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dadsbongos · 2 years

Text

like batman!

14.8 K words

warnings - stupid teenage boys trying to ruin your life, not super beta read

summary - You and Robin get Kill Bill teenager-style revenge on Jason Carver and his friends after they spread a nasty rumor about you. Sapphic ways ensue (Do Revenge but a little gay).

Pressed and pleated bubblegum skirt that hangs below a baby pink sweater - you opposite the woman of sunshine and fake freckles, your best friend since the first day of sophomore year, Claire Green. She is doused in spring green hues and smells of fresh daisies. Her plush lips glossed and kiss-inspiring, cookie brown natural coils that make all the girls with perms leprechaun in jealousy. She may not be the queen, per se, of high school, but she seems to effortlessly hold down that number two spot.

People usually stare when you two pass, either lust or hatred or admiration, but now it feels different. You’re getting pointed at and giggled over. You as in you - specifically.

“Hey, Claire,” she hums, half listening and half asleep, “Am I crazy? I think everyone’s laughing… at me.”

She yawns and glares when two of your fellow debate team members jab fingers your way, “You’re totally sane. So far.”

The air feels thin when you and Claire wind up at your locker, like your throat is split seconds from completely muscling shut. Cheerleaders and mathletes alike let their eyes stray and suddenly you feel silly.

“Am I overdressed?” you open your locker door and go to work clearing out what remains of your lip glosses and polaroids and trinkets. You can hear the blood pumping in your ears, face boiling hot and hands brushing over the Barbie plains of your outfit, “‘Cuz I totally don’t have anything else to change into - my gym uniform isn’t even clean right now!”

“We were supposed to take those home last week,” Clair raises a brow at you, boredly twisting a dark curl around her finger.

“I forgot,” you pout, throwing your bag into your locker and slamming the door shut, “Seriously, though, this is not how I need junior year ending.”

“You look fine,” Claire shrugs, eyes scrawling over you quickly, “Really, I doubt anything is actually different. Maybe you’re just sobering up from all that princess worship.”

“I am not worshiped,” you lean against the cold metal and fold your arms across your chest, “Why are they staring at me? I hate this.”

Claire tilts her head and frowns, you hate how you can’t tell if she’s being genuine or not, “Alright. Fine,” she grabs you by the elbow with her cherry red polished nails, “Let’s go find Chrissy and hide in the bathroom. Will that make you feel better?”

“Much,” you truly detest the stares.

Freshmen to seniors, men to women, band geeks to varsity jocks, you feel deathbed ill. Like you’re raw meat on the side of the road and they’re maggots.

Before Claire gets so much as an opportunity to run with you, the honey-haired queen bee herself finds you. She is easily the only girl in school who could get away with denim overalls over a white shirt.

Chrissy’s brows are tightly knit, she bats her caked lashes and asks, “Is it true?”

Your expression morphs to match hers, “Is what true?”

She laughs like you’re stupid, “Did you blow Andy in the Enzo’s bathroom last night?”

Claire rears back, hand dropping, like you’re roadkill. Your head etch-a-sketches its way into blank simplicity - for a second there’s ringing silence. Bile climbs up your throat and nestles there in a lump you can’t swallow down. The shine of Chrissy’s pearl earrings catch your stare and it’s so tempting to stay there.

Pretend you didn’t hear her.

Pretend you don’t know her.

Pretend you didn’t go out with Andy last night.

“No way, why would I do that?” your lip wobbles with telltales of nausea and Claire lays a hand to your back, a tender squeeze to your shoulder, “That bathroom is, like, ruled by feces.”

“Well,” Chrissy throws her hands up, “that’s what Andy’s saying happened.”

Shock subsides long enough for brutal rage to crack your prim shell, “Where is he?”

You and Andy weren’t steadies - you thought that could’ve been in the cards eventually, foolishly - last night was your first date and you assumed he was a nice guy. Because he was your friend and he never gave you a reason to think otherwise.

God, what an idiot you’ve proven to be.

“Andy!” he jumps from the shriek of your voice, smugness overtakes him as Chrissy and Claire rush to catch up with your thunderous steps, “What the fuck?”

“Aw, c’mon,” Jason steps forward as he usually does when one of his friends gets cornered, “Mad he spilled your little secret?”

“Excuse you?”

“We all knew,” Jason nudges your arm, “you don’t exactly keep your legs shut, honey bunny.”

You wrench back and Chrissy moves from your side of the courtyard to Andy’s, “But it’s not fucking true! You should all know that!”

“Hey, that’s not how we should speak,” Andy goes to cup your cheek but you shove him back, “Not very ladylike, baby.”

“Do not call me ‘baby’, just set the record straight,” from the corner of your eye, you see Claire shift from behind you to beside Chrissy, “Nothing happened after dinner last night!”

“Nothing?” Andy leans closer, other students pause and circle. It sickens you more than when you had the actual flu over winter break.

You can’t bear the way people look at you, like you’re wicked. A temptress in Molly Ringwald’s clothing. Slamming a palm into Andy’s chest so hard he stumbles, you feel blood broiling in your face as you shout, “Nothing!”

“Not even dessert?”

You saw the musical Chicago with Claire and Chrissy over summer - then again with your mother, and again with Lucas (who sang its criticism and insisted it would be terrible before he even saw it). From that very first viewing, your favorite character was Velma Kelly, who claimed to not even know her husband and sister were dead until she was washing the blood off her hands.

And, similarly, you honestly don’t remember kicking Andy Johnson in the balls so hard he red-faced, neck-veined bawled on the pavement. You happen to wind up in counselor Kelley’s pink-bricked office by chance.

“That story is not going to pass, young lady,” Kelley folds her hands across the laminate surface of her desk, a pointed stare poisoning you from beneath her bangs.

“Well, what am I supposed to say, Ms. Kelley?” your eyes burn with tears and mascara waterfalls have freshly dried against your cheeks, “Obviously, I kicked his kid cauldrons but he totally deserved it! He spread an awful rumor about me, he doesn’t deserve the other cheek!”

Kelley pushes off her desk and settles deep into her wheeled office chair, one hand clutching either armrest, “I really thought you were it. Honestly. Captain of the debate team, excellent GPA, loved by the entire school,” she presses her apple tinted lips thinly, “I’m very disappointed in you.”

“What else was I supposed to do?”

“Ignore it,” you huff and she drives the knife deeper, “It’s the last day of school, nobody would have remembered it past summer.”

“So what? This is all my fault?”

Kelley shrugs and you want to puke all over her black flats and sea phthalo rug, “I’m sorry, but what do you want me to say?”

Your lips pull impossibly down and a tightness curls in your lungs. Darkness looms, and there’s a terrible sense of evil that drips like tar off the rungs of your ribs. In a broad picture, this is far from the overbearing death sentence you feel brewing, but you can’t look at it from that lens. It’s too fresh, like if someone wedged their thumb into a gunshot wound.

At least Velma got to kill the people that screwed her over.

“You’re being put on a probation period for next year,” she tilts her head, “if you return,” another round of mascara leakage follows her words, “If you return next year, you will not only be stripped of your title as captain of the debate team - you won’t even be on the team. And you’re going to be serving five weeks of Saturday detention,” Kelley stands and moves to stand in front of her desk, both hands supporting her against the surface, “I know you’re a good kid, but I think you should try conducting yourself with a little more… respect.”

Your jaw hangs loose, “Ms. Kelley- “

She puts up a finger and walks around you to the door, shouldering it open and jerking her head towards the hall, “You’ll also be sent home early. Clear out your locker and say goodbye.”

You jelly-leg your way out of Ms. Kelley’s office, desperately clinging to the walls and lockers as you make your way through the winding corridors. Dry heaving, you barely manage to muscle out of the building without puking.

“Hey, Pretty in Pink! You okay?”

It’s no surprise that super senior Munson is still lingering around the grounds, he’s smoking against the hood of his tin can van. Eddie is a perfectly fine person when you’re not intimidated by the Satanic mask and robes he parades himself in. Sure, he reeks of weed and doesn’t brush his hair, but he isn’t a bad person.

“That’s a movie title, not a person, asshole!”

But you’re in no particular mood.

He sits up and off the van hood, meandering over as you hobble past the student parking lot, “You look like you died.”

“Maybe I did, what’s it matter to you?”

He quiets, slowly walking beside you, “You, uh, wouldn’t happen to need a ride home, would you?”

Walking home from Hawkins High would be a stab in the gut while you’re down. And it isn’t like your social standing could possibly fall further on its ass.

That jabs the thumb in your gunshot wound.

You sniffle and feel the tears blot your waterline, Eddie stutters back - his hands fly up in defense as you hiccup a sob. Throat squeezing shut and shoulders scrunching to your chest like the most agonized accordion. You feel childish - highlighted in pink and runny makeup - wailing in front of Eddie Munson.

How could he?

A scream is bubbling beneath the surface and Eddie so kindly guides you to his van, a hand hovering over your shoulder, “Okay, I’ll just assume you’re having a shit day and not full of Munsonphobia.”

A face wash and steaming shower later, you’re sitting in front of the boob tube with America’s darling Jeopardy. Your mother sleeps fitfully upstairs while your father is still bored in his cubicle prison. That terrible something brewing inside you surfaces from your stomach acid when the phone chimes and rattles. You fling a hand out to the side table and raise it, “Hello?”

“Hey!” Claire. You can imagine her twirling the cord around her finger and that brings a sliver of hope. The hope is swallowed by that previous brew, “So.”

“Uh oh,” you curl into the corner of the couch, legs tugging up to your chest and a pillow brought to press your side, “‘So’ isn’t good, what’s ‘so’ mean?”

You hear her suck in a sharp breath, “So, me and Chrissy have been thinking, and we’ve decided that maybe we all, you know, take this summer to maybe process what happened today.”

A bizarre thing for your best friend to say, no?

“What is there to process?” your legs swing down, you lean forward, almost falling nose-first into the carpeted floor, “Claire, you know he’s lying!”

“Yeah, but you assaulted him in the middle of the quad! Girl, you have to know how insane that was,” you’ve been called that a lot.

By the people who know you beneath the sugar and snap peas, at least. But Claire Green is just as bad, if not worse. She once didn’t talk to you for three months because you accidentally spilled beer on her favorite dress - it was miserable.

“You’re kidding!”

She wasn’t.

“Good luck,” you’ve heard her speak sincerely before, and this was not one of those times, “Honestly. I’ll call, okay?”

You squeeze the pillow at your side, so tight that you’re almost worried the stitching will pop between your fingers. Your jaw screws tight, clenching, “Okay.”

The scream crawls up from your throat and splatters against the throw pillow you’re clutching.

Honestly, you’ll take being fired from the Hawkins AMC to save them money if it just meant that you’d stop seeing all the Edvard Munch scream faces of the peers that forsake you. Though, maybe the Starcourt mall isn’t the perfect place to apply if you’re seeking refuge from seeing those peers every day.

“So, uh, what experience do you have?” Robin never once claimed to have the best social skills, but when the fallen princess of your high school stumbles in asking for a job - it just might make you feel a little worse, “Like, with… this?”

You drum your rose pink nails against your knee, “With ice cream parlors specifically? None, but I’ve been doing customer service since I was sixteen.”

Not super long ago, but Robin isn’t going to drill you on when exactly that was.

Robin has always found you charming, since those early days on the playground in Hawkins Elementary to, well, now. With nectarine smiles and cozy aura, you always entranced her whenever you two spoke. Which was never often after elementary school, but still it counts.

“Okay, well,” Robin slides your resume over the backroom table, carefully dodging a mysterious stain that she’s certain is from Steve, “shockingly, we don’t have a ton of people applying so I’ll just,” she gestures wildly, “You’re hired.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” she cards her fingers together awkwardly, “It’s also the last weeks of summer, so not a lot of people are looking for work anyway,” she tilts her head suddenly, “Technically I’m not supposed to just tell you you’re hired, so please don’t mention anything to,” she points at the cherry door to the floor room, “him.”

“Of course,” you stand as she does, smoothing out your skirt with a shaky exhale, “I’m honestly just glad you considered me when you saw that it was, well, me that applied.”

“Oh,” Robin blanks, brows raising sharply, “Oh my God, I - you know - never believed that rumor.”

“Sure,” you fold your arms and she feels sick at the thought of making you uncomfortable, “It’s okay, Robin,” she’s shocked you remember her name, “Everybody believed that shit.”

One bonus to come from this entire nightmare is that you now don’t live in fear of swearing when Jason can’t barrage you with what ladylike behavior should be.

“No, really,” Robin gnaws her bottom lip, eyes threading to the clock above your head, “I, too, have a vendetta against those assholes. So, I sort of figured they were lying.”

“What’d they do to you?” you take precious care in not sounding as though whatever they did to her isn’t as bad as what they did to you.

Robin likes that. She’s always liked that about you. Your transparency.

“They bullied me,” she sucks in a breath through clenched teeth, eyes widening, “Like, a lot.”

