth good, and you weren’t sure fish was supposed to be “melty.” No wonder you two liked coming here.

But then, your thoughts were entirely derailed.

Hearing the sound of his knife hitting the plate, carving into the meat—it struck a discordant note in your mind. You looked over, and the sharp, silvery gleam of it caused a vision to flash across your eyes…

Of a blade sliding against your skin, over and over. Along with questions. The same questions being asked of you, over and over.

You can’t. You can’t. You can’t.

“Tell me!” a man demanded. “Give me something.”

He grabbed your face, squeezed your neck until you choked on blood and spit.

“Hey!” a more familiar voice cut through it all. “Come on, sweetheart. Answer me.”

You blinked and caught yourself mid-gasp, staring into the deep green of Ben’s eyes.

Your head was resting on his shoulder, his hand pressed to the side of your cheek, which stung slightly, as if he’d had to try and wake you. His arm was wrapped around your waist in the booth.

He was gentle in sliding your hair away from your face, but his own was hard and almost angry, as his brows were knitted together. His gaze then traveled across the room, and you realized that there were other people in the restaurant now watching you and Ben. Even the servers stopped what they were doing at the sound of his shout.

He gave them all a pointed glare.

“What? Nothing to fucking see here,” he snapped. Most of them were wise enough to turn away, back to their meals and conversation. Ben focused on you as you caught your breath. You were finally able to support yourself, though you stayed leaning on his shoulder. He wasn’t about to let you go either, until he got some answers.

“What the hell happened?” he asked. You frowned at his gruff tone, until you met his eyes. Somehow, you could see that there was worry there.

You glanced down, and you closed your eyes when you saw it. You pressed your face into his arm to steady yourself.

“The uh…the knife,” you whispered. “It made me see something…remember something.”

“What did you remember?” he asked quickly. You sucked in a shuddering breath, squeezing your eyes shut tighter.

“Nothing good,” you whispered.

You felt him pause. You heard the shuffle of silverware, a thump on the table. Then his hand came up and cupped your cheek.

“It’s okay. I put it away,” he said.

Tears burned behind your eyelids, and you buried your face harder against his chest. At this point, it wasn’t just about seeing the knife. It was knowing that whatever had happened to you, it had truly been hell. Unlike anything you’d ever been through before.

“You want to go home?” came Ben’s voice, deep and steady in your ear.

You sniffed and nodded, as your tears seeped into the fabric of his sweater. He rubbed your back, holding you more securely.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s go.”

Unfortunately, the episode at the restaurant led you to a migraine. Ben carried you to the master bedroom and laid you down, helped you undress down to your underwear, and gave you a shirt you liked to sleep in. He turned all the lights off and made sure the curtains were closed tight.

Marie brought you your pain medication with a glass of water. Ben hoped there was enough in your stomach that the pills wouldn’t make you nauseous as well, like they occasionally did.

After you took the meds, you curled up on the bed and closed your eyes tightly, trying not to whimper like a child. You’d dealt with pain before; that was nothing new. But this was getting ridiculous. 

Ben gave Marie a certain look. “I’ve got it from here.”

She gazed at you with sympathetic tears in her eyes, but she nodded and touched his arm.

“If you need anything, just call for me,” she whispered.

Ben nodded, but he closed the door behind her and began by taking off his watch, then his shoes, pants, and sweater. He changed into a pair of sweatpants and a loose shirt.

You were too busy hugging your pillow and pressing your face into it. You didn’t realize he was still with you until the bed dipped behind you.

Ben turned you around and gathered you into his arms. You inhaled sharply, but then you clung to him. His chest and middle were warm, a bit unnaturally so.

“You’re hot,” you muttered, splaying a hand against his chest. “Like a radiator.”

Ben quirked a smile. “Yeah, you tend to complain about that.”

You shook your head and pressed yourself closer to him. “Not today.”

He wiped the tears from your cheek and laid a kiss on your forehead. He held you that way for a while, just silence and the sound of your breathing covering the room. Eventually, the pain medication began to kick in, helping to ease your pounding skull.

You pulled back enough to see Ben’s face. He was still awake, but he opened his eyes and met yours in the dim light. You reached up and touched his bearded cheek, hesitantly.

“Why can’t I remember?” you asked, in a broken voice.

Ben’s brows furrowed. He curled his hand around yours and let out a breath.

“I don’t know,” he said, but all he wanted was for this to be over.

“I could take this from you,” he said. “What’s the big fucking deal about a blood transfusion?”

Your fingers stilled against his cheek. Your tearful eyes averted from his, but you weren’t as opposed to the idea as you were before.

“The last time, it healed me?” you asked.

“Within the hour,” he said. His hand tightened a fraction on yours. “It’ll be like it never happened. And your memories could even come back.”

You sighed, briefly closing your eyes. Your hand fell from his cheek, but you nodded.

“Okay. I’ll think about it,” you said.

Ben’s frown remained, but at least it was a step in the right direction. He took your chin and slowly tilted your face up to his. You stared up at him with shining eyes. He didn’t like the pain he still saw there, but he did like the way you glanced down at his lips.

He took a chance, and he leaned down to meet you with a kiss. What first was a gentle touch, soon became heady as your hand slid up his arm and into his hair. He brought you flush against him and deepened the kiss, when his tongue swept past your lips and brushed against yours. You welcomed him in with a surprised moan.

He hadn’t tasted you in so damn long, it was like indulging a craving he’d been denying himself. It was even harder to slow down and ease away from your lips.

You rested your forehead against his chest afterward.

“Wow,” you breathed. “Okay.”  

Ben chuckled. But unlike the movies, a kiss didn’t break the spell. You were his, but not completely. 

He wanted nothing more than to show you how much you could be…but your body was still weak. He would have to continue protecting you, even from himself. 

“I want to stay here tonight,” he said. 

Despite his earlier thoughts, he didn’t think he could take one more night of not being with you in this bed. He could control himself. He just wanted to make sure you were all right, and safe with him.

It took you a moment to decide, but you nodded. 

“You can stay,” you agreed, with a more teasing smile. “I don’t think your old man back can handle the couch anymore.”

He snorted in amusement. There was some more of your sense of humor peeking through. 

Meanwhile, you still weren’t totally convinced that him sleeping in the bed with you was a good idea. A good part of you craved his nearness, and how he made you feel safe…but you also weren’t sure if you were ready to continue being so vulnerable with him. 

Just when you were about to put some distance here between you and tell him to stay on his side, Ben rolled you back around so that your back was pressed to his chest. He slid a warm, strong arm around your waist. His lips pressed to your bare shoulder. The sleep shirt you wore (one of his old shirts) had ridden down your arm.

“Just relax,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

And you actually believed it.

You felt comfortable and secure in his embrace. Soon enough, you relaxed into him.

Sleep wasn’t easy, but you got there in time. It even lasted for a while.

Just not long enough.

In your dreams, there were flashes of things that didn’t make sense. They were jumbled together like white noise on a TV, occasionally screeching with color, and mostly red with blood.

You woke up shaking and sweating.

Ben was a light sleeper at best. He was startled awake in confusion, disturbed by how you had been tossing and turning and making sounds of distress. He turned toward you and moved his arm to make room for you, but he decided he would let you come to him this time.

You didn’t disappoint him. You reached for him and buried your face in the crook of his neck for a while, trying to ground yourself in him. He held you and rubbed your back until you calmed down.

When you pulled away slightly, and spoke his name in the dark, Ben looked into your eyes. For a moment, he could’ve sworn you were there. The real you.

“Thanks for staying with me,” you whispered.

Ben was disappointed. This wasn’t you remembering. But at least, this was you being you, thanking a man like him.

He just nodded and guided you back into his arms. You let him hold you for the rest of the night. 

AN: So close, but yet so far. 🥲

But just wait for the last part...

Next Time:

You brushed your fingers over that picture in wonder. You didn’t remember that day, even though you were sure you must have been there…

It was so odd to see so much of your life in pictures, yet it was all still so fuzzy, or entirely blank in your mind.

You paused, blushing once again when you saw the picture of you getting out of the shower with the towel barely wrapped around your body. Why the hell would this be in a photo album?

You quickly moved on. Though you stopped next at a picture of you and Ben in what looked like a dark nightclub. The way he was holding you, looking at you like he was ready to devour you, and the way you were looking up at him, with a smile that said he’d better damn well try…

It made a sharp pain lance behind your eyes.

���️ Keep Reading: PART 4 (Finale!)

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[anonymousfisch]

(I am only talking about the movie not the live show)

I had to think about how Brad was really into the Frankenstein place when he saw that it frightened Janet. The second she started to enjoy herself he began to hate it and tried to keep her in her place.

One of the more fascinating moments is obviously how he tries his macho bs with Frank but it doesn’t work.

Frank literally lets him yell and then pokes fun of Brads display of toxic masculinity by playing into his sexual insecurities. Which is really at the heart of a lot of Brads behaviour (IMO). He is incredibly insecure (implied gay) and completely unable to break out of the system he finds himself in.

Frank picks up on those insecurities and forces Brad to confront them throughout the entire movie.

And it’s interesting how Brads behaviour changes after having sex for the first time. He isn’t as aggressive anymore he even displays submissive behaviour/tendencies especially towards Frank.

Which is something continued even when he tries to be more aggressive again during Planet Janet he gets turned into a statue.

His floorshow number is literally about the conflict he feels between the way he is supposed to be (sexuality, gender) and how he actually wants to express himself something Frank is forcing out of him.

He in the end is the one who says "what’s his crime?" And that obviously can be read in a very different context when you consider that Brad is gay/bi. Literally having to watch the person who changed him into his true self get murdered in front of him. It could be interpreted as his first experience with homophobia now that the story is over. And all that is left is darkness (superheroes).

Because don’t forget Brad is the one who judged people who were different from him very harshly in the beginning (The motorcyclists). And both him and Janet are implied Republicans so now he has to deal with the fact that he has become "the other" who will be judged the way he judged others.

There is obviously some more subtext that can be read into it that I want to write down in the future about Frank being a creator/god/jesus metaphor. These are just some thoughts I had after watching this movie again

[midnight-mourning]

DCA Promptober Day 31: Trick or Treat

Last one! Took a little extra time but we finally made it! Hope you enjoy, this is a fun little something something for the Confused Spirit fans in the audience

Additionally, if you have not read Confused Spirit, many of these characters will have no value to you I'm guessing, so, sorry about that. There's also some slight, implied spoilers for the fic as well. That being said, hope you enjoy!

Word count: 6392

Content warning: mentions of blood, injury, and death, reader descretion is advised

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

It's Halloween at the Plex, and you're, well you're not sure how to feel about it. You had to work, meaning your sister and brother are currently out trick or treating with Clara instead of you, which is a bit frustrating. Not to mention, you'd gotten all dressed up and had nowhere to go until you got off in an hour or so. 

You think a mandated Halloween party, on top of having to work on a project, wasn't a great combination, but with the glare Sarah had sent in the meeting last week to you and the other division heads, you didn't have much a choice. Have to set a good example and all that. 

At the very least, you weren't the only one dressed up, so you didn't look as ridiculous sitting hunched over a desk covered in green paint and fake stitches.

Your team all had various costumes on, differing in degrees of effort and style. Pete went classic vampire, Jesse was a mummy, and Tyler was a zombie. Liv was rocking a great Mia Wallace costume, and Savannah had on a witch hat but really went for it with her makeup look. 

Currently, as both a way to kill time and to potentially fix the problem you'd been having, you were all trying your best to fix the issues going on with Fazerblast.

Specifically, something had been messing with both the electric and the mechanical components of the entire attraction. While Lizzy and their team worked to determine what had been causing the random power outages, your goal was attempting to fix the malfunctioning laser guns and rogue staff bots. 

You'd tried to tell both Sarah and Rachel that the place really needed shut down for a few days to actually work on it, but no luck. Seems they wanted it open for Halloween, regardless of how bad an idea you thought that was. 

When your code crashes again you groan, tempted to run a hand across your face before you remember the paint.

"Frankenstein's monster was a good choice for you. You really sell it," Pete quips, sipping on a blood red slushy in one hand, still typing with the other.

You turn to him, eyes narrow, "Remind me why I'm helping you with coding again? When I could be doing literally anything else?"

"Gives him an ego boost," Jesse answers from across the room, "No offense."

You scoff, turning to the coworker across from you, "Figured as much. Savannah, any word from the company that sold us the trigger pins?"

"Not yet," She sighs, puffing out her cheeks, "But I keep checking the reviews and nobody else has had the same issues we've had here. They shouldn't be freaking out like this."

"Figured that much, too. Liv?"

She looks up and over to you, tired, dead stare on her face as she holds up the phone, "Still on hold. I'm guessing corporate left early for the day and couldn't be bothered to let everyone know."

You grimace, and check the time. It's after six now, the party starts at 6:30. That's more than enough for you at this point.

"Right. You know what, we're done here. Pack it up, we can grab food before the party because I know Sarah's going to be stingy about it."

With muted, half-defeated cheer, your team closes out of their computers and shuffles to the door. Besides Tyler, he's in a great mood still, but you expected as much. 

As you're grabbing your jacket and turning out the lights, you swear you see something out of the corner of your eye by your computer. Something purple. When you turn, you find that your computer is on again, login screen staring at you. 

"You coming?" Savannah calls from halfway down the hall.

You turn to yell back, "Yeah, give me a sec, just hold the elevator."

Slowly, you walk back over to your computer, giving it a once over. It looks fine, just turned on. You take hold of the mouse, and hover it over the shut off button again. As you click it, the screen freaks out, glitching before turning black. At the same time, a shock goes up your arm and you yelp, purple flashing across your vision. 

Dazed, you shake your head, and clutching your arm, make your way out of the office and to the elevator. 

You shuffle in, and as the doors close Jesse leans over and mutters to you above the chattering of your team.

"You alright?"

You nod, "Yeah, just, a little tired I guess." Your head feels funny, but otherwise you're fine. You think.

"What'd you do to your hand?" He asks, looking to how you're still holding it.

You let it go, shaking it off and letting it fall to your side, "Stoved it on my way out. I'll live."

He nods and you continue your ascent. But you can't shake the feeling that something's wrong. Your arm twitches and at the same time your vision becomes glazed over in a purple hue. You shake your head, and it's gone again. 

The upper levels are filled with activity. Kids rush from place to place, already tired parents in tow. The words 'trick or treat!' are echoed everywhere as children go from the different tables and booths set up for the holiday. 

If Lisa knew this was going on she'd have a fit that she was out going house to house instead of being here. But asking Clara to watch her in this chaos would have been cruel, and so, the less your sister knew, the better. Besides, Gabe deserved an authentic trick or treating experience as opposed to getting themed-corporate garbage in his candy bucket. For one of his first times at least.

As you pass by the Daycare, seeing many children playing in costumes and such, you see the doors are propped open, and Sun is handing out candy to a long line of trick or treaters.  

"Damn Pete, the Daycare Attendant really outshone you huh?" Savannah elbows him and nods to the animatronic's costume. 

Sun is also a vampire, with a large black cloak, and white shirt. His pants are somehow all black, and the change of shoes is also a surprise. Two lines of red streak down from his smile, which is still as friendly as ever otherwise.

Pete huffs, "It's literally the same costume, besides he doesn't even have fangs!"

You all start walking again, laughing. 

"True, but he wore it better, even without fangs."

The comment causes Pete to start arguing with the speaker, which to the surprise of no one at all, was Jesse.

You keep your gaze on Sun a few moments more, head feeling a bit clearer for just a moment. He glances up suddenly, and waves to you, head tilting just slightly. Surprised, you also wave.

There's a buzz in your pocket. As you start to walk away again you check it. 

'Your costume is nice.'

You wait for another message, you don't get one.

'Thanks???' You're confused. 

'Something wrong?'

'I just would have expected you to say something snarky at this point. Genuine compliments aren't your style'

You narrowly dodge an eager trick or treater running by you, nodding at their parent as they apologize. 

'It's Halloween. I'm in a good mood, don't sour it for me'

You scoff, 'There it is. I don't plan to, though it's tempting to have Clara swing by with the kids just for the fun of it'

From there, your normal bickering comes forth, and you continue it both as you head to the party and while at it. It's a bit busier than you expected, more employees than you expected are there mingling about the dancefloor.

The entire west arcade, like the rest of the Plex, is done up with decorations that set the mood. There's even a fog machine, adding to the spooky but cheerful atmosphere.

You still feel pretty funny though, and thus take the time to go 'cool off' out in the hall for a bit. 

It grows worse and you have to lean back against the wall. Head throbbing as you try to drink more punch in the hopes that will solve it. Your vision flashes again, purple, and suddenly you're not in the same location anymore. 

It's dark, and you're standing over someone. You can't see their face, it's covered with static. They're crying, hands up in surrender. You feel yourself chuckle, but it's not your voice, your tone is off. It's gravely. Not your own. 

Suddenly, out of your control, your hand, which is not your hand but some, clawed, thing, comes down and-

Your vision goes red and you clutch your head in pain. Gasping, you find yourself back in the hallway, back in your body. Back to normal. 

You take a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. You don't know what that was. You don't want to find out, either. 

"Not enjoying the party, Andromeda?"

You look up, standing above you is Moon. He's also dressed up for this, wearing a witch costume that has more aspects of his usual wear to it than Sun's did. His color scheme is purple with bits of orange, and his usual hat is replaced by a large witch hat. 

You relax, the pain is gone, for now, "Trying to. I've not been feeling so hot, honestly."

"What's wrong?" He sits down across from you, cross-legged.

You shake your head, "I don't know. My head has just been, feeling funny. And hurts. A lot, really. Been blocking it out I guess."

"How unfortunate. Perhaps I could be of help?"

You shrug, "You can try, but don't feel like you have to, either."

Moon holds out his hand to you, and you set your palm on top of his. He intwines your fingers, which makes your face heat up, but you think with all the paint on your face it's impossible to tell. You look up to him, waiting. 

"Close your eyes, and take a deep breath," He urges.

You do. The pain has subsided some, though not by much.

"Breathe in," Pause, "Breathe out."

You follow his instructions, each breath helping to soothe you bit by bit. 

You realize however, that even with your eyes closed, there's a purplish tint to the blackness behind your eyes. You frown, and notice that it grows when you breath in, and subsides as you breathe out.

Moon's grip tightens on yours, but keeps speaking. 

"In," His tone shifts, growing hoarser, sinister? "Out..."

Alarm spikes in your stomach, but yet, your mind stays calm, almost like its-

You open your eyes, smiling softly, "I think I'm good now. Thanks, Moon-man."

He nods. 

Then, something occurs to you.

"Wait a minute, shouldn't you be passing out candy to the kids-" You blink, and you're alone in the fully lit hallway. 

You rub your eyes, had the lights been on that entire time? You knew that sometimes the two AI could avoid a switch if the light level wasn't fully one way or the other. But this was different. 

You don't get to dwell on it, as a scream erupts from inside the west arcade, several others following. Alarmed, you sit up, ignoring the pain in your skull that's back with a vengeance and rush inside. 

You find a crowd has gathered around the center of the dancefloor. The music's been cut, and people are muttering with horrified looks at whatever’s in the middle of the group.

As you move past people who are covering their mouths or eyes, some are crying, some are shaking their heads in disbelief. You find your team among them.

"What's going on?" You ask after shoving past another person. 

Savannah shakes her head, and Liv cowers further into Tyler's arms. You've never seen him so grim. 

You realize two of them are missing, your fear grows, "...Where's Jesse and Pete?"

Tyler nods to the center of the crowd, and you quickly take the few further steps to burst out into the opening, finding your fears confirmed plainly. 

Pete sits on the ground, crying as he cradles a body wrapped in white cloth stained red. You have to flick your eyes away from it for a moment, the sight being beyond shocking.