“Are you serious?” you step forward, arms dropping boneless at your sides, “Oh my God, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, well I doubt it’s something they went bragging about to their local- “ she stops herself.

“Local what?”

Robin cringes, picking at her nail beds and looking down, “Airhead. Sorry.”

“It’s better than slut,” you lean against the cold marble counter, “Chrissy, too?”

“Technically no, but she never did anything to stop it either,” Robin joins your side, almost brushing arms.

“I wish we could just…” you hold up your hands in a choking motion, fingers flexing tight, “fuck up their lives, you know?”

“Why can’t we?” she turns, but you stare straight ahead.

“What if we get caught?”

Robin moves a little closer, leaning forward and tilting so you two are forced to lock eyes. She grins, “Just don’t be obvious. If we work together, people won’t see it coming. Nobody from school comes here ‘cuz Steve’s shattered ego scares ‘em off, they don’t know we know each other.”

“I dunno…”

Shrugging, Robin stumbles forward and grabs an ‘AHOY’ sailor hat, tossing it your way with all the plastic candor of someone experienced in thankless customer service.

“Then welcome to Scoops Ahoy! you are now a private in our navy,” she grabs a spare uniform and presses it into your chest, “And captain of scrubbing the poop deck. Newbie policy.”

“How long does that last?” you shudder at the thought.

“Two months,” she holds up a finger before you can groan and huff in cheap protest, “Or until Steve forgets - which is usually three weeks.”

“Awesome.”

Robin nods and grabs the silver handle to the door at your side, “Awesome.”

White, rose-patterned dress with lacing at the hems - you walk up to school alone for the first time since ever. Taking the bus to school was a new experience, too - usually, you would ride with Claire, but she failed miserably in her plan of calling over summer. Now, you find yourself searching for her.

There were years wasted that you felt needed repentance for. That or you needed her at your side again, and you refuse to accept that reality.

People’s heads twitch your way as you pass and it sends you right back to that May, what was months ago now feels like minutes prior. Your chest squeezes all over again - how cliche. You will it to stop but then you spot something even worse than a couple of underclassmen leering.

Claire linking hands with Andy, looking at him with bambi eyes as though he’s an angel among the clouds. She wears a blue sundress under a navy sweater. Chrissy stands beside her with Jason, swamped in a candy red dress with her own crimson sweater. You earnestly try not to stare, but coming back to school means business as usual. And business as usual means Jason Carver can't keep his fucking mouth shut.

“Hey!” he sings your name and dread curdles inside the bowl of your gut, “C’mere!”

You tense, both hands strangling one of your bag straps.

“Come on, you,” he waves a hand towards the group, laughing.

Chrissy and Claire glare at him before giving you wide-eyed stares. Patrick shuffles and glances on occasion. Andy doesn’t even look at you.

You don’t know which is the worst.

But Jason won’t shut up, so you make your way into the group that chumbaited you for the sharks, desperately trying not to let your knees buckle.

“Hey there, pretty girl,” Jason tilts his head, “Meant to call.”

“Of course,” you keep your head angled to the side, and for a moment you see Eddie Munson making his third trip into Hawkins High. He sees you, too.

And you’re brought back to that toddler tantrum of junior year’s last day.

“You understand, right?” he loops an arm around Chrissy and Andy matches, even pressing a kiss to the side of Claire’s head, “You’re not mad at my Chris or anything, right?”

Students gather and cling in a tight circle around you and your former friends. You feel hot-faced and watery-eyed all over again, “Jason, please- “

“Well, we just wanna be sure there’s no, you know, bad blood.”

Nobody runs to defend you. God, were these really the people you thought you’d be with forever?

“You did have a whole summer to cool off, after all,” Jason leans forward, smiling as if he’s untouchable. And as far as he and his leeches are concerned, they are untouchable. If you’re caught trying to poke the bear, its guidance counselor mother will rip your head off, “You wouldn’t hold a grudge like that for so long, would you?”

The oozy hellfire of people’s stares schlucks you into a corner. The only corner safe of Jason’s lava dump.

You grit your teeth and puppeteer your lips into something acceptable as a smile, “Of course, not.”

“Of course, not,” he fakes a punch to your shoulder, your breathing heavies and you know that as soon as he finally releases you, you’re going to find a broom closet to scream and cry in. His voice drops into a whisper and Andy’s impish lips curl, “Good girl. Was that so hard?”

How could they?

No.

How dare they?

You’re dabbing black tears away before they can drift or smear, you march straight to the band’s practice room - straight to the sound of wind instruments blaring their off-key tune. Your hand slams against the chipped blue paint of the practice door.

Brass handle crashes through the doorstop and you watch Robin jump five feet from her chair, big ocean eyes blown wide at your frame in the doorway.

“Alright,” you sniffle and Robin stands, careful yet shaky hands coming to your arms. You give up the fight of saving your makeup and wipe away the budding tears, “Let’s do it,” she quirks a brow at you, “Let’s do revenge.”

Robin twists, looking around the still, cautious faces of her bandmates before dragging you into the costume closet they share with the theater department.

“What happened?” her mouth opens and closes, not unlike a fish, as she drums up some idea of how to comfort your tattered ego.

“Fucking Jason,” you choke on the lump that never quite faded since May, “He humiliated me,” you roll your eyes and Robin carefully brushes a thumb under your leaky eyes, “What else is new?”

“Do you wanna hug?” she steps back, arms flinging wide at her sides, “I know we aren’t, like, best friends or anything and we just sort of work together, but- “

“No, no, I need this,” you shake out your hands - deep breath in, deep breath out, “I want to be mad right now,” you grab Robin by the arms and pull her close, practically nose to nose, “We are gonna fuck those Madonna mule-fuckers up, Buckley.”

“Woah,” she laughs, a raspy, deep sound, “Chills.”

“Thank you,” releasing Robin, you nod curtly, “Now, with my intel and your unassuming status, we can really pull this off.”

“Who do we go after first?”

You fold your arms, eyes falling to the brown splotched carpet, “You ever play Kung Fu Master?” she shakes her head, bobbed hair shifting with her movements, “Well, as you fight - the opponents get harder.”

“Oh, like Destroyer?”

“Sure,” you swing your backpack around to hang off your chest, pulling out a notebook and flipping to a blank page. Robin watches you scribble, pressing her back to the wall and eyeing the names you plant, “The easiest to take down is Patrick McKinney. He doesn’t really stand out, and he isn’t the strongest guy in Jason’s circus. Generally smart.”

“Is there a but coming?”

“But,” you jab a finger at the notebook.

McKinney - ailurophobia. only showers when everyone else leaves. trusts Lucas

“I’ve babysat Lucas Sinclair since I was thirteen,” you move onto the next boss in your makeshift, live-action game, “he’s our man on the inside on this one.”

Robin almost gasps at the next name down your list, “Cunningham? As in- “

“Chrissy - yeah. She also isn’t very asshole-ish, or vengeful. Also not super strong, her bones are like a baby bird’s, so she honestly won’t be too hard. But we have to make sure there’s something we can hang over her head or else she’ll say something. If she says something,” you point your eraser’s end in Robin’s face, “it’s game over.”

Cunningham - deathly afraid of spiders, baby bird bones

“Who's next?”

You can’t help but to laugh at the twisted fates that led you here, “Claire Green. My former best friend. The biggest backstabber in school with the ability to hold a grudge longer than a life sentence. Not nearly as influential as Chrissy, but she’s incredibly smart. At that point, we need dirt on both Chrissy and Patrick because no matter how hard we try to cover our asses, she’ll know anything weird in her life is my fault.”

Green - hates going out in the rain, Goddamn does she hate getting dirty

“Then Jason?”

“Nope!” you chirp, looking at Robin with a grin that sparkles, “He’s last. Next, we have Andy. A pure monster. Nothing but a stupid, popular monster.”

“Like Dracula?”

You giggle and Robin leans closer into your side, “Like Dracula.”

Johnson - dad is the pastor, hated by Eddie with the fury of 1,000 suns

“Now Jason?”

“Now Jason,” you finish your hurried jots and press the notebook into Robin’s chest, “No known weaknesses other than the fact he’s an arrogant stain on the state of Indiana.”

“Great, so,” Robin tosses up a hand, “how exactly do we get the dirt on Patrick and Chrissy to keep their mouths shut?”

Your gaze drifts from the rosy freckles of her cheeks to a miniskirt and shoulder-padded overcoat. It reminds you of the women you see on the local Hawkins news channel.

Robin’s head turns, “Is it stained? What’s wrong?”

“Do you have a microcassette recorder?”

“No,” she wets her cherried bottom lip, “but I know someone who does.”

Steve Harrington - a casual enjoyer of all sorts of piracy.

Robin never suspected his consistency in low-level crime would pay off.

You look at her through your lashes and something in her chest stutters, “You wanna get some cats with me after school?”

“Clever way of begging for pussy.”

“Ew,” you put up a finger, “never again, Buckley. Never again.”

Under the promise - a solemn swear - of getting the delightfully purring bundles of fur in your arms a good home, Mrs. Burman allowed you and Robin to take five cats off her hands at the shelter. Mrs. Burman was kind when other adults slammed their doors in your face - she heard the rumors, by now everybody had. That didn’t cloud her judgment, though.

Patrick hates nothing more than showering in front of his fellow men - it feels exposing, like stage spotlights directly in the face kind of exposing. And what he hates next to that, is being wrong.

A locker door clinks shut and he clenches the eggshell towel tighter around his waist.

“Hello?”

Silence stills him.

A moment wades by. Another follows.

Patrick clears his way to the bench and hurries through his dressing routine, at least until he notices that his shirt has vanished.

He feels the thrumming of his skin and places an open palm on the cracked metal door to his locker. Something pushes back. Sharp and quick into his hand. Patrick’s knees hit the varnish bench and he stumbles, sliding down the lockers behind him until his ass hits the cruel linoleum. The metal door is batted open and between the slot peeks a furry, muddy white face. Terrifyingly sparkling blue eyes that linger.

A mew cracks and paws pitter out of his locker, gracefully bouncing onto the bench, and right to the edge of the wood. The kitten pops onto his chest and Patrick tilts his face, neck craning as far from his nemesis as possible.

You and Robin lock eyes behind the wall of metal cages. Two cats huddled under either of your arms. Crouching carefully to the scratched linoleum, you both set one of the kittens loose from your holds. They scamper along the checkered lines before nuzzling into the divots of Patrick’s ribs.

Getting Lucas to sneak you both into the boys' locker room after everyone else had left was easy - ice cream bribes for a week easy - but getting him to squeeze catnip into the body wash Patrick used was harder.

“Why’d you lie, Patrick?” Robin murmurs, he doesn’t recognize her voice because of course, he wouldn’t, “Why do you hurt, Patrick?”

You slough another cat onto the patched shine and grin when the man behind the bench whimpers.

Robin holds one cat between her arms, she eyes you wearily and you nod her along. Creeping around the corner of the lockers, Robin cards her fingers through the ginger hair of the cat in her embrace. You imagine she looks powerful.

Like the sun. Or the ocean.

He doesn’t even recognize her face.

Maybe you underexaggerated how much of an asshole Patrick McKinney could be.

But Robin decides that it takes too long to explain their history, so she pins this chance encounter elsewhere.

“Why would you lie?” she tilts her head and the ginger in her arms claws to be let down.

“I didn’t say anything!” Patrick’s eyes are screwed shut, face blighted away from the purring balls of fur on his chest, “I never said a word!”

Robin, as if she can sense your thoughts in her throat, says exactly what you think, “That’s the problem, isn’t it?” she kneels to his side and digs into the pockets of her sunshine yellow shorts, “You want help, Pat?”

He nods helplessly. Breath thick and brows glistening with sweat.

She laughs, honest to God, and presses the cold end of Steve’s microcassette recorder into his throat.

“Alright, sweetpea,” Robin pulls the recorder back and rubs her thumb into the bowl of the red record button, “I’ll get the cats outta here if you can look me in the eyes and admit that you knew that blow job was all a lie.”

“Why do you even care?” he snaps.

“I just hate to see a promising young woman’s life ruined. Now,” Robin holds the cat closer to his glaring face, clicking the recorder alive as he sucks in a breath.

“Andy Johnson was lying through his fucking teeth about the blow job and I knew it! All our friends knew it! Now, get these fucking cats off me, freak!”

Coming to a stand, Robin lays the ginger ripping at her sleeve onto Patrick’s chest as she ends the recording.

“Thanks for cooperating, McKinney!”

You two share a high-five that echoes in the hallway as you storm off.

Following the hitched success, you and Robin collect and split the kittens between Dustin and Eddie. For the low, low price of free - an unbelievable deal. And it’s from the Forest Hills trailer park that you drive Robin home in a candy red 1985 Audi 5000S. Suddenly, there’s a gasp and Robin’s hand slams into the dashboard - you glare and she mouths a spoonful of apologies.