Swallowing and keeping your eyes to the ground, you slowly approach Pete and sit down. Briefly, you find your eyes meeting your, Christ, your dead friend's. His eyes are wide, mouth open in pure horror.

You turn back to the man beside you, setting your hand on his shoulder as he jumps, "What happened?"

"The, the lights cut, just, he just," He can't seem to look away, he's shaking, "I don't, I don't know how this would've, who could've, do-done this..."

You put your other hand on his other shoulder, forcing him to turn and look to you, "Pete. Breathe. Just breathe. Okay?"

He nods slowly, and you turn to behind the crowd behind you, "Please tell me somebody's called the cops?"

"No signal, trying to get ahold of Derrick in the office, but haven't had any luck," You realize that it's Bri who's answering you, looking rather grim in her black cat costume. 

You nod, "Right. Who's got basic medical training? I think he's gone into shock."

Someone steps forward, and starts tending to Pete. Someone else comes forward and lays a sheet over Jesse's body. A ghost costume you realize, how ironically morbid.

You stand, and-unfortunately being the person with the most experience in this scenario-try your best to take charge and calm things down. You also feel some level of responsibility, given that all the other Division Heads seem to be missing now.

Working with Bri, you send a group to the security office to see if they can't notify the police of what's happened. Additionally, you try to lock down the area to keep this from getting beyond the walls of this room and causing mass panic. Not to mention, you have no idea who did this, meaning they're still among you as far as you're aware. 

It's all going as smooth as it can be until Bri and the other guards’ radios erupt with screaming. Causing you to pause in your discussion with Savannah. 

You can barely make out what they're saying, only catching snippets here and there.

"-Something in the office!"

"Everybody's dead, oh god, they're all-"

"Help! Please! Anybody!"

To make matters worse, the lights cut again, sending the growing paranoia among the crowd into a full blown hysteric mob. You can't make out a thing in the dark, and when your head starts aching again, purple blinding you, you know you're a goner for the time being. 

Another vison comes to you, this time, the room is dimly lit, and you can tell this is a closet of some kind.

Again, you tower over a cowering figure who you realize is, David? What in the world is he doing here? What is happening?

"I don't know what they see in you, if anything at all," A voice that's not your own, yet comes from you, says. It's familiar but yet you can't-

David's sentence is shaky, "Look, I don't know what you want but I don't want any trouble. Okay?"

"Trouble? Friend, you're in a lot more than just trouble," There's something heavy in your hands, it glints in the light, "I'll tell you what though, if you hold still you'll be saving me a lot!"

Axe, it's an axe and it's swinging, down, down, down-

"Hey, it's alright. You're alright," Bri's shaking you, hand on your shoulder. 

You take a deep breath, realizing you're on your knees in a room lit by a red emergency light and some flashlights. Glancing around, you see all your friends, including Abby and even Jacob are here with you. There's a few others who you're guessing are other security guards based on how they stand near the door, on edge. 

You look back to Bri, "How'd I get here?"

Bri juts her thumb, "Tyler found you half out of it on the ground and grabbed you. Somehow carried Liv here too."

"I'm stronger than I look," He flexes with a nod. 

You manage to crack a weak smile, clutching your head as more pain shoots through it, "What happened? Where are we?"

"Security office by Fazerblast," Bri answers, glancing over at the covered window in the door, which you realize has been barricaded, "Furthest we could get safely with this many people."

"What do you mean by safely?"

She opens her mouth, but Pete speaks up, "The bots have gone awol." You turn to see he's on the ground, leaning up against the wall, blood dripping down the side of his head, face solemn, angry, "They're picking us off one by one. Anybody in sight is getting killed off. Doesn't help that we can't see a fuckin' thing and they can."

Your eyes widen, "What? …but, why? How?"

"Does it matter?" He asks, looking to you now, "We're dead meat if we try to leave, but we're sitting ducks here."

Bri scolds him, "We're not sitting ducks. This our best chance of getting out of here alive. If we can get power to the cameras, even better."

"Working on it," Liv says, something sparking as she speaks, "But I'm not an electrical engineer."

"Just give it up, Liv. There's no point," Pete scoffs, shaking his head.

He and Bri start arguing, Savannah trying to interject to keep the peace.

Someone sits down beside you, hand resting on your shoulder. 

It's Abby, her Glamrock makeup is smeared with dried tear streaks, "Hey."

"Hey," You sigh.

She bites her lip, "Are, are your siblings...?"

Your eyes widen and shake your head.

"God no. They're, they're safe. Out trick or treating with Clara," You put a hand to your face, relieved as you realize that fact, "Your brother?"

She sighs, "Also safe. With my parents. Not here. But," She stops, and you know exactly what she's thinking. 

You nod, turning away as you hear her sniffle. Your friends are still fighting, the guards by the door are getting antsy, another spark startles Liv and she looks ready to cry. You need to do something. 

Your vision turns purple but you shake it off immediately. Whatever this is, it can wait. You're going to make it.

Standing, and clutching your arm to keep it from twitching, you clear your throat, "We're not going to die here. Not on my watch. Bri, you and your guys here have any sort of weapon?"

"Tasers. And there should be a baton in here somewhere. Why, what are you thinking?"

You nod to the control panel for the cameras, "If there's anyone who can get those working in a blackout, it's Lizzy. And I know they were in Fazerblast before all this. Hell, it might've been their team that caused the outage."

"You want to go out there?" Pete asks, "Are you insane?"

You shrug, "Have to be at least a little bit to do this job. Someone give me a radio. We can at least double check before considering it."

Bri hands you her radio, and after a moment's hesitation, you set it to the engineers' channel and hold in on the button, "Lizzy, you still okay out there?"

Quiet. Your friends exchange a few bleak glances. 

You're about to try again when, "Uh, yeah? Why wouldn't I be?"

Relief, you think Pete even cracks a small smile. 

"There's... a lot of shit going down in the Plex right now, how have you not heard about it?"

"Dude we've been stuck in Fazerblast for hours. Besides trying to fix the power the doors got jammed. I'm not leaving until this is done though, so we just kind of ignored it. Did think it was weird there was no parents complaining about not being able to use a half-functioning attraction though." Their tone is so casual you have no choice but to believe it. 

The information, however, is huge, "That's, actually the best case scenario for us right now. So listen up, we gotta do this right or we don't stand a chance."

After explaining the full situation to Lizzy and their team, you work with your friends to come up with a plan. A good one. Something tells you you're only going to get one shot at this. 

Meanwhile, you struggle to keep it together. You keep getting more and more flashes of that other perspective. Speaking in those voices that you can't quite place how you know. Increasingly, you start to recognize the locations they're in are getting more familiar to where you are currently. 

It's a no brainer to you then, that you're a part of the team that goes to retrieve Lizzy. You force Bri to stay in the office, along with one of the guards. If you don't make it back, you at least want some people to stay safe. 

You try and fail in vein to stop Pete and Abby from coming with you, Tyler picks you up again when you question him coming along. 

"We're better off in even groups," Pete argues, gripping the metal chair leg he stole tightly, "Makes our chances that much better."

You don't disagree, but you don't like it either, "Fine, you're right. Now put me down please, Ty."

"Can do boss," He sets you down. 

You're all armed as best you can. The guard, Joseph, has a taser, and Tyler has-apparently-pure brute force on his side. Pete has the chair leg, which is similar to the stun baton you're carrying.

Abby has brass knuckles. You don't know how she has those but you're not going to question it. Apparently, Utah state law doesn't have any clauses relating to them, now you know.

You move quickly and silently through open darkness to get to the staff entrance to Fazerblast, which is thankfully only a short distance away. You all stay close, not saying a word as you navigate. 

There's not a soul around, human or machine. You don't know if it you puts you more on edge or not. 

When you get to the door, Pete's able to get it open quickly, and you all file inside, locking it again soon thereafter. 

The light inside the attraction is blinding in comparison to the darkness outside, the music and sound effects playing as if everything is entirely normal. It's almost more eerie in that regard. 

You find Lizzy and their crew sitting around one of the towers, the reunion is brief, but happy. It's agreed that the senior engineer will come with your group, and the parts and service crew will stay for safety reasons. You're about to depart again, when the radio starts going crazy. 

"We've got issues here!" Bri shouts down the line, "Don't come back, it's not safe!"

Static blares from the device, followed by banging, shouting, crying, and then a loud crash. The silence that follows is deafening. 

"Fuck. No, no, no," You bang on the side of the radio, "Come on, Bri! Savannah! Anyone!?"

No answer. 

"Dammit!" You toss the radio to the side, hands coming up to grip the sides of your head, "Dammit, dammit, dammit."

A hand on your shoulder, Abby again, "There's nothing we can do right now. We're going to have to refocus. Plan. Hope that they'll be okay-"

There's a banging at the front entrance to Fazerblast. Everyone freezes. 

You think quickly as the sound grows in volume, "Lizzy, how in control of the power are you currently?"

They dig through their bag, and toss you a makeshift remote, "It's what we've been using to test."

The pounding gets louder, and the shutter creaks. 

"Everybody who isn't armed find a place to hide. The rest of you are with me. We're gonna flip the tables on them."

Everyone scatters, and you make your way to the doors. You have no idea what's on the other side of that metal shutter, but you're going to find out one way or another. You'd rather it be on your terms. 

"Can you get it open?" You ask Pete, hitting the lights and leaving only a flashlight to see.

He nods, "You're sure about this?"

"As I'll ever be. Abby, Joe, Ty, go hide nearby. We'll assess the biggest threat and go from there."

They all nod, and head off into the darkness.

Pete gets the panel open, taking a deep breath, "I hope you're right."

You press your back against the wall beside the panel, almost accustom to the feeling of your vision switching to purple. That other perspective is right outside now. You see Freddy is the one banging on the door, along with several map bots. You squeeze your eyes shut and you're back in your body again.

"Me too."

There's a beep, and the shutter slowly starts to raise. Quickly, you grab Pete and shove him on the other side of you, using your arm to press him up against the wall beside you. 

As bots start pouring in, you lean your head back against the wall, holding your breath. 