“Just - oh my God - how’re we gonna get the literal queen of Hawkins High?”

You would roll your eyes if you weren’t focused on navigating towards the pink house with red shutters that homes Robin Buckley, “That is so easy.”

One excuse note and one hall pass - both doctored - later, you and Robin are skipping third period to sit, sweaty and deranged, on the metal skeleton of the stagelight crane. Freshmen quarter club rush in Hawkins takes the form of many club and extracurricular leaders selling themselves to the incoming students. Chrissy is next.

Your legs dangle from the open spots in the cage’s hollow, Robin warily eyes the rusted bucket sat between you both - tied to one of the crane’s rungs by thick rope.

“They’re trying to climb up, I’m not kidding - look,” your eyes stick like paste to where the new debate club president advertises himself to the crowd. Robin huffs and leans, continuing to peer inside your bucket, “I honestly can’t even believe I’m doing this. This is crazy. You’re crazy. I don’t- “

“Shut up, Buckley,” you snap a hand over your mouth as soon as the words leave. She looks like you just stabbed her - Brutus to Caesar cruelty, “I’m so sorry. Oh, Robin,” you lay a hand to her shoulder across the bucket, “I didn’t mean that. I’m just- “

“Agitated and irritated?” Robin suggests, rose petal lips tilting up, “Me too. It’s fine, just try to not do that again.”

“Of course,” you realize you’ve held her for too long and pull your hands into your lap, legs swinging, “You know, I was president of debate before… everything.”

“Yeah,” Robin leans her chin onto the rod that reeks of iron, “I think everyone knew,” she sighs through her nose, head quartering to look at you through her lashes, “You know what you didn’t know about me?”

“Of course, I don’t know if I don’t know.”

“Shush,” she bites her bottom lip just to hold her grin from growing too wide, “I was in theater. Freshman year. And first semester sophomore year.”

“No shit?” you chuckle, quiet and restrained, “Well. Something not a lot of people know is that I was in chess.”

“Are you serious?” her jaw drops, neck hanging over the banister, “No fucking way.”

“Yes fucking way,” you look down, tempted to drop a boot straight onto the new debate president’s head, “I hate him.”

“You two know each other?”

“Not really.”

She giggles, and that makes the wait for Chrissy a little bit better.

Robin’s previous upset returns when Chrissy stands a little more to the left than what was planned. She curses, “dammit”, and digs into her navy shirt’s collar down into her bra. You watch with knitted brows as she pulls out a dime and hangs it above the queen bee’s skull.

Like a pin it dollops right into her scalp. You gasp and she shrugs.

“Ouch!” Chrissy cups the tender spore, stumbling over her shoes into the correct spot.

Before you get to laugh, Higgins begins to search upwards. Hurriedly, you yank your legs through the holes and Robin attempts to duck from his line of sight. Her knee knocks the bucket and nearly sends the tin of eight-legged spindles right onto you. Fumbling hands attempt to catch it, but it only slips. You roll onto your hip, dodging the spiders and latching onto the pail to fling it over the edge of the crane.

Since you’ve known Chrissy Cunningham, she has always made you take care of the little arachnids - big or small, deadly or friendly - they all petrified her to her very bones.

And now that she’s a big bad teenager, she takes initiative to sling a scream and run rather than freezing up.

Robin ducks low as she waddles down the side of the crane, you following after. Higgins studies the metalwork as it rattles and you barely manage to unhook your skirt from a stray spoke before he comes around to the ladder. Your peachy skirt tore near the thigh and Robin hates how she stares, but she can’t bring herself to look away.

Robin takes you by the hand, shaky and sweaty, but you don’t say a word because your palms are just the same. You two slam to a squeaky stop in front of the home ec. room - giggling, you share a look. A look turns into a stare.

“We almost got caught because of your ass!” Robin snickers, fingers trailing to the soft material of your skirt.

“You got down fast enough, racer,” you nudge her arm with yours, “Good job, by the way, it’s as impressive as it is concerning that you can hop ladders.”

“And good job on gathering those spiders,” she leans against the pale popcorn wall and tilts her head to meet her shoulder, “How’d you get them anyway?”

“Munson said he owed me a favor for the cats,” you join her side at the wall. Arm to arm. She feels warm.

Footsteps call your name.

Robin pauses. You’ve been frozen since you caught the first glance of who had walked in.

Chrissy Cunningham stands in the middle of the abandoned hallway, fists balled beneath the hanging material of her varsity jacket. Her chest rises and falls like she’s ran the width of Indiana. She ignores Robin entirely.

“Did you have anything to do with it?”

You should’ve known better than to stop here - there was a bathroom at the end of the hall.

Now she looks at Robin. She recognizes her, unlike Patrick.

“Did you?”

You step up, Robin pushed behind you. You set your face stern and hold Chrissy’s attention, “I poured them.”

You’ve never seen Chrissy so mad. Not once.

But now, she’s earnestly pissed, “Why?!”

“You ruined my fucking life, Christine.”

“Don’t call me that.”

Robin watches you two trade blows like you’re the best of tennis players.

Chrissy continues, her fist flying to her chest, “It isn’t my fault that you got fucked over!”

You feel like you’ve been shot straight through the heart, “It’s all your fault, Chris. You could’ve said something! You have more power here than anybody, you should’ve said something - we were friends!” tears cool the heated skin of your face as they drip, “Maybe if you could get out from under your douchenozzle boyfriend’s thumb, you’d see what a colossal bitch you’ve been.”

With a shriek, Chrissy darts forward and wraps her bird-boned arms around your waist. Your back hits the floor with a thud and you’re winded - Robin tries prying the queen off of you but Chrissy flings an elbow back and it crunches Robin’s nose. Your nose copies when she curls a fist and punches you - blood crawls down your throat and leaks onto your tongue.

Non-vengeful may have been the wrong label then.

You wring her neck in your hands and push against the fill of her throat, stiff-arming until she heaves and pulls away. Before she can gather herself, you get on top and push an arm into her chest to hold her down. Robin kneels at your side reflexively and presses the recorder to Chrissy’s lips.

“Admit it!” you crush harder into her chest when she’s silent, “Admit it, Christine!”

“It doesn’t matter,” she spits, kicking her legs under you, “Nothing will change - you’ll still be fucked because nobody cared that much anyway!”

Robin looks to you, face pinched in concern.

You pick Chrissy up by the collar of her jacket and slam her back into the ground. She thuds, echoing through the halls, “Say it!”

Chrissy gives in because, of course, she does. As peculiar as it is to have her fight you, her rage doesn’t last long because it’s still her. When the Jason Carver influence disappears, it’s just her. And she tearfully submits to your prolonged hatred.

“Andy lied about the blowjob and we all knew it.”

You stand with Robin’s help, spitting a glob of mucus and blood onto the floor, “Clean that. And if you say anything about this, just remember who tackled who.”

Robin deletes the message counselor Kelley leaves detailing her absence as you kick off your shoes at the front door. Following that, you end up on her bathroom counter - Robin standing between your spread legs. She holds a pack of frozen carrot slices to your bruising (but thankfully not broken) nose.

“You were kind of terrifying back there,” she admits, pressing the frostbitten plastic closer to your skin.

“Sorry.”

“No,” Robin chuckles, thick and raspy through soft lips, “It was kinda hot.”

Your lips drop flat. Brows raising hairline high.

“What?”

Robin stands back, arm still extended to hold the carrots in place, “No- not like. You know. Not like- “

“Robin, are you? Are you into girls?”

The carrots pop against the ground, splintering apart from the impact. She steps further back, but you grab her wrist before she can yank it to her side. Robin swallows rough.

“It’s okay, Robin- Robin,” you lean in, “I like girls, too.”

Something difficult to come to terms with when you were younger, but watching Grease is admittedly more fun when you don’t have to lie to yourself and say you’re only watching for John Travolta.

Robin finally releases her tense shoulders and grins, both parts skeptical and good-natured, “No fuckin’ way.”

Slowly, you nod, pulling her back between your legs, “Yes fuckin’ way. Now you’ve got a storm to bandage,” you point straight at the bridge of your nose, “Right here.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Robin rolls her eyes and picks up the carrots by her foot. Reaching into the medicine cabinet, she pulls loose a cotton pad and medical tape, “What was your life like? Before… everything.”

You assume she asks to keep your mind off the pain to come, but it feels nice to be asked about yourself. Or, at least, how you’ve changed.

“It was kinda weird,” you close your eyes as Robin closes in, her soft breath caresses your cheeks and something like affection blooms there, “Super weird. It always felt like I had to act like this good girl from some fucked up movie.”

“Mmm, you’re still pretty prissy and pristine.”

“Yeah, but now I can say ‘fuck’ without getting lectured about my lack of ladylike behavior.”

She laughs and you grin at the sound.

“What’re you hoping for?” you imagine she sticks her tongue out when she focuses. You’re scared to make eye contact though, scared of what it might insinuate. What it might lead to.

“I don’t even know,” you admit, “I just want them to know they made a mistake crossing me. I want them to feel like if I could, I’d run them down with my car.”

“Would you?”

You remain silent. Three seconds pass before you teasingly shrug. The two of you giggle and it's something from a romcom, only now there is no John Travolta or Judd Nelson. And maybe you two prefer it this way (you definitely do).

“What’d they do to you?”

Robin’s finger shakes and knocks the tender cartilage of your nose, a million little apologies following soon after.

“Just, you know, the basics,” she forces a laugh, hollow and thin, “making fun because I ramble and say things I shouldn’t and can’t pick up on social cues. I also don’t have a lot of friends - I mean they’re all either acquaintances from band or my coworkers… clearly.”

“What was ‘making fun’?”

“Oh, just - gum in my hair, stealing my homework, dead animals in the locker, dog shit on the lawn.”

“Jesus, how did I not hear about that?”

“Don’t know. They were pure evil.”

Robin pats your knee when she’s finished patching you up. Your eyes flutter to life and she holds out a hand to help you off the bathroom counter’s water-and-soap-scummed surface. Electric shocks tingle from her hand to yours.

She thinks over the time. Your peers aren’t even at lunch yet, “You wanna get ice cream?”

“Yeah. Definitely.”

You two don’t hold hands as you get ice cream, but something sugary strings you together. You can feel it. Bubblegum and banana split delights are just the cherry on top.

It’s a nice break before you potentially get your ass kicked again by another former best friend.

The hoods and bonnet and beanies may have been a touch too far, but you’ve always had a taste for the finest flair (and protecting your hair from the bullying of mother nature). And flair kindly distracts you from the way that Claire and Andy are kissing in the frame of her bedroom window. She did always hate going out in the rain.

Robin holds you by the shoulder, stray hairs clinging out from under her beanie to the sides of her face. You find the burn of your eyes there, when you look away from Claire’s familiar bedroom lights. Years spent under those lights - daytime, nighttime, fun, fear, tears, the lights have seen it all. When her parents were home and when they were away, like they are now.

Before Robin can grant you pity and sorrows, you shove the plastic package of toilet paper into her arms, “Let’s fuck this bitch up.”

You rip open seemingly endless flat packets of instant mashed potatoes of varying flavors - cheddar, garlic, garlic cheddar, and Vermont sour cream and chives. With speed and intent, you dump flavored white powders along the paved walkway. Some of it splits into the gassy lawn as Robin throws toilet paper clumps at vacant windows and the surrounding plant life.

Your one-woman mashed potato brigade is stopped on the first lines with one glance into the bedroom window.

Andy is rolling the mint green shirt from Claire's body, exposing a midnight black bra. It takes you back.

How Andy would flirt like you were a delicate princess and he a mere peasant boy. How Claire helped you dress and prep for the date. How Claire picked you up after dinner. How excited Andy seemed when you agreed to go out. How excited you were when your parents finally agreed that you can go out.

How mad he was when you said you didn't want to go any further than hand-holding.

What aches most is Claire's betrayal. You actually, foolishly, thought that maybe the two of you would still be friends after the disaster of May. At least until that call. Her call.

With all the might in your body, the last meaningful hand of instant mash powder is launched right at Claire's bedroom window. Clarity hits you when it splats thickly and they jump.

Hurriedly, you grab Robin by her black long-sleeve and drag her into the rose bushes that separate the Green and Schumer houses. She goes down first, back into mulch - you follow, elbows holding you up. Noses separated by a hair's width.

"Hi," you're quiet. Whispering against her apple lips.

"Hi."

"Shh."

"You- “ you cover her mouth before she can respond.

Claire pops the front door open, holding a silk, plum robe together at the chest. Andy lingers in the background.

You roll off of Robin as she wails at the mess from her doorstep. Robin hates when you move, but she'll accept the lackluster dance party to the tunes of Claire Green's misery. Small wiggles and finger disco, but it makes you both giggle quietly.

As far as either of you can hear, Andy makes no move to step forward and comfort your former best friend.

From within the bushes, Robin claws up mudded dirt and flings it at Claire's expensive robe. You gape and clamp a hand over your mouth to keep from giggling too severely. The both of you crawl away, coming to a stand in the Schumer's vegetable garden backyard.