You watch as they fan out, scouring for anyone that they think is in here. They don't see you. You relax slightly.

You turn to Pete and nod, guarding him as he moves and shuts the door again, it quietly sinks back to the ground, locking you in here for the time being. 

Moving across the wall, you regroup with the others. 

"I counted six staff bots, and Freddy," Abby whispers. The other three agree. 

Pete keeps lookout on your corner, "The music still playing helps us a little, but not a lot. We stick together, and go one by one, saving Freddy for last."

You frown, "Freddy's not last."

"What do you mean? Of course he is, he's going to be the hardest to take down."

You shake your head, "You miscounted. There's one more animatronic that made it in."

"Who?"

Off in the distance, you hear it, the jingle of bells. There's a flash of red as he lands on one of the walls, far off from you but within your line of sight. 

You shake away the purple again, knowing it's going to show you what he's seeing at that moment, "Moon."

You fare better than you expected. A bunch of humans versus machines. You manage to take down three of the staffs bots in the dark, and by screwing with the lights a few times, manage to disorient the Daycare Attendant enough to keep them from discovering your location. 

However, one of the parts n services guys gets found out, and his terrified screams as your claws rip him apart send, something, down your spine.

You know something's wrong with you now. You're taking far too much joy in beating in the metal skull of the staff bot below you. Oil splattering your clothes and face. You feel manic, alive. Out of control. 

You shake your head, stopping. You ignore the glances being sent your way, you have to make it through this. 

With this one you realize there's only one more staff bot left, then it's just Freddy and the Daycare Attendant. You flick the lights off again, huddling together with the others. 

"If we go for one, the other is going to know. Our best bet is to divide and conquer," Pete says. 

You nod, "One person with an electric weapon per team, one with something heavy. Tyler, you go with the group at the disadvantage to even it out."

Your teams end up being Joseph, Abby, and Tyler together to take on Freddy, leaving you and Pete to deal with Moon. 

You trudge through the darkness, silence between the two of you. 

There's been a voice in your head for a bit now. You block out whatever it says. Your grip feels shaky on the baton, and you can tell Pete's on edge more because of you than the looming threat somewhere out in the dark.

Keep it together. You just have to keep it together.

"Hello, Diana."

You turn, he pulls you up into the air, away from Pete. You don't even think to scream, instead only able to watch terrified as the ground and your friend get further and further away. 

Moon settles on one of the towers to set you down again, and you scramble back and fall onto the ground, looking up at him with fear. 

His faceplate twists, observing you. Then, his eyes narrow cheekily and he chuckles lowly. 

"What's the matter, Bright Eyes? You look like you've seen a ghost."

You bit your lip as it trembles, raising the baton as a threat, "W-with how this night is going it's, certainly a possibility."

"But that's not my costume now, is it?" He takes a step closer. 

You hold firm with the baton, hitting the button for the taser part to go off, "Moon-man, I don't want to hurt you. Don't make me."

The spark seems to deter him, growling.

"Why are you doing this? What did any of these people do to you?" You ask, beg in your words, "Killing innocent people? That's not you."

Moon snickers, and despite your waving of the baton, he moves closer, clawed finger resting on the end of it. He presses it down as he crouches to your level. 

You now sit eye to eye with him as he speaks, "Andromeda, would you like to know a secret?"

Your grip tightens on your weapon, head shaking once. That doesn't deter him. 

He leans in closer, his smile hovering just above your lips. 

"This is the best Halloween I've ever had," Then, he kisses you. You're so surprised that you don't feel the baton be taken from your hand until it's gone. 

He pulls away, chuckling again.

A loud bang suddenly resonates in the space, and the Naptime Attendant starts to twitch and collapse on the ground in front of you.

Pete stands over you both, breathing heavy as he clutches the chair leg in both hands. 

"Sorry, had to take the stairs."

Moon snarls and flips around, hand raising ready to slash across the man's chest. 

Panicked, you hit the button for the lights. 

But it's too late. 

As Sun's rays pop out, one by one, Pete can only stand there, blood slowly starting to soak through his shirt. He coughs, then takes a step forward, then another, stumbling past you into the wall. You quickly flip around as he collapses back against it, breathing ragged. 

"Well, at least now you look authentic," You turn back to see Sun standing hunched over, clutching his faceplate, "Though, it's still not quite as good as mine."

As he straightens, you have to suppress a gasp as it's revealed that one of his optics has shattered from the previous impact. 

His rays twitch and his focus snaps to you as you stand. 

His faceplate clicks to the side, "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes, Sunshine."

"Sun." You can't reach for your baton without it being obvious. 

"Are you having a good Halloween? I know I am." He tsks, "A pity about your costume, though I suppose the grit and grime really sells it."

You take a deep breath, running the back of your hand under your nose to wipe away the blood that's dripping. Your vison flashes purple, and for a moment you find you’re staring down at yourself. 

You're a mess. Hair all over the place, clothes torn. There's streaks in the paint covering your skin. There's still blood coming out your nose a little bit.

And your eyes are bright purple.

You come back to and watch Sun's eyes narrow.

You shift slightly, hand twitching.

You see there’s a slight shadow over Sun’s eyes. And in his good optic a small white pupil flicks to your hand. You swallow.

 "Don't do something you'll regret, Icarus."

You stamp your foot down onto the baton, it pops up into your hand and you click to turn it on.

You jut your chin out, tilting your head slightly, "Come on, Sun. You know me better than that."

You rush forward, he steps back, dodging and spinning to face you as you charge again. It's almost like a dance of danger. And it truly becomes one when Sun takes one of your hands and spins you around, dipping you low and back up as you try and fail again to use the baton on him. 

You let out a noise of frustration. Charging forward again, the two of you go round and round. Narrowly you miss him every time. Narrowly he dodges every swing. He’s fast. Faster than you’d have ever anticipated, than he’d ever let on about. You never realized how close to death you may have been all this time.

After another miss, this one the closet you’ve gotten yet, Sun puts an end to your game. He grabs hold of the baton, only flinching as you turn it on, and rips it from your grip, tossing it aside. He spins you into his arms and holds tight. 

You fight against him in vain. 

"You know, Bright Eyes. I would have thought you'd appreciate your treat a bit more than this," He snarls the words, "But maybe you've been too busy resisting it to do so."

You slow your struggling, and Sun releases you finally. The words having done the job far better than his hold to sedate you.

You turn to face him cautiously.

"You, you did this?" You ask, "You did this to me?"

Sun tuts, hands coming up to cup your cheeks, "Well, technically you did it to yourself, Bright Eyes. But I'm happy you did. Makes all of this much, much easier."

It suddenly hits you that he's right. Maybe not intentionally, or fully knowing, but you made the choice to go back to the computer. You chose to try and turn it off again. You could have left the office, it would've shut down eventually. Something had compelled you to come closer and investigate, and you had made the choice to listen. 

And now you were suffering from the cost.

"Now, let's finish this up, hm?" Sun bends and kisses you, pulling away after a moment, "You wouldn't want to disappoint now, would you?"

You don't answer. Your feet move on their own as they turn to face Pete, who seems to realize what's happening before you do. 

He clutches the wound on his stomach tighter, breathing quickening, "Come on, snap out of it! This isn't you! You know it's not."

"Quiet over there, you'll get your chance to speak in just a moment," There's something set down in your hands, you know what it is, "Don't worry, I'll help you. No need for tears."

You find that you are crying, but can't do a thing to stop it. Your body is not your own, your emotions are not your own. You are entirely out of control as Sun guides you to march staggeredly towards Pete.

Off in the distance you hear shouting as your remaining friends try in vain to take down Freddy. Not that it mattered. Even if they did, you'd be finishing the job.

Your breathing is heavy but controlled, grip on the axe tight, all you can do is stare down at Pete, who looks up at you horrified, eyes wide. You think the look matches the fear in your own gaze.

Sun's hands are on your shoulders, voice a purr in your ear, "Go on, Starlight. You know what you need to do."

The axe raises jerkily, fighting against it and losing. Your eyes snap shut, and it comes down. Again, and again, and again.

You block out everything, all noise, all touches. You block out the sound of sickening crunches and squelches, of Pete's heavy gasps, of Sun murmuring encouragement right beside you all the while. 

You block out the wood rough against the skin of your hands, the blood, sweat, and tears, running down your face. Sun's hands wrapped around your waist, head resting on your shoulder. 

You suddenly regain control and your eyes shoot open, throwing the axe away from you and stumbling back into Sun's arms. Your hands come up to your face as you sob, shaking your head. 

He just holds you as you cry, muttering things you can't comprehend as he presses kisses to your hair. 

When you finally subside to sniffles is when he pulls back to press a kiss to your lips.

"There, there, you're alright, Bright Eyes. Come on now," He lifts you to your feet, arms pulling you closer as he leans in for another kiss, "I'll let you pick who's next, how's that?" 

You shoot up from your bed, heart racing. You clutch your chest, breathing hard. 

You're at home. Sitting on your bed. You're fine. Everything's fine.

There's a yawn to your left that interrupts your thoughts. 

It's Gabe, laying on the bed beside you in his pumpkin costume. He yawns again, and stares curiously up at you, fist in his mouth. You pat his head with a sigh.

Right, you were going to put him down for a nap before heading out to trick or treat, then go to the Plex for the same thing. Looks like you ended up taking a nap too. 

You check the time, it's almost five. Suddenly, a thought hits you square in the face.

"Did I kiss Sun?" You say aloud. 

You do your best to recall the fading nightmare.

Oh god, you did. Right on his stupid flat face. Multiple times. You kissed Moon to but you're less opposed to that albeit confused-but Sun?

Involuntarily you gag, now feeling the sudden urge to rinse out your mouth, even if it had just been to his faceplate, much less a dream. 

Shaking your head, you turn to look down at your brother, who's now somehow managed to get his foot in his mouth, despite his costume. 

"Gabe, never down a bag of sour gummies and immediately take a nap, it'll give you crazy dreams."

You think you might leave the trick or treating to the kids tonight.

Something tells you that it’s for the best.

🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

Oof, what a doozy huh? Imagine being the final girl AND the killer... crazy. Good thing it was all just a dream. Here's the promptober list and the spookvember schedule. Thanks for reading as always-

Oh?

What's this?

Looks like there's a link down here.

How'd that get there?

...

Hm.

You should click it. See what happens.

CLICK ME

btw the song playing while writing the fight scene was I Go Crazy - Orla Gartland and it was a VIBE and a half let me tell you-

[mapoeggplant]

skip to loafer chapter 60 analysis and brief character study on shima // spoilers

a light and fun chapter that hides something between the lines: how frankenstein's loneliness and revolt becomes a mirror for shima's feelings

(since the translation is very fresh, very very close to the release of the chapter, i will try to use the raws more. this is a way to make you curious to read the translation and also to support sensei in a way! hope you guys understand)

it's actually funny how much i'm surprised by every skip to loafer chapter. of course, some things i feel were expected to happen, but others appear suddenly and drive me completely crazy — that's the gift of takamatsu, who’s able to have fun with her own characters to the point of unfolding a delicate writing, that's much deeper than it appears to be.

i think it's cute and fun how shima's jealousy starts to be used as a comic relief in the story. it's something very innocent, which doesn't harm either party, but rather makes something new bubble up inside him, a feeling he wasn't familiar with before. he knows how it hurts to see mitsumi with other people and how he wants to be close to her, but he still doesn't have the necessary repertoire to express exactly what he feels.

and then, to add an additional element to the plot, sensei chooses frankenstein as the play for the school festival, shima's second great performance. she chooses a story of loneliness and desire, of a monster made of scraps of other people who tirelessly seeks his space in the world while being denied by his own creator — doesn't that sound a little familiar to you?

shima is, whether we like it or not, a fragment of other people's expectations. he is everything his mother wanted him to be, but also his broken expectations. he’s also made up of all the desires he represses and the times he was used by people as an object to be displayed. shima is a monster made of other people's expectations who seeks in other people's warmth a way to find a cure for his own loneliness.

and this ends up being even more explicit when he shows that he is truly happy and fulfilled when acting in the play. for the first time, he's not doing this for his mother or any adult's validation: he's doing it in the name of himself, his wants and his own way. he is slowly making peace with acting and his complex feelings surrounding it.

but, like it or not, shima still hasn't gotten rid of all his traumas, and this becomes slightly clear when sensei chooses to make a game with the lines of two different characters: shima and his internal monologue versus ujiie, a person who has slowly been causing him some complex feelings.

"i thought to myself it would be nice if i could perform this role better than anyone else" followed by "isn't that the bare minimum?". it's as if ujiie, unintentionally and through no fault of his own, was embodying a mixture of shima's personal ghosts and all the expectations that were thrown at him throughout his life.

isn't that the bare minimum? you've lived your whole life playing the role of someone who wasn't you, of a puppet. so...isn't that the least you could do? facing the scientist who created the monster, wouldn't that be a way of being able to face everything that was built in its place?

i think it's beautiful the way that sensei plays between shima's old feelings and these new ones that he's been discovering little by little. yes, he is finding happiness in acting again, finding his space in the world, but he is also developing a new feeling that he has never felt for anyone before. seeing mitsumi surrounded by so many other people gives him a somewhat irritating itch, which he himself doesn't know how to resolve — after all, he's a teenager, no teenager really knows how to resolve such complex feelings.

this makes him expose his neediness. seeing mitsumi, the girl he likes so much, surrounded by people who aren't him, makes him act like a needy teenager who doesn't know how to ask for attention.

different from what the girls thought at first, i don't think shima tried, in any way, to manipulate mitsumi. i really agree with yasaka on this part and i'll add even more: i believe that even he doesn't really know what he's doing. not even he knows exactly how he feels about mitsumi. but what he feels, at the moment, is an enormous desire to be with her and have her all to himself. he just needs to find a way to express his feelings in a clearer and more rational way (but i think that will take a while). It’s almost like the monster on his journey to find his beloved.

now about the other parts of the chapter: seeing the girls come together to discuss something that mitsumi was so afraid to tell before makes my heart fill with joy. seeing a group of girls so unique, so concerned about each other and so comfortable opening their hearts to each other makes me happy in a surreal way. i love, love, love the way in which sensei develops their friendship and how she always, always tries to show how much the girls are willing to help mitsumi even without knowing exactly how.

reading "yeah, none of us have that much experience with dating" is so cute to me. they are teenagers, they are also, for the first time, facing a wave of new feelings, new challenges — and the great luck is that they have each other to support and seek help.

i'm also very happy how yazaka is, little by little, gaining new friends and opening up more. i confess that in the past i didn't know exactly how to interpret her character, but now i want her to get more and more involved with girls. she deserves to have a group of friends who count on her to express doubts and seek help, just as she also needs that same support system.

well, as the girls said "all we can do is watch over them" and that's exactly all we can do too. i believe that this journey of self-discovery, for both shima and mitsumi, still has a long way to go and i think this is extremely special. this just shows how much they both love each other as people and are willing to try to meet each other halfway so that all their feelings are equalized.

once again, we have an amazing chapter in our hands. sensei keeps getting better and better, surprising us every damn time. i'm just so happy to be able to read such beautiful story and lucky to experience all of this. we're so damn lucky. remember: please support sensei if you can, by buying the chapters (via comic days or the online version of the magazine or the volumes). thank you SO MUCH for reading!! will love to discuss more with you all 💛

[mancer-in-the-abbey]

I haven’t made a headcanon post in a hot minute, have I? Can’t sleep and college is holding the campus Halloween party tomorrow soooo GHOULS AND THEIR FAV CLASSIC MONSTERS!

Dewdrop: Frankenstein’s monster. Dude can relate to being taken apart and put back together. Probably wept while reading the original 😔

Rain: Creature from the Black Lagoon. Yeah because aquatics but I also think he finds something cathartic in a horrendous little guy that still wants love

Phantom/Aeon: Vampires. What can I say? Like Papa, like ghoul

Mountain: Good old classic serial killer. Man was the real monster all along!

Cirrus: Mummy. She saw the original 1932 film and fell in love with it.

Cumulus: Not so much a fan of scary things, she did that enough in the Pit, thank you. She does love a good witch, though…

Swiss: Classic Grim Reaper. Not even necessarily as a horror ring, he just finds the imagery really compelling. Also those really grim dark boomer memes with skeletons make him laugh

Sunshine: Zombie girlie. Wishes that more movies would focus on the actual horror that is a zombie apocalypse rather than “the real monster was man all along” stuff

Aurora: Mummy. Cirrus recommended she watch The Mummy and ended up watching the 90’s version instead of the 30’s classic. She fell in love with every single cast member, as we all did, including the titular Mummy.

Bonus Aether: now that he has a bit more free time, he’s been getting into more Eldritch horror, going back and forth between original Lovecraft and new age interpretations. He’s having fun! He also knocked his head against the wall when he found out what Lovecraft named his cat.

[forthegothicheroine]

are there any characters from Victorian horror/genre fiction who are essentially superheroes? Had the realization that Frankenstein, Moreau, Griffin, Rappacini, and Jekyll are basically Batman's rogues gallery and yeah I could make an OC hero to go up against them but it feels more fun to pit someone also from that era against them (for the purposes of this I am excluding Holmes and Van Helsing just because they have been used similarly a lot, the Scarlet Pimpernel is a strong maybe although it would have to be a descendant for the timeline to work but a heroic character with some sort of powers and/or otherworldly backstory would be most ideal). Thanks!

I would love to read a book about this!

Horror is a hard genre for superheroes to fit into (although it has been done), as we want to feel that our protagonists are in danger or even totally helpless. I can think of a few antiheroes from the penny dreadfuls here- Varney the Vampire, and Wagner the Wehr-Wolf, both of whom had superpowers and both of whom could be sympathetic or unsympathetic depending on the serial installment. If you didn't want to use them directly, you could have Varney as someone who turned your hero, or Wagner someone who got your hero to sign an infernal contract like Ghostrider (something you're apparently able to do for other people once you've signed your own infernal contract.)

C. Auguste Dupin is another great detective if you want that kind of hero but one less frequently used than Holmes.

One VERY weird option that's at your disposal is Jane Eyre, if you expand the bit where she hears Rochester call out to her despite being far away into her being generally psychic. You could do something similar with Mina's psychic link to Dracula- maybe it turns out to be to all supernatural creatures?

Followers, any further suggestions?

[lakesbian]

twig faq to answer all of the asks i got regarding my liveblog

Q: holy shit twig turned out bad huh A: yeah

Q: should i read twig? A: no. it's bad

Q: what about the parts of twig that were good though? i noticed that there were parts of twig that seemed awesome before everything suddenly exploded A: okay let me elaborate. the first ~13 arcs of twig are really really endearing when they're focusing on the lambs. when they're being about the lambs, they range anywhere from "cute" to "extremely fun" to "genuinely super compelling" to "shit that made me cry (positive)." we have high points such as:

12yo sylvester lambsbridge fumbles 3 people with crushes on him harder than anyone's ever fumbled in their life in the span of like 7 hours maximum

sylvester lambsbridge does transhet biopunk brokeback mountain

wildbow writes rose thorburn but if she were a hardass trans girl (she's the one doing transhet biopunk brokeback mountain with sy)

gordon dies and lillian copes by taking some of sy's drug that gives him turbo-adhd

helen is there

sylvester lambsbridge experiences what i earnestly believe to be one of the cruelest things wildbow has ever done to any of his protagonists

lots of other stuff, i'm abbreviating here

but the reason i say the first ~13 arcs of twig are good when they're focusing on the lambs is that twig is prone to slogging, strikingly mediocre fight scenes--sy can't fight for Shit, but wildbow still insists on describing, like, sylvester trying & failing to hit someone with a wooden plank with the same gratuitous, lengthy detail as taylor inventing a spider-based saw trap for someone. and unlike the spider-based saw trap, it's not interesting to read about. the arcs take an episodic format, and what this means is that virtually every arc goes on way too long, contains at minimum 40% more tediously detailed fight scenes than are actually necessary, and then leaves you feeling jarred when wildbow inevitably timeskips to the next arc just as the prior one was really getting into the emotional swing of things. i also have a (quite possibly subjective?) sense that twig wasn't as well-developed and thought-out as, e.g., pact, and oftentimes the setting conceit (1900s biopunk frankenstein-y british empire) doesn't feel like it's hitting quite as hard as it should.

for all of these reasons, i wouldn't have rated the first ~13 arcs of twig any more generously than in the 3.5-4 star range while i was reading them, but that's still an overall rating of good. i wouldn't still be thinking about some of the things from the first ~13 arcs of twig if they weren't overall good. if all of twig was the same quality as the first ~13 arcs, i would recommend it to people who i feel like could tolerate the pacing issues & would feel reading about the lambs was worth it.

but. BUT. BUT-

Q: so, twig turns out really bad, huh? what went wrong? A:

it is not all the same quality as the first 13 arcs. it turns out really bad the last 7 arcs are actually atrocious

the first thing that comes to mind if you ask me "what went wrong with twig" is that wildbow tries to write a trans woman as one of the main characters, and he does it badly. miss jessie ewesmont, my new favorite girl whom we need to get the fuck out of a wildbow novel. i think she was written extremely well--and in fact one of the top 2 characters in the book--prior to wildbow trying to handle her coming out. i'd even say the foreshadowing for it was perfectly well done and enjoyable. but after she comes out, during the last 7 arcs of the book?

you know how trans women are often victims of being treated as undervalued, disposable girlfriends, who are expected to coddle & cater to their partner's every whim while receiving effectively nothing in return? and you know how trans women are often treated as if they should be grateful for receiving (what is often less than) the literal bare minimum? and you know how trans women are frequently treated as if it's completely implausible for anyone to find them genuinely attracted or desirable, let alone worth pursuing or putting effort into?

yeah, the last 7 arcs of twig contain untold tens of thousands of words of wildbow reinventing all of that from first principles. this is a subjective experience, but it genuinely felt worse to read than amy dallon. at one point, the Disposable Trans Girlfriend in question literally says "i appreciate you not killing me" after she gets stabbed in her sleep by her boyfriend, sylvester. it's beyond parody. i've never said "WE HAVE TO HIT WILDBOW WITH HAMMERS" more in my goddamned life than while reading the last 7 arcs of twig. Transmisogyny Fucking City. it's a completely unforgivable and miserable reading experience.

and speaking of unforgivable and miserable reading experiences involving bigoted handling of a main character...onto Item No. 2 on the list of writing decisions that ruin twig! the ableism.

wildbow wants all of the lambs to--due to being ill-fated human experiments--have set expiration dates. one of the Main Points hanging over the entire narrative of twig is that every single lamb is, in all likelihood, going to die of complications from the way they've been experimented on before they're even twenty. two of them do die from those complications before the story is even halfway over: jamie's entire mind & sense of being is regularly taken out of his body, and one day, the doctors can't get it back in. gordon is a ~15yo with the heart problems of an elderly man, and they kill him while he's still young enough to make one of his last acts begging to see his dog one last time. it's good. it's tragic, it's interesting.

the problem is that wildbow's decision for how to depict sylvester starting to experience end-stage complications is to...turn sy into an ableist horror movie trope villain. sy hears The Devil telling him to kill his friends, and he just fuckin' blacks out and then comes to like "oh no...what's all this blood on my hands." i'm talking "mental illness is a Demon that can Possess You and make you an Evil Serial Killer" levels of ableist writing. like wildbow straight up turns sy into the joker from the movie joker. it's like that one "insaaaaynenene....assyyylum..... cray-ay-zeee...Insaayne" tiktok, you know the one. it's why he stabs his disposable trans girlfriend.

and it's baffling because: 1. wildbow wrote worm. you'd expect better from him when it comes to writing mental illness. but his skills apparently stop short of being able to depict a character with psychosis without making it cartoonishly ableist. but also, 2., sy doesn't only start becoming mentally ill at the end of arc 13! the previous arcs do very clearly establish that he's extremely codependent with the other lambs and needs continuous support to avoid experiencing life-threatening mental health episodes. he experiences dissociation, he struggles with severe memory loss, he acts erratically, he has self-injurious tendencies, he hallucinates, he talks to himself in public. prior to the start of arc 14, all of that is written with perfectly amenable levels of nuance and empathy towards sy. i wouldn't describe it as glowing representation, or anything, but it's by no means egregious.

but after arc 13? change of plans. now he's the joker from the movie joker, and we have to watch while his friends chain him to an armchair so he doesn't go around randomly cutting peoples hands off in a murderous fugue state.

it's bad. it's extremely bad to read.

the third item regarding how/why twig becomes terrible is a lot more simple to summarize: it becomes almost entirely about the previously mentioned sloggy fight scenes as opposed to about the lambs. and when it is about the lambs, it's often terrible to read anyway, due to the aforementioned issues with the handling of protagonist sylvester lambsbridge and his disposable trans gf. the plot becomes incoherent and uninteresting to the point where it's not even worth the effort of attempting to summarize how or why. everything that made twig good more or less entirely disappears from the story, and things that make it fucking awful are added.

Q: okay but lets say i have something unfixably wrong with me and i want to read twig anyway. wheres the best stopping point? arc 13? A: yeah it's arc 13. it's not a satisfying stopping point at all though. nor is the rest of twig prior to it really worth it. just don't waste your time. go read a good book, like pact, instead

Q: what the fuck is up with helen? A: :)

[etanow]

How does the gang feel about different media that reflect their situation? Like, How does Ragatha feel about Frakenstien by Mary Shelly?

Ragatha loves the book!! She revisits it every few years and she draws a lot of parallels between Frankenstein and her own creators; she thinks Frankenstein is a monster himself but not for creating a new form of life, rather not taking responsibility for that life and caring for it. It's complicated, her viewpoint changes often, and there's a lot of projection, but it's how she copes with her history.

Jax doesn't have time for works of fiction (unless it's Star Wars shhhhh), but does find it fun debunking the science and beyond in media

Gangle loves ghost stories even though she's not a fan of the horror genre

Zooble thinks humans interpretations of demons are funny and likes those sort of movies! Their favorite is As Above So Below

Pomni refuses to read or watch anything with zombies in it lol poor woman

I genuinely don't think Kinger remembers how to read but put him in front of the History Channel and he's entertained for HOURS

[wholoveseggs]

See you're taking request.

How about Elijah and reader meeting in a library and bonding over any English classic (story takes place in around 1950-60s) like Macbeth or Frankenstein or The picture of Dorian Grey and again meet in a debate hall or something similar?

Between Pages

{Masterlist}

It's the 1960s, and you are a college student finding solace in the campus library. There, you encounter more than knowledge within its walls.

~♡♡ Thanks for the request anon! - This was a fun challenge to write!! ♡♡~

You ever know the exact gif you are going to use before you even write the story? This is one of those cases...

5k words - Warnings: no smut, mild drama, bullying, human Elijah, mentions of cheating.

You were sitting in the library of the university, your back was hurting from sitting hunched over your books for hours and the letters were swimming in front of your eyes. You sighed and ran a hand over your face, trying to rub the tiredness away. When you really got into a book you tended to lose track of time and any sort of physical feeling, the world disappearing around you. It was the only time when you felt like you could forget about all the worries in the real world.

You were in the middle of a particularly exciting scene when someone cleared their throat. You looked up and were surprised to see a guy standing next to your chair. He had curly hair and was wearing a black leather jacket over a dark red shirt.

"Can I help you?" you asked. The guy smiled slightly and took a chair, sitting down across from you.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing all alone in the library on a Saturday night?" he asked. You were taken aback by his forwardness.

You looked around the place, pointedly glancing at all the books, "Reading?" you said, making it sound more like a question than a statement.

The guy chuckled, "Well, don't you have anything better to do? You know, like go out with me? Have a couple of drinks?"

You narrowed your eyes, "Sorry, but no." You turned your attention back to your book, hoping that the guy would take the hint and leave you alone. But he stayed put, leaning back in the chair, arms crossed over his chest, looking at you.

You glanced up again, feeling his eyes on you, "Did you want something?" you asked, a little irritated.

The guy smiled, "Yeah, for you to say yes."

You felt uncomfortable, like a cornered animal. There was something about the way this guy was looking at you that made you feel like he was going to pounce if you didn't agree to go out with him. A sickening feeling of unease started to spread in the pit of your stomach.

"I'm sorry, but no," you repeated, trying to keep your voice level.

The guy leaned forward, resting his elbows on your chair, getting closer to you, "Aw, come on, don't be like that. Just give me a chance."

"I don't think she's interested." A smooth melodic sounding voice chimed in. You and the guy both looked to your left. There was another man sitting in a lounge chair, his eyes on his book. His appearance was striking, with dark brown hair and a sharp jaw. He looked up from his book and just stared at the other guy, one eyebrow raised.

 "You heard the lady. Now fuck off, would you?" the stranger added.

"Hey, fuck you!" the first guy spat. He was obviously pissed, his hands were clenched into fists.

"I'll pass," the stranger said, a smug grin on his face. "And so will she. Now leave before I make you.”

You were speechless. You didn't know what to say or do. This was not the way you had imagined your Saturday night.

The guy got up, a frown on his face, "Pity." He mumbled and walked away. You were still trying to comprehend what had just happened when the stranger's voice brought you back to reality.

"You okay?" he asked, a concerned expression on his face.

You looked at the new guy, a grateful smile on your face, "yeah, thanks. He was a bit too persistent."

"Don't mention it. This is not the place for picking up girls anyway."

You laughed, "where do you like to pick up girls then?" you asked jokingly.

"I don't," he replied seriously, continuing to read his book. You looked at him, trying to make out his features in the low light. He was dressed casually, in jeans and a black leather jacket over what looked like a white Henley shirt. He had a nice profile, a slight dimple on his chin, and a nice mouth that was gently open as he read.