Lovingly, you swipe mud and dirt from her frayed, peeking hairs and face and she watches you clean your palms on black leggings.

"Sorry we didn't get a confession from her."

"Whatever. I already have two. One straight from the Cunningham herself.”

Robin follows as you begin over the garden fence and back down the sidewalk to your home. Her fingers twist over one another and she feels her mouth run dry.

"Really," she starts, "I'm sorry. About everything."

"It's fine," you slow your pace to be at her side, "I kinda just don't want to think about it."

"You probably should, it isn't healthy to bottle things up."

It isn't healthy to enact revenge either.

"It sucks, what else can I say?"

"Really, I think you should talk about it. It helps, like a lot."

"Why do you care?" you laugh but it's nothing except tense. Accusing.

Robin removes the beanie from her head and wrings it between her lithe hands, "'Cuz I know what it’s like. To get betrayed like that.”

“How would you?”

She pauses and you turn, her brows are furrowed and she looks prepared to yarf up her dinner, "You don’t remember at all?”

You blink once. Twice. Stupidly.

Robin breathes heavy, folding her arms, "We used to be friends, you know? In fifth grade. I told you I liked girls at a sleepover and you just… stopped hanging out with me," her eyes widen in show of her disappointment, "And then got super popular."

"Oh my God," you feel shame and dread tighten at your nerves, "I'm so sorry, Robin, I- I don't know why I did that. And I'm so, so sorry I didn't remember. That's so awful."

"I mean," she's shockingly understanding for someone so wronged, "I forgive you. I forgot what I had for dinner just a few hours ago. But if you're so inclined, you can make it up to me by actually opening up."

"What can I say?" you hug yourself, eyes drifting down, "It's terrible. Every day. People I thought were my best friends just lied and abandoned me for dead."

The tears finally cradle your face and Robin steps forward, taking you carefully in her arms. You latch to her, hands winding tight in her black shirt.

"They all got off free and I lost everything. And I have Saturday detention tomorrow with a teacher that just sleeps the whole time," you sputter a laugh, face warm against Robin’s, "I really, really hate that senior year is looking so shit right now."

"I hope revenge is sweet, at least."

You're silent for a moment. Pondering. You nod, beaming, "It is."

Something rattles in a nearby trash can and Robin pulls from the embrace, though her hand continues to hold yours.

"We should probably go get warm before we catch something. And before whatever is in the garbage bites us- " she's walking, dragging you by the hand, before you even get to reply, "I have a fear of rabies, actually."

"Seriously?"

"Hey, you ever seen Cujo? That shit is real, it takes over your mind."

"Yeah, I'm sure," you squeeze her hand playfully, "Totally not insane."

"It isn't," she stresses, though even that front cracks into sprinkles of laughter, "I'm totally justified, everyone else is just insane."

"Of course."

"For real!"

"Never said I didn't believe you."

The trek home is tedious and rainy, but Robin makes it easier to swallow. Like sugar to cough syrup. Or whatever Mary Poppins said.

Your final Saturday detention and Ms. Click is already head back, open-mouthed, freight train snoring asleep. You almost wish there was a princess, basket case, nerd, criminal, and jock there to save you from such unending boredom. And despite being schlucked into such an unforgivingly plain and exhausting field, you feel better than you did the first time. Maybe it's because this is your last one. Maybe it's because Robin promised to pick you up afterwards.

Either way, you feel better now.

Eased and content, at the very least. Willing to let things go as they are, even if the only two left on your revenge roster are the main villains. It most certainly helps that Robin seems to enjoy being around you as much as you do her.

A knock clouds the glass of Ms. Click’s classroom. Your attention snaps and you see Robin Buckley, the woman of your hour, waving you over excitedly. She points over her shoulder at the bike she’d obviously ridden over. It’s castleton green with purple tassels on either handle - very loved, very mud splattered from years of use. You look at her like she’s insane - as far as you know, she genuinely might be - and she just continues to wave and point to her bike with the basket on it.

You rise from your seat, a glance from Ms. Clink’s stone cold knocked out position to the clock, then take great care in mouthing “theater”.

Robin meets you by the double doors at the side of the school - foolishly left open and unlocked.

“I have to be back at three, you know?”

She hooks a flanneled arm through the crook of your elbow and lugs you forward, toward her bike, “You’ll be safe and in your seat by 2:50, at the latest. And that’s a coveted Buckley Swear,” she puts up three fingers, as though a proudly honored boy scout.

The ride from school to the local replacement diner for Benny’s - Johanna’s (a cheap imitation, though the fries are truly award-worthy) - isn’t more than five minutes. Robin is such a slow biker, taking every handful of seconds to chat at a stop, that it soaks up seven minutes of your brief freedom.

Leather sticks to your skin from the booth, but your company is simply to die for.

“You know, I should’ve known something was off with Andy when all he could say about me was that I was pretty.”

Robin icks, sticking out her tongue at the man’s name, “There’s no way he and his friends are part of the men Dolly Parton’s begging Jolene to spare.”

“I know, I once got told that he cheated on a girl at a party when she was literally in the other room,” rethinking it, your entire time with Andy was a sign that he was everything but a decent guy, not that your rose-colored glasses could see red flags. They always just looked like plain old flags, “But I think I’m better now. I used to be nice, but it wasn’t really me. I changed everything about myself and those assholes were never satisfied.”

Robin grabs your hand, hidden behind the red plastic baskets that your meals were carried out in, “You’re still pretty nice now.”

You don’t know if you believe her, but the way she bats her lashes and simpers from fruity ripe and flower-pink lips just might convince you.

Robin rubs a tender thumb over your knuckles and speaks again, “Wanna know something?” you hum, popping one of Johanna’s to-die-for fries in your mouth, “Beethoven wrote Für Elise for a lady, and he wanted her to be able to play something easy, but impressive,” she snags a bite from her burger, holding up a finger as she chews, “But when he found out she was engaged, he made the other parts so complicated that she’d never be able to play it.”

Taking a sip of cola, you shake your head, “I don’t think that’s true.”

“I don’t either,” she snickers, “but I wanted you to feel better about our revenge agenda.”

“Well, I feel fine, thank you.”

“Here, I’ll tell you three truths about me - as an apology.”

Unnecessary, but you don’t plan on fighting her - not when you like the sound of her thin rasp as she talks.

“I was told to never say food tastes bad, so I would say ‘unlucky’. I once cracked my neck and then my nose started bleeding. Once when I was checking out a couple customers at Family Video, their toddler kept saying ‘fuck’ until they left.”

“Thank you,” you tilt your head, “It sounds like you lead a very interesting life.”

“Hm, yes, I went from outcast dork to protecting the world from a gloop monster and Russians with two of the most popular kids from school and then helping the fallen Hawkins princess get revenge on the new most popular kids in school,” she ponders, stark silent for just a second, “I actually have the most boring life imaginable.”

Nodding, you stand and smooth out your skirt, “Yeah, actually, sounds like it. I’ll be in the bathroom, don’t have too much fun without me.”

“Impossible.”

When you return from the eventful fun of the Johanna’s bathroom run, you spot two towheaded nerds dazzled in varsity jackets. They taint the marron-stained edge of your table, hands in their pockets as they talk down to Robin.

It makes you ill, the way they so easily spit up on the only person at Hawkins High to make you forget about that stupid May of ‘85.

“Why’re you obsessed with her all of the sudden?”

Jason should mind his business, you think.

Robin doesn’t speak. It’d be bizarre if the two were more welcoming.

“We both know what you’re doing,” Jason leans down, hands flat on the table and his gaze piercing through her freckled cheeks, “and I hope you know that the only reason we haven’t done anything is because of Chrissy and Patrick.”

“If you’re trying to scrape the remains of her popularity, you’re pathetic,” Andy tilts his head, she liked it more when you did it, “A reject.”

Robin takes it quiet, eyes straight ahead and hands folded across her lap, because she wants them gone as soon as possible so that you don’t have to deal with either of them. You do see them, though, and you decide to deal with them.

“Get the hell out of here,” you’ve grown since the beginning of the year - something more confrontational, “What do you two think you’re doing? There’s no glory holes here, so you’re both out of luck.”

Andy shucks your shoulder with his as he passes, Jason steps on your shoe, and both glare. Deadly and thin and built with all the spite that one could handle.

You thought you could change your mind, really you did. But you watch the evil wrapped in loose, folding jackets leave through sliding automatic doors, and you feel a wickedness crawl the length of your spine.

They just chose the worst way to get you off their back. Now you’re coming back. Like fucking lice - you’ll come right back with immunity to all their potions and charms.

You grab Robin by the elbow, continuing to glare out the windows. You imagine that they’d be set ablaze if it were possible. Robin shudders under the hatred you radiate.

“We have to come up with something totally fucked up for the ringleaders of Hawkins High,” your faze turns down to Robin, blazing, “We have to ruin their lives.”

She grins lopsided, brows raising, “I’m kinda scared but really interested, is that bad?”

“Not particularly.”

Hawkins Highs opens approximately thirty minutes before seven o'clock, depending on who's working that morning. You and Robin meet at the unlocked double doors five minutes before seven - when the football team arrives for their daily congregation. You're digging into your (dated) bell-bottom pants' pockets while Robin is elbow-deep in her backpack.

She nudges her head towards your hip, "How much did he charge you?”

"Not a cent,” you beam, braggy and bright, “Mr. Munson was more than glad to donate to a worthy cause.”

"Lucky," Robin grumbles, faux glare as she pulls out the neck of a communion wine bottle, "I almost shit myself fifteen times trying to get this stupid wine.”

"Sorry, sorry," you crack open the combination of Andy's locker and slip in the weed and one bottle of communion wine.

Next to that, you plant a bright pink paper slip. A bland secret admirer's note asking him to meet in the AV room as soon as he reads it. He'd be a fool to fall for it, but thankfully - a jester is exactly who you're dealing with.

Robin hands you the second wine bottle, shaky and splashy in her unnerved hands, "Are you sure about this?”

"Nope," you tuck the bottle under your shirt, as if it isn't still entirely obvious, "but it isn’t like I can find another way to ensure this asshole never comes back.”

Robin bites down her protests, fiddling with the edge of her frayed sleeve. And she holds those protests down as Andy finds his way into the AV room at 7:08 AM. She slides the lock shut behind him and hurries down the echoing hall towards the office.

The projector is flickering, but most certainly on. Andy can't sense it nor see it, but you're ducking behind the control panel. A single bottle of red clutched tight between your fingers.

Bumbling, you play the film reel loaded into the projector and hold your breath as your voice comes down from the speakers.

"Are you seriously recording this?"

"It's something to commemorate, baby."

A shaky, grainy image of you and Andy, side by side on one of his father’s pews, lights the projector. The camera flips and Claire’s beaming face comes alive. That night was the night that you three promised to stay together forever, seeing each other every break during college.

“I’ll be too busy being a star football player,” Andy insisted.

Claire joked that you two will have to frame him for steroid possession. You called her intense. She called you a sourpuss.

“Oh,” Andy laughs in real time with his video counterpart, “you’re pathetic.”

You feel it.

“Okay, you know what?” he creeps past the control panel you hide under, a hand thunking to the door handle and he pulls, “I’m going.”

His body leans fully, but the door doesn’t budge - he laughs, twisted and sick.

“Let me out,” when you fail to respond, he bangs on the door and you think the walls reverberate, “Let me out! You can’t keep me in here!”

You lay the bottle of communion wine and roll it down the gentle slope to the doorway. The glass smooths loudly along the floor and Andy sweats at the sound, he jumps shamefully when it bumps his sneaker.

Nervously, you peek up and flounder for the volume knob, turning it higher.

“You’re a bitch, and a fuckin’ coward!”

You crank the volume even higher.

“I could never actually ditch you. Either of you.”

His own words scathe him. Betray his wickedness for the both of you to pick apart like vultures to decay. He inspects the back rows for a body, closer and louder, heavier and thicker.

Before Andy gets the satisfaction of finding you, you pop out from beneath the panel - twisting the volume knob even higher. He turns on his planted feat and you watch his nostrils flare, face red and full of hate, “You fucking bitch!”

He charges forward and you refuse to run. Not when his rage was so accounted for.

Robin, meanwhile, puts on her best acting face from amateur freshman and (half of) sophomore year theater in countering to Ms. Kelley’s promise that if she was lying about the contraband in Andy’s locker - she’d be suspended. She twiddles her fingers and shakes her head, “No, I’m not exactly nervous about that…”

Higgins props open Andy’s locker and Robin mocks a gasp as a bottle of wine and a baggie of Eddie’s cream of the illegal crop are visibly at the forefront.

Kelley side eyes Robin, “Why are you nervous then?”

“Well, he was meeting someone in the AV room. That… girl that kicked him in the balls last year? She wanted to meet him, to apologize I think.”

Higgins and Kelley share a glance. Long enough for the social fear of teenagers and weed to lead their conclusions somewhere dark. Not that Robin exactly thinks Andy needed help with being seen as a dickhead.

You barely manage to dodge the wine bottle he throws, it smashes against the control panel and grape nectar rolls down the plastic lining until it stains the carpet. Glass rains near your feet and while you’re focused on not stepping on any, Andy grabs you by the shoulders.

His grip is tight, you think he might leave a bruise, “Why can’t you let this go, you fucking psycho? You gonna terrorize for the rest of high school? College? That’s pathetic.”

It’s hard to believe you were ever into him, “You people ruined my fucking life! Would you leave it alone if someone did that to you?!”

He tuts and grabs you by the collar, lifting you just slightly, “Guess I don’t have to find out, do I, whore?”

You were called that a lot. Men. Women. Young. Old. Familiar. Stranger. All because of a lie. All because of him.

Distant footsteps hang from the hallway and the door’s lock slicks back just as your video ends. Then more steps echo from behind the door, hot in their approach and Robin’s faint voice pipes up.

You tilt your head in faux innocence, “Don’t you?”

“What?”

You scream, something horrified and wretched, and the door swings open with a fury. Your throat burns when you’re done.

Kelley and Higgins smell the wine first. Then see the sparkling remains of a bottle splattered across the floor. Then the way his fingers are coiled into the collar of your shirt.

“Mr. Johnson,” Kelly snaps and he drops you, you fall helplessly, cutting your palm on the glass, “My office. Now!”

Higgins rushes to you, his smooth hands assisting you up as Robin carefully steps up from the background.

“I can take her to nurse, principal Higgins,” you find yourself more comfortable leaning on her tall frame, “While you deal with, you know- “ she eyes the doorway, where Andy is screaming about a setup and lies.

You two begin towards the nurse’s office and Robin doesn’t mention that you got blood on the side of her white shirt. She also doesn’t mention that you don’t technically have to be using her as support to walk, but that’s also for her own self-interest.

“That was equal parts psycho and stupid,” Robin looks at you, a brow raised, “You know that, right?”

“Of course,” you grin back, “It was worth it though. He’s gone and his dad is in hot water, at least for a bit.”

“You’re so dumb sometimes,” you two pause in the hall.

An electricity runs there. Right between you. It makes you screw your arms under hers, and she squeezes you just as tight. And it's as you hug Robin in that barren hallway, you remember, “Oh, shit, I left the video in there.”

“What’re you gonna do with it?” she pulls back, arms loose and limply thrown over your shoulders.

Her lips are tantalizing. That same apple - that same tree - that same snake.

“I dunno…” you shrug, hands roaming down to settle on her hips, “Wanna burn it with me?”

She ponders and you like how she likes your hands on her body, “Yeah. Actually. I’ve never burned film before.”

“It’s nothing big.”

“Sounds exciting, though.”

“Someone could really get hurt,” Jason gestures down to your bandaged hand and you cup it defensively to your chest.

You glare and you feel like hell itself clutches you by the cheeks as he talks, “Jason, you turned me into a social pariah just because you could, if I let you go before actually beating the shit out of you - consider it lucky.”

“You’re a psycho,” he looks around the band practice room that he dragged you into, “And this place smells like cat piss.”

“‘84 accident,” you deadpan, pushing him back by the chest when he attempts to strike past you to the door, “Wait.”

And now you’re pacing nervously across the fuzzy pink rug in front of Robin’s twin-sized mattress, freshly finished with your retelling of such a tale.

“I know what I want done, but I don’t know how we do it,” you pause before her.

“Well, what do you want done?” Robin moves to the edge of her bed, she looks at you like you’ve hung the moon - like you’re worthy of something, “I’ll do it. Trust me.”

“My hero,” you sit on her bed, the way you land making you straddle one of her thighs. You wrap your arms around her neck, “What would I ever do without you?”

“Be without your totally awesome revenge, probably.”

“Definitely,” you giggle and she returns the gesture in kind, “I want to record Jason admitting to everything. He’s meeting me at the Hawkins Elementary playground at 10 PM.”

“Let’s start simple,” Robin’s hands fall to your hips now, and maybe if you were brave you’d admit to yourselves what that meant, “We need a camera.”

You get a camera from Jonathan Byers.

“My mom’s old boyfriend left that, so…” he waves a hand about, looking more exhausted than pleased at the conversation, “Why do you guys need it anyway?”

You and Robin share a pointed look, her frosty blue fingertips tip-tap along the side of the camera patiently. You take a deep breath and fold your arms, “We need it to film Jason Carver admitting that he knew Andy was lying about the whole Enzo’s bathroom blowjob thing and that he turned my old friends against me. Then we’re gonna play it at homecoming tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Jonathan nods sluggishly, hands burrowing into his pockets, “Just, uh, don’t break it.”

And the filming location is scoped by the both of you later - a very bizarre and peculiar experience, being two teenagers perusing the local elementary school playground for a good filming angle.

Robin finishes her rig from behind the tire swing tree beside the real swing set, peering through the viewfinder to ensure that she has a full scene of you and, theoretically, where Jason would be.

“What now?” she steps out from behind the tree, all limb and lank and affection.

“Now,” you grab the camera and delicately hold it, “we buy Hawkins home pride for homecoming tomorrow.”

“Ugh, gross.”

“Whatever,” you roll your eyes good-naturedly and grab her by the hand, entwining your fingers, “think of it as a costume change before the big villain exposition.”

Undershirts hung over either arm, you wade through the skirts’ section with Robin. Two Hawkins High jerseys with Jason Carver’s number over the chest in bold white that you’d forgotten to toss out.

Robin ‘ooh’s and plucks a hanger from the section excitedly, shoving it right before your face. It’s pleated, green with white lining at the bottom - she then holds it beside the shorts she’d picked up for herself, split down the middle, half orange and half green.

“I think this is the final piece,” she nods assuredly, “This is perfect.”

“We still need to try everything on,” you grin as she groans and tucks the skirt into your grasp, “But yes, this is perfect.”

You step out of your respective dressing rooms in tandem, you clutch the strawberry fabrics between both hands and Robin feels her heart jump to her throat. You’ve got a green scrunchie around your wrist and cheesy orange sunglasses on your head - mirroring her own green headband.

Robin looks both ways down the hall and steps into the gray carpet wonderland that separates your rooms. She sighs ragged, pulling the straps of her white tank top closer to her neck, “I feel silly.”

“Me too,” you nod and drop the curtains as you come toe-to-toe with Robin, “but it’s dramatic as hell,” you reach up and remove the emerald headband, shaking it free from clinging, sun-bleached hairs. Pulling out her bangs, you settle the band behind her hanging strands, “You also look hot, so bonus.”

“Yeah, bonus,” she watches your lips, mostly.

It feels safe with you. Not in the way it usually feels safe with people she knows, but it feels like if she were to jump off a cliff then you would put a mega marshmallow bed for her to land on. Maybe it’s because she knows you like girls, too. Maybe it’s because you two are friends now, like officially. Maybe you’ve bewitched her.

“You look hot, too,” she swallows, dry and uneasy.

“Yeah?” you tease, stepping back and pulling loosely on the scrunchie snug around your wrist.

“God,” she plays off any desperation as a laugh, “yes.”

Dear God, yes. And it seems to be all she can think about when you’re driving her home in your candied Audi. Robin has had crushes before - Tammy Thompson and Vickie McNulty, to name a few tangible ones (Brooke Shields, Daryl Hannah, and Lisa Bonet, to name a few intangible ones). But they’ve never consumed her so thoroughly before.

She’s never smelt their perfume on her clothes after school and almost screamed (lovingly). She’s also never had cheesy inner monologues about how beautiful and fun they were.

But you’re just that incredible, she supposes.

She understands, now, your thought process in fifth grade. Or at least, she can get an idea. You must’ve been scared - for God’s sake it was only 1978 and David Bowie hadn’t exactly turned tides against bigotry. And now you’ve apologized. She feels better.

She circles back.

She’s had crushes that didn’t swallow her how you do. Does she…?

Honestly, it would be the least surprising thing to happen in her life so far.

Though, that realization makes her startle at the way you glance over, “What’re you staring at, huh, Buckley?”

“Nothing,” her head snaps forward, tossing back into the passenger side rest.

“Anything you wanna tell me? You look sick.”

“No,” she drags the vowels and you don’t believe her for a second.

But as soon as you’ve dropped her off at her house, you realize you can’t wait to see her again. In the way you used to impatiently wait to meet with Andy, but Robin would never do what he did. Robin is kind and trustworthy and you might just like her.

You most definitely do. And that’s a pill you have to swallow dry so that you can hurry home to prepare for ten o’clock that night.

At ten o’clock that night, you rock gently on the Hawkins Elementary swingset in the pink and white pinstriped dress you wore to Enzo’s on that spring date with the man to ruin your high school reputation.

“Could you be any more dramatic?” Jason has his hands buried in the pockets of his varsity jacket. A powerplay of his own, not that he’d ever admit it.

Looking up in an act of thinking, you hum before sneering, “This is way more fun.”

He rolls his eyes at you, “Anybody follow you here?”

“Not a soul.”

“You’re losing your mind with all this crazy revenge shit you’ve been doing,” he moves closer and you have to stand from the swingset to maintain a semblance of power balance.

“This isn’t even half of it,” you wring your fingers tighter around the iron-scented chains, “You people wanted an outcast, but I don’t think you realized what little an outcast has to lose. Unless, you know, you can go ahead and admit it now.”

“Fine,” he swings his hands out at his sides, “Everyone in the group knew Andy was lying through his teeth. Are you happy?”

“No,” you release the swingset chains and step closer to him, your shoes scuffing his white soles, “How did you convince my friends to turn against me?”

“I didn’t do anything,” he shrugs, “You kicked Andy in the balls and I made them matter,” he laughs and you want nothing more than to throttle him where he stands, “When you’ve got the entire pigsty, parasite, Podunk population of Hawkins High eating out of your palm - people don’t tend to turn their backs on you,” he reaches up and ghosts his fingertips along your cheek, “Unlike the whore that publicly assaulted Hawkins’ golden boy’s best friend.”

You feel the back of your throat burn.

Jason bends down and you want to jump away as his jacket brushes your legs, he picks up the bag at your feet.

“If I play these, and they’re fakes, you’re dead,” he points down the barrel of your face. You feel sick, like he’s stabbing you straight through the throat, “If you tell anybody about this, you’re dead,” he laughs and finally steps back, “Or, hey, maybe I’ll just tell everyone you tried humping my leg like a dog in heat.”

Jason looks into the bag and grins when he spots two cassette tapes. You roll your eyes at his jovial behavior.

He snaps, “Don’t roll your eyes at me, whore.”

Hawkins’ golden boy finally retreats back to his 1984 Jeep Cherokee and you wait until the thing is off property before beaming and turning to the tree with the tire swing.

“Did you get it?”

Robin pops out from behind and gives you a thumbs-up as she wrangles the camera down from its spot in the branches.

Honestly, it’s like the meathead never heard of making tape copies.

The next day, you stroll into Hawkins High for the pep rally with your film reel and confession tapes - decked in the tacky costumes you bought and tried on together. You feel pride and excitement bloom as Robin brushes through the tiled hallways with you at her side. You part at the AV room, with Robin going to jingle the projector to the gym while you sneak into the front office.

“Hey,” she catches you by the wrist, her lips gently tipping up at the sight of you.

“Hey,” you slide your hand up to entwine your fingers with hers, “Everything okay?”

Robin takes a deep breath, “I just…” she looks down and you tilt her head up by the chin, “Even if none of this goes well, I want you to know that I’ve had a lot of fun,” she thinks your lips would taste like the fruity lip balm you’re always wearing, “And I still wanna… be friends, when this is all over.”

Something about the way she hesitates in the title of friends elates you. But then again, being limited to that title burns. And you’ve turned into someone who isn’t satisfied keeping her thoughts to herself.

“Friends?”

Robin shrugs, “Yeah.”

“No more?” you realize the question as Robin gasps, you slap a hand over your mouth, “Sorry!”

“No, more,” she grabs the hand over your mouth and holds that one, too, “Yeah. More,” that nervous little raspy giggle you love peeks through and another wave of excitement gleans below your ribs, “More is good.”

You two share school girlish giggle and squeeze hands and you check both ends of the hallway for any sign of life. When you find none, you lean forward and give her a taste of the fruity lip balm she can always smell from the passenger seat of your car.

The apple is sweet and slightly chapped, and you think you love it.

There’s a twisted hesitance as you pull apart, you grin at her heavy blush and brush her hair back behind her gem-studded ear.

Kissing her cheek, you pull away slowly and it aches to leave her behind.

“Good luck, Buck,” she cringes, nose wrinkling and openly gagging, and you only laugh at her disgust, “Don’t get caught!”