You had to concentrate not to stare, and to get yourself back to your reading. But after a while, you couldn't help it, you glanced at him again. He looked up, meeting your gaze with dark, beautiful eyes. Your cheeks flushed red.

“Need something?" he asked, a smirk playing on his face. You quickly shook your head.

"No, I'm fine, thank you."

He looked at you for a moment, studying your face, before his eyes went back to his book. But you noticed he was glancing at you every so often, a thoughtful expression on his face.

When you finished your chapter you looked up at the clock, realizing you had been there for six hours. It was now around midnight and the library would soon be closing. You let out a heavy sigh, you did not want to go back to your dorm, and risk running into your asshole of a roommate and her friends. They had been harassing you for weeks, throwing mean remarks your way whenever you encountered them. It just made sense to keep your nose buried in a good book, rather than being around bullies.

You grabbed your bag and headed for the exit. The library was almost completely empty apart from some older students who were still hunched over their books and looked like they wouldn't leave until the library closed. And then there was him. The guy in the leather jacket. He was still sitting in the same spot, his eyes on his book but you noticed his eyes were not moving across the page. You frowned and turned away. Just because he helped you did not mean you had to become friends.

Moments later, you found him standing beside you as you walked towards the exit, "that's one of my favorites," he said, pointing at the book you were holding in your hands.

"Frankenstein?" you asked.

The guy nodded, "what do you think of it?"

"I think the monster is misunderstood. That it deserved pity, rather than death," you said, not sure why you were opening up to this complete stranger.

He smiled, "me too." There was a short silence.

"I'm Elijah, by the way. I don't think I introduced myself properly earlier." He said, holding out his hand.

You shook it, "Y/N. Nice to meet you."

"I'll see you around, Y/N," Elijah said, smiling at you. He held the door for you before disappearing down the corridor.

You woke Sunday morning to the sound of your roommate and her friends getting drunk and singing shitty songs. You groaned and grabbed your pillow, putting it over your head, trying to muffle the sound. But after half an hour of lying in bed you had to get up. You stood and went to the bathroom to get changed, hoping to sneak out before they noticed you.

You put on your bra and then went to the closet to get a fresh shirt and dress. When you opened the closet door you were surprised to find nothing hanging. Your head whipped around and you saw your roommate sitting on the floor, her back against the wall and your clothes thrown around her.

She was laughing with her friends and your cheeks turned red when you realized they were on your bed. A lot of them were pulling at your dresses, shirts, and bras.

"Are you seriously wearing these ugly things? I would never be seen dead in this," she laughed, holding up one of your favorite blue dresses. She had the skirt tied around her head and her girlfriends were busy tying one of your shirts around her midsection.

"Come on guys, let's put on a fashion show!" she exclaimed loudly. The whole dorm was busting out in laughter, the girls throwing more clothes around.

"Can you please give me my clothes back, I have to go," you said in a small voice.

"Go where? Do you have a date? Wait, don't tell me you actually managed to lure someone with one of those ugly dresses!" your roommate laughed. Her friends joined in and they had a hard time standing up due to the amount of alcohol they had already consumed.

You ignored her remark and just stood there looking miserable. You bent over and picked up the closest dress, pulling it over your head.

They all looked at the dress you were wearing. It was purple, flowing down over your curves nicely, but it was an outdated style and it didn't suit you.

"Definitely not going on a date in that!" your roommate sneered, laughing. You ran your hands through your hair. You felt frustrated tears sting behind your eyes but blinked them away.

"Have a nice day Kathy," you said coldly, before grabbing your bag and leaving the room. Your face was burning hot with embarrassment. You couldn't wait until you could live on your own, far away from this place. Away from these people.

You settled down in one of the plush lounge chairs in the library, pushing away all the bad thoughts. Today would be a peaceful day, no bitchy roommates, no annoying classes. You felt yourself calm down. What you wanted now was to read a good book and just relax.

You were just flipping to the bookmarked page when you felt someone sit down across from you. You looked up and saw Elijah smiling at you.

"Nice dress," he remarked, pointing at your outfit. You smiled and felt a blush creep across your cheeks.

"Thanks. Went a bit off the rails with the style this time."

He leaned forward, "Can I ask you a question?"

"Sure," you said, bracing yourself for whatever it was he was going to say.

"What exactly are you doing here? Spending all your weekends cooped up in the library, reading?" Elijah looked at you, curiosity in his eyes.

"I could ask you the same thing."

He smiled, "I asked first."

You shrugged, "No point in lying I guess. It's much easier to lose myself in a good story rather than deal with real life, you know." You looked down, avoiding his gaze.

"I can understand that. These days everything's just going downhill," Elijah said, running a hand over his face, "the war in Vietnam, all the conflict here at home. There's a feeling that things are not going the way they should."

You looked up, amazed at his observation, "Exactly. Society is changing and it's overwhelming sometimes."

Elijah chuckled softly and reached for the book in your hand. You watched his fingers as they grazed yours. There was a strange feeling in the pit of your stomach as he touched you, and his lips curved upwards in a soft smile when you met his eyes.

"Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus," he read, running his fingers across the paper, he flipped to the page you were on and skimmed through the text, a thoughtful expression on his face. He handed the book back to you.

"It is a fantastic read, I think the author has done a great job capturing the fear society felt in the 1800s, towards advances in technology and the creation of artificial life," he commented.

You smiled happily, "I love this book. I always come back to it and get surprised by new details I have failed to notice earlier."

He gave you a wide smile, it made his face glow, "Do you have a favorite scene?" Elijah asked, his dark eyes on your face. You bit your lip and thought for a while, going over the book in your mind.

"My favorite scenes are when the monster finally meets Victor. Although it's an awful situation, it's actually pretty touching," you answered truthfully.

Elijah gazed at you fondly, "Why is that?"

"Because it shows the human ability to empathize, something everyone deserves to have," you told him, taking the book and flipping to the chapter in question, reading a paragraph out loud to him. He didn't interrupt you once, just looked at you, a soft expression on his face.

When you finished reading Elijah grinned, "beautiful, if not a bit bleak."

The two of you would spend hours every day, sitting together and exchanging thoughts about the books you were reading. You always enjoyed going to the library, but now you even anticipated it, hoping to run into Elijah. You would wake up a little earlier, dressing up a little nicer. When you would walk into the library he was the only thing in your thoughts, his beautiful smile, and how he was always so kind to you.

After almost three weeks, you found Elijah waiting at your usual table, his jacket still on.

"I thought it would be nice to go somewhere else today," he said.

You arched an eyebrow, "Where?" you asked,

"There's this restaurant near here, it serves some delicious food." he replied, giving you a sweet smile.

You looked down, thinking that even though his plan sounded lovely, you couldn't afford a fancy restaurant.

"My treat," he added, as if reading your thoughts.

You swallowed and smiled at him, nodding, "Okay, yes. Let's go."

While you walked towards the restaurant you realized it was the first time you were spending time together outside the library, and outside the university grounds. Your heart was beating a little faster, and you hoped he wouldn't notice how nervous you had become.

The restaurant looked very cozy, wooden tables, candles, and a fireplace. You breathed in, the smell of spices making you sigh contently. You sat down at a table in the corner, and a woman came by to offer you the menu.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

You smiled at her and ordered a glass of wine, Elijah ordering something as well. You were a little overwhelmed by all this, not used to nice restaurants, nice wine, and good looking men.

Elijah was gorgeous, so out of your league, it hurt a little. But you pushed those thoughts away, you didn't want to think about such things now. You had a hard time making friends, and you were happy to have found a companion in Elijah, you didn't want to ruin anything by falling for him.

When the food arrived, you dug in, enjoying the flavorful mixture of fresh vegetables, pasta, and rich red wine. The conversation was easy, just like in the library, you discussed literature, everything from Frankenstein, to Macbeth to Poe.

It struck you that you knew nothing about his actual life, only his interests and his views of the world.

"So, what do you like to do outside of the library? Outside of class?" you asked him. He ate a piece of food before answering, seeming to think about the best way to answer the question.

"Not much really, I keep to myself mostly."

You stared at him, curious as to why. Surely someone as handsome as Elijah wouldn't be alone. You hoped it didn't sound like you were prying when you said, "What, there's no girlfriend you're hiding somewhere?"

Elijah gave you a gentle smile, but there was a sadness in his eyes. "I had a girlfriend, Katherine, but it didn't work out. She was cheating on me and using me to get what she wanted." He said, playing with a fork on his plate.

"That's awful, Elijah, I'm so sorry. But it's her loss, if she was stupid enough to cheat on you," you said quickly, wanting to support him.

He gave you a grateful look, "I believe in finding a lesson in every heartbreak, otherwise you end up repeating your mistakes over and over."

"So what did you learn?" you asked.

"I learned to trust my instincts more, not dwell on a past I can't change."

You nodded, "that's very wise, you know." 

Elijah laughed, "no, it's the truth. People make mistakes, and sometimes we have to learn the hard way."

There was a comfortable silence between you as you both kept eating. Then he suddenly spoke. "What about you? Why spend all your spare time in the library?" Elijah said, his eyes glued to your face.

You sighed, "I have this roommate," you started. "Every day and every night she spends all her time partying with her friends. They drink a lot and make fun of me," You continued, recounting stories of how rude she and her friends have been to you. Elijah gave you a thoughtful look as you spoke.

"Don't mind them. They don't realize what a wonderful person they're missing out on," he said simply. You could feel a blush spreading across your cheeks.

"They stole a bunch of my clothes, that's why I dress in outdated clothes from thrift stores. I have tried to talk to them, to stand up for myself, but they just laugh at me and continue to be cruel." You had not intended on saying all this to him, to vent. But you realized you had been holding this all in. Nobody knew or cared, until now.

"Thanks. For listening to me." You gave Elijah a little smile.

"Of course," Elijah said, taking your hand from across the table and squeezing it.

"I can't help with the roommate, but I can help with the clothes," he said, giving you a friendly smile, the one that made your stomach do flips.

"You already paid for dinner, I can't possibly ask for more," you muttered, worried you might be becoming a burden.