You kneel at the announcement office door, your decade-old library card slithering between the crack in the door. It pops open and you sneak inside, hooking your cassette into the player for the PA system just as the walkie-talkie stuffing into the waistband of your skirt buzzes.

Muffled whispers attempt to blurt through your jersey.

You slip the walkie-talkie up to your ear, catching the tail end of Lucas’ whispering.

A click of the button and you’re speaking into the walkie, “Hey, sweet Sinclair, I’m gonna need you to repeat that.”

This time you catch the end of a thick sigh before he whispers, “Everyone’s in the auditorium and Jason is about to make his speech - so whatever you’ve got planned, you better hurry up.”

“Got it, captain, hang tight,” you flip to the channel you and Robin settled upon before school, “Did you get the scoop from Lucas?”

“Sure did. Projector’s all set up, too, and I’m under the bleachers.”

“Great,” you slip the walkie-talkie back into your skirt waistband and giggly press down on the siren engine red play button on the PA system.

And Patrick McKinney’s voice echoes through the hallways.

Robin pokes her face into the bleachers’ gap, she sees Patrick shy from the attention. Shrugging off his varsity jacket and bringing it up and over his head as he ducks down. Higgins runs off the stage and Kelley attempts calling to the masses through a microphone - it fails. And fails harder when the voice of Chrissy Cunningham autoplays next.

Chrissy leans down, whispering - hissing, rather - for her friends to hide her.

Meanwhile, at the office, you can hear heavy footsteps from the hall and manage to creep under the desk just as Higgins kicks in the door. He swiftly cuts around the desk and you squeeze under the desk’s high gap as the tape cuts off on its own. He rips out the cassette and turns it for a label or name while you crawl away and out the door.

Robin clicks on the film projector from between the bleacher slats and she watches Jason look back from beside Kelley when his own voice rings in the auditorium.

He sees himself, and you, by the Hawkins Elementary swingset.

“What the fuck?”

Kelley jaw drops at his language and smacks him on the arm.

There’s a collective shock as Jason bites himself in the ass.

“When you’ve got the entire pigsty, parasite, Podunk population of Hawkins High eating out of your palm - people don’t tend to turn their backs on you. Unlike the whore that publicly assaulted Hawkins’ golden boy’s best friend.”

Kelley stumbles away, her brown heels clicking on the stage as she tries to distance herself from the king being beheaded.

You shove the double doors to the auditorium open and heads swivel to where you stand as Jason Carver from the projection gets close to your face, clutching a bag in hand, and spits a, “Don’t roll your eyes at me, whore,” after threatening your life.

Eyes turn back to Jason. Judgment. Curiosity. Confliction. It can’t be real, but they’ve seen it before their eyes. Like rubbernecking a car accident. Your downfall, meticulously crafted and carried out and now you finally get to witness it being repaid in full. Chrissy and Patrick huddle into their own covers as people slowly turn against them. Claire shrinks into herself and ignores the sweat that begins along the back of her neck as cheerleaders and peers stare.

Jason is frozen, eyes piercing where his own damnation featured for the entire present population of Hawkins High. Including counselor Kelley.

She grabs him by the arm with the vice grip of an anaconda, dragging him back and behind the velvet curtains - all the way down the stage stairs that you and Robin sprawled down after pouring spiders on his girlfriend. You go to climb the bleachers, stunned when a hand grabs you by the arm.

A girl you don’t quite recognize with chili red glasses grins and holds you up as you climb the middle stairs. A boy with braces helps on your other side.

Freshmen to seniors, men to women, band geeks to varsity jocks, you are assisted up the bleachers until you’re finally plopped onto the cold, smooth, cornstarch-scented seat beside Lucas Sinclair. He claps you on the back, beaming with all the relief of a boy who’s watched G.I Joe escape yet another perilous situation.

“Congratulations on a good show.”

You shrug off the praise, “Oh, you know me. A natural.”

Higgins wanders in, then, and beckons you down. Cheerleaders and mathletes assist you down and ensure you don’t stumble between the bleacher gaps. You feel a flick to your ankle and glance back in time to see Robin peeking there, she smiles lopsidedly and waves. You wave back as Higgins’ turns away to lead you to his office.

Higgins sits stern across from you, hands folded as Kelley’s were on that last day of junior year.

“There’s no evidence I violated school policy because why would I?” you laugh humorlessly, “I mean, why would I go out of my way to surround myself with the people that tried ruining my life?”

He looks away from you. You both know you’re lying through your teeth. Why the hell would you be in that video if you had nothing to do with the scheme? And where would you have been during the pep rally? And who else would be so invested in your Luciferian style fall from grace to act entirely on their own?

But can he bring himself to truly do anything now? When you’ve proven the space between the horse’s teeth is full of lies?

Higgins’ chocolate drop eyes abandon you in favor of the records file at his side.

“Alright,” he sighs, tightens his tie, and leans back until his office chair creaks, “you’re free to go, but we’re going to keep a close eye on you, young lady.”

You bright and clasp both hands in your lap, spine shooting straight, “I’d expect nothing less from Hawkins’ finest, Mr. Higgins.”

Once again, both of you know that you’re lying through your teeth.

But so is he.

“Off the record,” he leans forward and the chair groans again, “did you do it?”

Higgins believes himself to be the kindly, understanding principal, but you feel jaded. Wiser and older, even if you’ve only matured by a fraction.

“Nope!”

“So, who did?” whether this interaction is truly as off the books as he claims, he’s definitely trying to goad you into an answer.

“Who knows?” you sigh, histrionic, as your back hits the chair’s cushion, “Maybe some… super vigilante that thought some justice was needed.”

“What? Like Batman?”

You think for a moment. You aren’t quite as comically rich, nor are you so brooding, and perhaps you’re stroking your own ego now - but there is a sense of just performance. Like you’ve done something right.

“Yeah. Like Batman.”

Robin waits outside for you. She’s leaned against the wall and it brightens the dim space. You don’t even notice the others until she nudges her head to the side and says, “You got a couple visitors.”

Chrissy, Claire, and Patrick are standing ashamed and knobby-kneed.

Claire steps forward, one hand nervously twirling a dark curl around her finger, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Onyx eyes that jade like honey pots in sunshine water and wilt, her cheeks wet with tears and Patrick nods, laying a hand on her shoulder. He wets his lips and sighs like he was somehow hurt.

Truly hurt.

“We just got caught up in Jason and his need for us to play specific parts. You… you know how it is.”

You most assuredly do.

You wish Robin wasn’t shying away from you. You hate that it's their fault.

Chrissy clinks her fingernails together, “You should come back. We miss you.”

“We all miss you,” and you know Claire isn’t lying as she says that.

You know none of them are, but you look at Robin as she nervously gnaws her bottom lip. They wronged her deeply as they did you - even if you could forgive them for yourself, you can’t find it within you to ignore how they hurt her. And again, you can’t actually feel yourself ready - or prepared - to forgive and forget for your own sake.

“Nah,” you smile as you grab Robin by the hand and turn towards the side doors of the school.

Chrissy and Claire go to protest. You can hear Patrick’s sneakers squeak against the dirt-smeared corridor floor. And you pay them no mind as you commit to skipping the rest of the school day with (you hope) your new girlfriend.

“Higgins inadvertently called us Batman,” you unlock your car and open the door for Robin as she ducks in.

She hums, nodding, as you climb into the driver’s seat, “If you’re Batman can I be Catwoman?”

“Don’t they fight each other?”

“Yeah, but I don’t wanna be that Robin. He’s like twelve.”

“Then let’s just both be Batman,” you wait until you’ve both clipped in your seatbelts before pulling out of the student parking lot.

Robin settles her head back against the passenger seat rest, rolling until her ear hits the cushion and she stares as you steer - utterly helpless and enamored, “Do you think we’ll ever have to do this again?”

“Hm,” you make it out of the Hawkins High gate and roll down the street, entirely calmer than when you had to get driven home by Eddie Munson, “maybe a first date is in order first. Then maybe we can do more revenge. Be women of the people and all that shit.”

“I’d love to,” Robin laces her hands together and you notice, holding a hand out over the center console for her to hold, “I’m not happy you got outcasted and lied about, but I am glad that we met.”

“Me too, Rob,” you pause completely at a stop sign and lean across the gap between you two to lay another precious kiss to her lips - she eagerly returns the affection, “Now, I don’t believe we ever got to properly finish our meal at Johanna’s. And I’m simply starving.”

Her nose crinkles as she laughs and you don’t know if you could ever get enough of the sight or sound or feeling of her. She nods and pecks your lips again, “I could eat.”

#robin buckley x reader #robin buckley x you #robin buckley oneshot #robin buckley #robin x reader #robin stranger things #stranger things x reader #stranger things x you #stranger things fic #robin buckley fluff #robin buckley fic #robin.🍍

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flames-memory · 5 months

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Wednesday

I didn’t get to see BC yesterday, but I did after work. I had to stop at the tailors in the D real quick and ran into Stormy and Aurrius (?) the golden star guy. He’s pretty nice, I think. He was making a hip hop outfit, with gold colors, so I suggested a hoodie. It looked way better than the cornrows he

I met her at her apartment. It was nice to be with her alone for a while. She talked about training and started with.. I guess that was a spanking. It was intense, and it hurt, but it also made me feel strangely safe? My powers keep the pain from getting to be unbearable, and I heal. Guess that says a little about intensity there. Don’t get me wrong I’ve been hit before. Not like this, but speaking out of regular combat, in correction, or for.. whatever it was? Someone else’s fun? It wasn’t often – I’m not stupid, and I generally don’t invite it. Nature of the whole signing contracts, I guess.

After, when I had a little time to think about it, I kind of wondered if there was something wrong with me, but that idea didn’t stick. Whatever might be “wrong”, BC and Max both don’t seem to see me as being broken like that. I don’t feel broken – bruised, maybe. That’s getting better. I’ve been in such a haze of happy, it’s almost a shock when bad thoughts pop back up. I won’t manufacture drama and cling to ideas of being some overwrought victim. I like being happy. I’m glad BC and Max are both so understanding when I have those little shadowy moments, when the past doesn’t seem anywhere near far enough away. And it isn’t, not yet. I know I need to heal and grow here. I need to be careful, and not hurt anyone in the process, too.

It’s not a bad analogy I keep coming back to… Air and Kerosene. Both make me burn bright and make me hungry for more of them. I get selfish, and I just want more.

I’m supposed to think about what she did.. like I can stop.. and think about what I want her to do.. O.o Boggled. How can I answer that? I thought I knew what there was to do, and yet, I don’t even know where to begin. Things that excite me? Ugh. It feels so.. how am I supposed to say it? Why is it so hard? Worse.. which IT am I even trying to say? Oh.. god.. I have the weekend to think about all that. Max give me strength??

Oh, yeah, BC and Eliza are going to Singapore. That’s so cool. BC deserves to have time with those she loves. I’m a greedy child, I’d keep her to myself if I could.. but then, I wouldn’t be able to fit in time with Max, and I don’t like that idea at all. I can’t believe I get to spend so much time with either one of them, I don’t want to monopolize their lives.. but also.. I kinda do.. I want to be selfish and kidnap them both and be.. ridiculously cuddled forever. And you know.. the stuff I don’t know how I’m supposed to say out loud.. heh.

BC woke me up, always the best morning. We headed in, and caught Max in the D. BC fell hard for the Gehenna crier, heheheh.. she dumped all of her lovers and swore her undying allegiance to the crier.. But.. lucky for us, the crier wasn’t interested lol. Max and I headed in, and oh, MY god.. why can I not get over how handsome he looked in that fancy coat. So Faustian and handsome. I opted for “sacrificial virgin” sorta.. lol.. and I got to see BC and Eliza in their Devil and Angel costumes. Kinda figure we had a whole story! Max attempts to sacrifice me to BC for power and Eliza saves me lol Something like that heheh

It was fun – the bar has a COOL aquarium in the floor (apparently, I like fish tanks. I hadn’t seen that many, I guess, never really thought about it, but I keep seeing them, and they are just SO cool)

Only a moment or two I could have skipped. I felt like an idiot, being disturbed by fireball. It reminds me of my attempts to be a person while with the Black Holes. Like.. it has a cute name, but it’s terrible. BC traded me drinks, and I felt bad, cuz the drink looked cool as hell. Her highball was good.

Max had whiskey.. that stuff is evil… but not like you think. I don’t like it.. but it makes his breath smell so good, and he tastes.. yikes. SO good. I’m glad he likes it, but I hardly need more temptation to kiss him. I wonder what BC would taste like after whiskey? Heh, new club experiment. Maybe, instead of points, I’m going to have to keep track of things I like and don’t like.. cuz.. then I have to try, like… everything, right?

We looked out at the nightmare monsters outside the bar.. and I do not like what it made me think of. Why it made me think of THAT, I don’t know. Ew. It wasn’t even what you’d call a good analogy, but.. I suddenly thought of Kass, and her favorite jewelry; Kass, and a cottage and sunburns. I had to stop looking, and that helped. Weirdest part was none of that view bothered me till I heard the word nightmares, and I don’t even think I have nightmares? I don’t remember them.

We went go dance.. and I snagged a hug from Max before we dropped down to the dance floor. He’s so solid and somehow hot and cold at the same time. It helped, and I actually forgot all about it by the time we rejoined BC and Eliza. They do that, BC and Max. Make me forget to remember. That’s the right way to say it. I don’t forget the things I don’t want to think about, but I forget to remember them. Sometimes they take me by surprise, like, how could I get out from under that shadow for even a moment? BC and Max are so bright, the shadow just.. has no power.

Eliza and BC danced all close and sexy with me, making me the second most awesome sandwich yet, heh. Had a chance to snuggle and kiss Max a little before I left, tell him again how sexy that coat made him. I’ll never tell, but I like it way better than the brown leather one but go figure. BC still keeps calling him a silver fox.. I don’t think he minds, despite the difference in his age/hair. They don’t make him look old to me, it’s just.. Max’s hair. I like it.

So.. I went to work.. and I had to leave them. And worse, I forgot to get a picture of all the great costumes. Well, OUR getups anyway. We looked great. And Max promised me a pillow fort at Black Cat Tuesday, so this weekend, when I know BC will be in Singapore, I’m going to make Max stay with me as much as I can. Call me a selfish bitch, I don’t care. I’ll be missing BC, and Max is staying in that Hotel all alone, there’s no reason for him not to. Besides, the bed is huge, so even if we only sleep, there’s plenty of room. He’s got to bring more pillow.

And you better bet I hope we do more than sleep. I don’t want to rush thing in any way, but I do want to show Max how much I care about him. I love BC, I adore BC. Max.. I think he was hurt by someone, and I think he’s protecting himself a little. Being careful. I don’t blame him. I threw my trust in with BC just about as fast as I did.. no. That’s not fair. Whatever this is with BC took a few days to really become what it is, and it grows every day. Not bigger, exactly, it’s already all of me, but evolving. That’s exciting. Max was like.. a nice person to flirt with, then.. a friend that’s safe to cuddle with, and now.. he’s so important to me. I do love him.. but we’re still working up to that. Does he love me? Doesn’t matter. He likes me, he likes being with me, and if he never loves me, that’s ok. I’ll still love him. I’ll be.. very.. very.. very sad. But I need to be able to be on my own. I don’t want to think about that, being without BC or Max, but I know that’s something I need to be able to do. I don’t have to DO it, maybe, because I have them now, and maybe I’ll be lucky to always have someone who cares about me. But if I don’t, I can’t fall apart or make terrible choices. I need to know that what BC has done for me – what Max does for me – wasn’t done in vain, or efforts wasted. I must be able to be a person, for myself and for them.

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zlichchamber · 1 year

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Prologue: Interlude

The beginning of a story always has a hook. I suppose that was something we were taught in school or noticed throughout the many shows, movies, and books we read, but for me I wonder why isn't the same true about life. Life was in itself a story; the countless autobiographies prove that much the case. However I don't think coming out of the womb counts as an interesting hook, so if I have to guess I think there was one moment in our lives that defined it- that served as that hook for us. Whether for the worse or the better. If I had to choose the hook of my life it would be October 14, 2021 the day the very world became my story.

Chapter 1: The Recluse Writer

Mr. Numvil, Caesar wake up"

The cries of my name jointed my eyes opened, as the entire class stared at me. I must have fallen asleep in class, as the mean witched teacher was staring daggers at me, but honestly what could you expect in history class of all classes, with the air conditioner on full blast and at the end of the day.

"Glad to see you're with us now Mr. Numvil. I hope you are alive for the rest of the class.

Some of my classmates giggled, while others grunted at me. They all probably saw me as a nuisance or some form of entertainment, not that I cared much. The impression they held of me didn't matter in my eyes. I was used to this kinda stuff and crying or being upset by it wasn't even in my nature. I glanced up at the clock and it read 1:15 pm.

"Only a few more minutes, huh" I glanced at my notebook and picked up my pencil. There weren't any notes written inside, instead in placement was a barrage of words more important than any lecture of the American revolution. They were my bloodline-our in other words my stories. I probably does off when writing the latest addition of the story of an revenge stricken war veteran inspired by this very class.

I suppose I could explain it, but the plot was so cliche that you basically figured it out if you seen multiple action flicks, but I suppose the point of this story wasn't a good overarching story, but something to kill my boredom and more exciting than the review of the same war we heard about countless times.

"Hi Cesar, what u writing" the boy seated next to me said, as he glanced at my notebook..

" Nothing just notes"

"Hmmm ..Doesn't look like notes, plus I doubt u are writing every little word Ms. Flair saying.

"Oh what would you know? Anything could be on the test.

"With this shot I shall avenge my brother…"

In embarrassment I quickly shut my notebook."You saw nothing"

Author Note: Hi everyone, Riz here again or LKR. Well I leave that up to you to decide.

I created a blog again on this site. Yeah I know the last two times ended in failure mostly cuz of my laziness and want to be perfect, but as they always say third time the charm, right.

I just wanted somewhere to post all my ideas or concepts and this happens to serve that purpose. I didn't know what to post here, so I just chose the concept of a prologue that appeared in my mind. I wrote this like two days ago and it was just a draft. Not even finished.

I try to update this blog with my blog, somewhat regularly. Til then peace out and stay safe goofballs.

#writing #wip #original story #fantasy #fanfiction

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momobani · 2 years

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SEASONS CHANGE BUT PEOPLE DON’T

If Your Winter Is Hard - Chapter 1 - 6.6k

medium!minghao x exorcist!reader

SERIES MASTERLIST

Warnings: exorcism(duh!); discussion of ghosts + death, reference to death of family members, light violence/ fighting, mention of guns, mention of grief

Sum: You almost get someone killed on the job, which is new considering you work with the dead.

title reference to The Takes Over, The Breaks Over by Fall Out Boy [mv link cuz can’t find audio]. Vivaldi’s Four Seasons complete performance by Janine Jansen [concert vid].

Point of reference for series: Sell Your Haunted House (and Hotel Del Luna but to a lesser extent, both amazing dramas, go watch).

Disclaimer: lot of creative licence here lol, influenced by and used a lot of ideas from Sell Your Haunted House (e.g the setting, certain plot points and prop ideas) with some adaptation, some general/ stereotypical things about exorcism you can learn from mainstream media, nothing too intricate. [seriously go watch SYHH cuz it’s incredible and underrated af and I just had to pay homage to it somehow, so here’s a whole ass fic inspired by it haha]

It’s quiet, almost too quiet tonight.

The razor chill falling over the evening has your hairs standing on edge, the cold air getting crisper and crisper as you walk toward the entrance of the gallery. It’s a grand building, giant columns and the whole wannabe Greek triangulate structure of the roof, slabs of stone place perfectly in an attempt to emulate ancient civilisation.

You hear your footsteps so loudly, the wet squelch of your boots against the cement underfoot as you lead Hoshi up the steps, and even he’s uncharacteristically quiet for the moment, diligently carrying a bag full of your equipment.

Tonight’s menu was an old ghost, one that had gone decades without detection, let alone exorcism. It had surprised you to identify it, since so many other exorcists before you could have been the ones to find it, yet had not. Suppose it wasn’t its time to go yet.

Everyone has to go eventually.

You walk around to one of the side doors instead of the main large mahogany entrance and steal through, holding the metal plated surface for Hoshi. You take a moment to dry your boots on a nearby mat, the overly cautious side of your brain taking initiative to slip in and out of this gallery undetected. Your police friends could only do so much control damage, better not cause any trouble in the first place.

You’d done the research, the scouting, the calculations, the meticulous planning that always goes into your exorcisms and the only way to get to where your ghost was, was to walk through the atrium on the first floor. You’d been on site just yesterday, making sure everything could go smoothly.

The gallery was already closed but it was the minuscule gap in time between the visitors leaving and the security guards sweeping through and taking away stragglers and guiding them out.

“C’mon.” You said to Hoshi as you lead the way to the correct spot. You almost tip toed as you kept your eyes open for any movement around you. You knew the guards weren’t doing their patrol of this wing of the gallery yet. You had ten minutes flat to get this done. No time to lose.

You stood in front of a painting by the ghost when he’d been alive; an unknown artist, who’d died a bitter death before completing what was posthumously considered his best work. It was no wonder that he’d been unable to move on. From your research it wasn’t uncommon for artists to be shunned for their work whilst alive and only recognised as genius after death.

“Play it, quick.” You told Hoshi as you started to set up the incense. It was risky to light anything in here despite it being an open space, but the incense was part of the ritual to lure the ghost to you in order to exorcise it. You’d also found a short biography of the painter where you’d learned that he liked to listen to classical music whilst painting. So naturally you told Hoshi to bring his little portable tiger speaker and play some.

“I got Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. This might be good to attract the ghost.” He says as he fiddles with the bluetooth.

“Hosh, you had one job.” You sigh as you check on the magazine of crystallised salt bullets in your gun, a modest but practical SIG Sauer P365 which gives you a generous eleven rounds to isolate a ghost. Your industry tended to take normal weapons and adapt them to your jobs hence it was full of special bullets. You usually liked to use the old fashioned salt cage method but you had no time to do all that now.

“What? Four Seasons never gets old.” Hoshi pouts as the speaker starts to play some of the piece quietly.

“Violinists would beg to differ.” You muttered. “Whatever, let’s just get this over with.” You stand in position, alert for when the ghost might appear.

“I’ll put it on shuffle, the ghost might like Winter more than Spring.” Hoshi says.

“Just play the first movement and leave it.” You roll your eyes at his back and wait.

The incense is burning properly now, the light wisps of smoke floating up and you hope that by some miracle the fire alarms aren’t triggered by that tiny little bit of incense.

You feel it before you see it. The shift in energies surrounding you, a distinct dread settling in your chest, and the prickle of static in the air; the ghost is here. The cold breeze of its presence seizes the space around you.

You whip around and spot him nearing you and Hoshi slowly, the spectre of a middle aged man with sad, sad eyes and apron over his clothes, faint dried paint still visible even though he was incredibly transparent.

“Get ready.” You say. Hoshi nods and gets ready to remove the bracelet on his left wrist. It’s a simple bead design made of pitch black onyx crystals.

Hoshi is your medium.

In order for a medium to not get randomly possessed, they must wear some kind of talisman, usually crystals, that warded off ghosts or even demons depending on which of them you were working on; demons were a harder (and much rarer) breed and only the super elite exorcists went after those. Your practice was focused on dispatching ghosts who hadn’t moved on and couldn’t find their way to the afterlife.

Hoshi’s energy is to say the least…intense. He’s kind of a perfect fit for a medium; aura strong enough to attract ghosts but also robust enough to withstand frequent possession. The regulations set by the Council of Exorcists stated that any practicing exorcist must have at least one permanent medium on their payroll at any time and employ an alternative if you perform more than 3 per week.

And so you’d found Hoshi through the network at Council of Exorcists a couple years back when your sister’s practice became yours.

So here you were, waiting to guide the painter to the next world.

In one hand you had your gun, in the other you had the scroll of his name contained in the handle of a thin blade with which you were going to stab the ghost with. The blades were custom made and you had boxes filled with them from your supplier, since each one burned up with the ghost and their name each time you exorcised someone.

You watch as the ghost approaches, the music fading to the background of your awareness as you stared at him. He seemed calm for the moment but usually the process of possession riled ghosts up so you had to be ready.

“Now!” You instruct Hoshi. He dropped the bracelet, the crystals landing with a soft clink against the marble floor, and the ghost immediately lurched forward, zipping past you and straight into Hoshi’s body. He staggered for a moment, his head hung low as he got his bearings. Hoshi snapped his head up to look at you dead in the eye. You knew the possession was complete since Hoshi’s irises had lit up with a silvery light, a drastic change from their usual warm brown.

You stepped towards him but the ghost shook Hoshi’s body and attempted to swing his arm at you. The attempt failed since the ghost was not used to the new body. You didn’t bother waiting for him to adjust as you took it as the opportunity to storm Hoshi, blade raised. The ghost yelled out and you were thrown back unexpectedly, the supernatural energy of the yell sending you to land on your ass a few feet away. The fall knocked the gun out of your hand and you heard it skitter some distance away.

The ghost was agitated now, as expected. But what you didn’t expect was how strong the energy behind the scream was. You worried it might have been enough to alert any security nearby. You just needed to get this job done and fast. You got up and and rushed towards Hoshi’s body, who now had his back towards you as he looked at the painting, enticed by his own work. You had to stab at his heart otherwise it wouldn’t work so you grabbed Hoshi’s shoulder and yanked him to turn around.

You were about to stab the blade home before you felt a gut-wrenching cold over you. It made your stomach curl and your throat seize up, a terrible shiver wracking your body. You let go of Hoshi and staggered backwards. The ghost was attempting to break free of his confines; trying to fight the medium’s body. This hadn’t happened to you before but you knew that it was unpredictable what the ghost might do once it escaped.