"I'm not asking. What time do you have classes tomorrow?" Elijah asked, letting go of your hand and finishing his food.

"Um," you were a bit startled but that was Elijah's fault for being so damn charming. You were not used to anyone wanting to be friends with you.

"Nothing after three."

"Great, I'll pick you up," he said, winking at you. You couldn't help the smile that tugged at your lips, he had done this twice already, that winking thing that seemed to always catch you off guard.

You found yourself becoming even more smitten with him as the evening went on. It helped that he was devastatingly handsome, of course. But he was also kind, interesting, intelligent, and funny. And to your surprise, he seemed to enjoy talking to you as much as you enjoyed talking to him.

"How about this? The color goes nicely with your hair." Elijah held up a blouse for you to see. It was a lot more colorful than your other outfits, but the model on the display did look very chic. He was absolutely spot-on when it came to the latest fashion.

You took the blouse from him and held it against your torso, wondering if it would be a bad idea.

"It will match your beautiful eyes too," Elijah added. That made your heart race even more, and you decided to try it on. Walking to the changing rooms you saw several women looking at Elijah as you passed them. One of them whispered to her friend and the girl giggled, pointing straight at him. You rolled your eyes. Of course, they would hit on him. After all, he was the type of guy girls dreamed of dating. But apparently, he didn't care. Elijah just smiled at you, before offering to fetch more clothes for you to try on.

When you stepped outside the changing room Elijah grinned, "Beautiful. Suits you perfectly."

"Thanks," you whispered, the atmosphere strangely intimate. His comment combined with the fact that everyone was watching him made you blush.

The two of you worked through the shop, searching through racks and throwing clothes into a basket, until you each had quite a few pieces. Elijah took the basket from you and went to pay. All the outfits he had picked for you seemed to cost an enormous amount of money, and while he was paying you shook your head at him. He simply smiled and handed you the bags.

"So, what do you want to do now?" Elijah asked you, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear and causing a warm feeling to spread inside you.

"I have this book I want you to read, it's back in my room. We should stop by and get it," you offered, wondering if you were being too forward. 

"Are you asking me to go to your room? Tsk tsk, how scandalous," he mocked, but the humor in his eyes told you he agreed.

Together, you drove back to your dorm, you were hoping that Kathy actually went to her psychology class today, it was her favorite subject after all.

When you got to the door you opened it, relieved that your room seemed empty. Elijah waited patiently while you looked around, until you finally found the book you had been talking about on your side of the room.

You sat on the bed, cross-legged, and he sat down next to you. The twin bed felt awfully small and Elijah was so close. Yet somehow it didn't feel weird.

"Have you read all these?" He asked, pointing at the pile of books, currently stacked in three columns on the small desk. You nodded.

"What's your favorite?" he wondered.

"The Hobbit," you said, stretching a little on the bed.

"Ah yes, another fantasy. Why am I not surprised," he teased, and then picked a book up from the pile, "And the rest are…"

"Mostly classics, and some romance," you admitted. Elijah arched an eyebrow. "You know, Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte, stuff like that."

"A romantic, huh?" Elijah said, turning towards you.

You blushed, "I guess so. But I mean, who isn't? Even if we deny it."

He nodded, "Very true. People have an innate need for a connection, something special."

"Yeah. It's the reason why we fall in love, why we create art," you said.

"And literature," Elijah added.

You smiled, "Here's the book I wanted to lend you," you said, handing it to him.

“The picture of Dorian Grey," he read the title.

"Yeah, it's a beautiful story, with an intriguing message."

"Thank you. I will let you know what I think of it."

You nodded, "Please, let me know,"

Elijah looked at you for a long time, the air seemed thick between the two of you. Your gaze kept dropping down to his lips, wondering how they would feel pressed against yours.

"Please don't judge me based on my taste in books." you said quietly, the tension was getting unbearable.

He raised an eyebrow at you, "why would I do that?"

"Kathy told me once that everyone who reads a lot is just trying to escape their sad life," you muttered, biting your lip.

Elijah gave you a little smile. "I'd like to believe it's the opposite. Books are just one way of living a rich inner life."

That made you smile, it's what you also believed and you were happy to have someone agree with you. Elijah placed the book aside, leaning close. You couldn't stop staring at his deep brown eyes.

"I enjoyed spending time with you today, outside the library. I miss you when you're not around. Your eyes and smile keep popping into my mind." he said softly, reaching his hand up and tucking your hair behind your ear. You blushed, unable to form any words.

Elijah closed the distance between the two of you, his lips softly pressing against yours. It was a sweet kiss, slow and unhurried. You closed your eyes and wrapped your arms around his neck.

"I can't get you out of my head," he breathed, before kissing you again. The second kiss was different, there was a hunger to it, an intensity you hadn't felt before. Your fingers moved up to his hair and his hand caressed your cheek. You loved the feeling of his body so close to yours, his smell, his warmth, was completely intoxicating.

He gently pushed you back onto your pillows, kissing you slowly. Elijah pulled away, his lips hovering just above yours. "Is this okay?" he asked softly, his thumb stroking your cheek.

"More than okay," you whispered.

He grinned and went back to kissing you. Your hand slid down his back and slipped under his shirt and he broke the kiss to lift his arms and remove it.

You let your hands roam over his chest, admiring the view. His body was perfect. Your lips found his again and the kiss deepened. Elijah's hand found its way under your blouse, stroking your skin.

"Elijah?" Kathy's voice suddenly echoed through the room. Neither of you had heard her come in. You gasped, quickly sitting up and pulling your blouse down.

She was standing in the doorway, gaping at the two of you.

"Katherine, what are you doing here?" Elijah asked, annoyance clear in his voice.

"What are YOU doing here? With her?! In my dorm room!" she yelled, shooting a mean glare in your direction. You stared at her, mouth agape. How did she know Elijah? And why was she so angry at you for being with him? Then it hit you. She was the ex-girlfriend he told you about. The one who had cheated on him and used him.

"Oh fuck," you said quietly, "You're Elijah's ex."

She gave you a fake smile, "Oh, did he talk about me? That's cute. I see his standards have gone down dramatically,"

Kathy's friends all stood behind her, peeking over her shoulder to look at you and Elijah. You felt your cheeks heat up and looked away. Elijah's expression hardened and he stood up, walking over to Kathy.

"You don't get to talk about her like that. Not after the way you treated me," he said through gritted teeth.

Kathy looked at him and huffed. "Please, you were always so boring. I can't believe you are making out with that loser."

You could feel tears starting to well up in your eyes, her words stinging. Her friends were all giggling and snickering behind her, mocking you. Elijah looked back at you momentarily, and you saw anger flashing in his eyes.

"Did you ever tell your little friends why I dumped you? How's Stefan? Or was it Damon? No wait... You tried it on with my brother as well," he smirked.

You could hear her friends gasp and whisper among themselves. Apparently, this was new information to them as well.

Kathy narrowed her eyes at Elijah, "I was the best thing that happened to you, and you know it,"

Elijah rolled his eyes at that, letting out a sarcastic laugh, "You were never the best anything, Katherine."

Her face fell, and her jaw dropped open. Her friends all stopped talking. "How dare you?" She spat, her hands balling into fists, she looked at you, and back at him.

"You have ten seconds to get out," Kathy hissed.

"Kathy I live here," you said, standing up.

"Not anymore you don't. This was my room first. Get your crap and get out." She said, pointing her finger at you.

"Fine. I rather sleep in the streets, probably more peaceful than this shithole," you said, grabbing your bag and shoving your books inside, as well as the clothes Elijah had bought you.

Elijah quickly pulled on his shirt and picked up his jacket. He reached his hand out, offering it to you. "Come on,"

You nodded, taking his hand, walking past the stunned group of girls. They didn't say anything, but you could feel their gaze on you.

Once you were outside the building, he turned towards you.

"Are you alright?" he asked softly.

You nodded. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Elijah looked down at his feet. "That was a very unfortunate coincidence."

You couldn't help but chuckle. "I had no idea you were going to be my roommate's ex-boyfriend. It's kind of funny if you think about it."

He lifted his head and gave you a small smile. "Yeah, it is. Although, I'm not sure what's worse. Dating Katherine, or living with her," he joked.

"We should start a support group," you joked back, earning a full-blown laugh from Elijah.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you closer. "I'm sorry, I hope this didn't ruin anything between us."

You placed a gentle kiss on his lips. "No, it's fine. But now I need to find a new place to stay," you sighed, resting your forehead against his.

"Or, you could stay with me," Elijah offered.

You bit your lip, the thought of living with him was tempting. But you didn't want him to think that's all you were after.

"You don't have to. I can manage," you mumbled.

Elijah's fingers brushed along your jawline. "I'd love it if you'd move in with me. No pressure, you can take the spare bedroom."

You couldn't stop yourself from smiling, the idea of living with him made your stomach flip. "Are you sure?"

"Of course," he replied, placing a soft kiss on your lips. 

"I'll pay my share of the rent and I'll cook," you promised, your hands playing with the collar of his shirt.

"Absolutely not, you are my guest," he laughed, "you will relax and I will take care of everything."

"But, I can't let you do that!" you argued, but he simply kissed you, shutting you up.

He took your hand, leading you to his car. "There is one thing about my place though," he said, a mischievous grin playing on his lips.

"What is it?"

"I have a library."

Your eyes widened, "No way! How big is it? Does it have a ladder?" you asked excitedly.

"Yes, yes, and yes," Elijah answered, looking very pleased with himself.

"Then why do you hang out at the campus one?"

He shrugged, "I've already read everything in my collection. Most of the books at the campus library are brand new."

"Hmm, fair enough," you mused, getting into his car.

"Plus, we wouldn't have met if I didn't," he winked.

"I suppose not. Maybe we should thank Kathy, then," you said, a grin spreading across your face.

"Definitely not," Elijah said, and you both laughed.

As he started the engine, you couldn't help but smile, thinking about how your life would change. You'd get to spend every day with the man of your dreams. And maybe, just maybe, you'd get a happy ending.