Hoshi stood rigidly for a split second then levitated, his feet leaving the ground. You didn’t dare move, eyes wide, as you waited to see what the ghost’s next move. You gasped as Hoshi’s body flew towards the nearest wall and slammed into it, narrowly missing some other paintings.

“Hoshi!” You screamed, gunning towards him as he fell to the ground, the ghost leaving his body and floating away towards the atrium’s staircase. You slid next to him and checked over his head for any injuries as he spluttered away, coughing.

“I’m okay, go get him.” He managed between breaths. You didn’t want to leave him but you needed to locate the ghost. It wasn’t normal for a ghost to reject the medium’s body and if it did, then it could mean a lot of trouble.

“I’ll be back!” You said and sprinted after the ghost, blade in hand. You followed the cold trail of the energies the spirit left in the air as he moved around. You made it down the large stone staircase and heard a loud crash. You turned toward the source of the sound and noticed a movement.

The guard in the security’s office was sweeping through the tiny space, papers flying everywhere and you assumed the ghost was in there with him. You ran the few steps separating you and stood in the doorframe to assess the situation.

The guard snapped towards you sharply, his eyes zeroing in on you. He was a taller man, young and lean and if you had a second more you would notice that his shirt was stained with tea but what you did notice a second later was his eyes - it was the same silvery light marking a supernatural presence.

You knew two things in that moment: 1) the guard was possessed, and 2) you might get sued for negligence.

The only explanation that made sense to you right now was that the guard must have been a medium even if he had no idea and the ghost had decided that he wanted to try everything available to him like some kind of all-you-can-posses buffet.

Great, now you had an actual tangible problem on your hands.

You had to exorcise the ghost, or at least trick it to leave this man’s body and return to Hoshi’s. For the sake of the guard’s safety you stepped back and beckoned the ghost to come towards you; fighting in that office was more likely to injure the civilian than out here in the atrium. After all, you had to make sure he doesn’t get hurt because of all of this.

“I’m going to need you to leave that man’s body alone. You kicked my medium’s ass and I won’t forgive that. I’m the only one that gets to kick his ass, got it?” You hoped that talking to the ghost might help it relax a little, maybe make it want to wander about again. It seemed to be working since he was focused on you, walking towards your voice.

You counted each heartbeat, waiting for a blast of cold air to hit you if the ghost left the security guard’s body. You waited in vain and instead gripped your tool. You needed to do this as quickly and as neatly as possible.

When he was about a couple of feet away you lunged forward, blade towards the man’s heart, your sudden attack however, was greeted with a counter when the man grabbed your arm and flipped you, the world spinning around you unexpectedly. You were caught by surprise as you twisted in the air, your view of the world tipping upside down and almost moving in slow motion.

It was during your suspension in mid-air that you speculated that that was the skilled hand of someone who knows martial arts, presumably something the guard was trained in. You rolled away as you landed, blade still in hand.

You turned around and found the man was already next to you and grabbing you, his hard chest pressing against your back, your legs kicking in front of you. You were certain he’ll throw you but where and how, you weren’t sure. Before he could do anything, you kicked downwards, using gravity to aid you in bringing the two of you down so you could flip him over you this time. He landed on his back, groaning.

“Ugh, why couldn’t you be some useless, donut loving-ahhh!” your grumbling was interrupted by a long leg swiping the floor underneath you. You landed, the air knocked out of you, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Now you were mad too. You just wanted to do your job, what were the odds of a random person being both a medium and highly skilled in martial arts?

“Right, enough.” You huffed and rushed towards the man’s body as he was getting up. You tackled him, using all the force you could muster but bringing your body to the ground first so you could bear the brunt of the landing, rolling the two of you so that you were straddling him. You drove the blade down into the man’s chest. “Go peacefully.” You breathed.

It was something that your family in particular had a tradition of saying to ghosts as you released them to the next world, the last words that they would hear on this plane. You waited as the blade burned up with the painter’s name, the tool turning to ash and dust in your hand then being carried away into the ether.

You waited for the ghost’s dying memory to wash over you as the last of the blade burned up and the soul left the man’s body.

You saw it in your mind’s eye; the painter was sitting at a kitchen table, eating a meal and admiring his work in the corner of his studio, the very same that was hung in the gallery, when you felt your (his) vision blur and the world went dark for a millionth of a second.

You exhaled the breath you were holding and found yourself still on top of the man that had been possessed earlier. His eyes were fluttering open, the colour of his irises revealed to be a dark brown, the kind of endlessness you can fall into and never get out. He gasped awake and screamed when he saw you, causing you to scream simultaneously and scramble off of him.

“Who the hell are you?” His eyes are wide and alarmed and it hits you just how bad this could get. You’re terrified you accidentally let the ghost possess him. What if it had hurt him? Or even killed him? Unlikely but what then? You’re stifling down your horror and anxiety as you drink him in. He looks okay.

Your brain is milling a million hours an hour and you try to rationalise each thought as it flits through your brain.

It wasn’t entirely your fault since you could never predict if there was another medium nearby but technically you could have tried to isolate the ghost while it was still in Hoshi’s body, yet you’d been so concerned with getting it done, that you’d been clumsy and allowed him to get away, although in your defence, you’d never had a ghost reject a medium before.

“Uh-” you tried dumbly.

“YN! Did you get him?” You hear Hoshi’s voice yelling out behind you. You glance back and he’s limping slightly but otherwise Hoshi’s enthusiastic and bubbly and still Hoshi so you turn your attention back to the security guard. He’s still frazzled but he’s definitely getting closer to fuming.

“Are you okay?” You ask him. First things first, injuries. “You’re not hurt?” You scan his face for injuries, then the rest of him.

“Should I be?” He asks. “I don’t know what that was but I feel weird. What’s going on?” He demands, looking down at himself, patting his arms and then legs, as if checking they’re still there.

You had to assume he had medium abilities, otherwise there was no other explanation for how he got possessed, which meant by protocol you were required to tell him the truth about what happened. You sighed.

Something about his demeanour told you he wouldn’t believe you but you had to try anyway. But not here, it was only a matter of minutes before his fellow guards made their rounds to this end of the gallery.

“We’ll tell you everything, just come with us-”

“No, I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Please, we can’t be seen here, we might get questioned or worse they might call the police.” You pleaded with him. His face didn’t budge.

“Explain first, then we’ll see if I go.” He said, stubborn with conviction. You weighed it up for a split second that the only way to shift him was to tell him the truth right now.

“Okay listen, it might seem really bizarre but-”

“You got possessed by a ghost and she exorcised it out of you.” Hoshi says quickly, standing next to you, arms crossed casually. You click your tongue, annoyed. You were going to ease the guy into it but there he goes and just throws him in the deep end.

“Huh?”

“Sometimes when people die, their souls-” you start.

“Hey, I know what a ghost is, I just didn’t think they actually existed.” The guard interjects.

“Well, they do exist and it seems that you’re able to host them, which is something that not a lot of people can do.” You explain.

“So, right then, I got possessed?” He asks. You nod. “By a ghost?” You nod and Hoshi nod in unison. “And you made it go away?” Each question he asked, his voice went up higher both in pitch and incredulity.

“That’s right. The ghost had originally possessed my colleague Hoshi here,” you gesture vaguely in his direction and he wriggles his fingers in a sheepish ‘hi’ to the guard. “But it must have sensed your presence and come to possess you instead.”

You give the guy a moment for it all to sink in. You really didn’t have time for this but it was obvious it was the only way to get him to cooperate. He purses his lips in thought, as if running the information through a database in his head and calculating what his next move should be. You didn’t blame him, here he was at work and some crazy people let a ghost take over his body. Not your typical night shift.

“I think I believe you but it still sounds too far fetched.” He replies, a due amount of scepticism coating his voice. “Are you sure you didn’t come to steal art and drug me so you could get away?”

You can’t help your shoulders slumping. He might take some convincing but you were running out of time. It was a miracle that no other guards had arrived on the scene yet. You had to leave now, one person was enough, but if more people saw you, they’d raise the alarm.

“Have you never had anything strange happen to you? Never walked through a cold breeze on a scalding hot day? Couldn’t remember how you got somewhere and how much time has passed?” You ask him, listing the common symptoms of being a medium as described by the books. You see the shift in his eyes as your words turn the cogs in his head. He finally had an explanation of oddities that had happened to him all his life.

“Tell me more.” He says finally.

“Come with us. We need to make sure you’re not experiencing any after effects.”

“But my shift just started. It’s my first day at work, I can’t go.” He protests as he starts to get up. Somewhere in the back of your mind you wonder what the odds of that are. Getting possessed by a ghost on your first day on the job. Probably less than minute. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

You don’t want to cost him his job but an unprecedented exorcism could potentially cost him his life so you decide to exaggerate.

“Well we can’t stay here. And if something happens to you then we can’t save you from jail.” You insist. The guy stands up and he sways slightly, you instinctively reach out and catch his arm, a little taken aback of the hard muscle you feel underneath his grey uniform. He definitely could have kicked your ass if he’d been awake. He looks at you and you find yourself too close so you step back, letting his arm go quickly. He looks conflicted for a moment, but ultimately nods.

“Fine, let’s go, it’s not like I was getting paid anyway.” He says. “My name is Minghao, by the way.”

“Hoshi and YN, nice to meet you…” you trail off as you look at Minghao sway again slightly and clutch his head before his eyes flutter close and you yelp whilst trying to catch him mid-fall. He’s not heavy but then again when had anyone unconscious been that light? You almost crumble as you struggle to pull his arm around you so you can carry him.

“Hosh, a little help?” You puff through gritted teeth. Hoshi looks at you, the bag of your equipment in his hand.

“Boss, I’m injured and my hands are busy.” He smiles at you and you feel the urge to wack his arm. “I’ll get the doors, let’s go.”

You arrive at your headquarters, the car ride silent and tense. You’d been gripping the steering wheel, constantly glancing up at the rearview mirror to see Minghao sprawled out across your backseat and completely conked out by the looks of it. It was probably his body reacting to the sudden energy entering and escaping it; it was probably a shock to the system and he must be exhausted.

You knew it was normal for mediums to sometimes faint after an exorcism, especially if they were inexperienced, you still remembered the first time Hoshi had worked for you. It was a fairly routine exorcism, a family member unable to leave their loved ones, in this case a child hanging around their parents after death, but Hoshi had nonetheless collapsed after hosting the child’s ghost. Nothing a little medicine can’t fix.

You assessed Hoshi’s injuries in the car, asking him rapid questions, playing doctor for ten minutes as you drove. You’d need to see how badly he was injured and potentially send him for a check up, but he wasn’t complaining too badly, which led you to believe he was fine for the most part. At least you hoped, you had some work coming up that would require a healthy medium.

You managed to rope him into helping you carry Minghao, each of you placing one of his arms around you. You went through the closest entrance, the one to your office, which was on the ground floor of the building. The underground or basement floor was your living space and your storage facility. You entered through the double front doors, which were a dark wooden panel with a rectangular glass pane at the top and silver door handles, strategically designed to keep certain types of demons out since the silver might burn them.

The familiar heavyset musk of stifled air and old paperwork filled your nose as you struggled through the office area, where you met with clients and also kept record of your exorcisms, the whole room outlined with wooden cupboards upon metal filing cabinets filled to the brim with decades worth of documents, or as you liked to occasionally remind yourself, your inheritance from your family. Most people got houses or maybe cars or businesses but you got the ability to see ghosts and a lifelong responsibility to society that you couldn’t back out of.

It was a trudge to the basement floor where you had a spare room to put Minghao to lie down. You manage to not bump into anything on the way down the stairs so you agree with Hoshi to call it a success. You instruct Hoshi to sit with Minghao while you go and source some medicine. You shuffle down the hallway, your black long coat swishing as you go, keeping your eyes open.

She might be waiting for you.

The living room and kitchen are an open plan room that takes up most of the basement floor and are almost entirely in darkness since you only have a few windows to the side and even there, most light coming in is blocked by a staircase to the basement entrance.

You flip the light switch and the few tiny lamps lining the walls and the chandelier separating the rooms buzz to life but the room is still vastly dark. The lights hadn’t been changed for a long time, the bulbs, covered by frosted glass cup-shaped shades, weak and coated in a thin sheen of dust. Just as your grandparents had left them.

The couch too was ancient; a dull flower patterned upholstery that had never left the basement and you didn’t have the heart to replace. It was full of nostalgia and memories, as was the weathered dinning table and the coffee table and practically every piece of furniture, carpet and piece in the basement. You tried not to let your eyes wander too much whilst you prepared some tea and herbal paste for Minghao but it was always hard after a job.

Exorcisms reminded you of your family.

While it was brewing you couldn’t help but look across the room, checking for signs of movement while the soothing aroma of the tea filled your senses. Your eyes finally stopped to stare at the framed photograph of you and your sister, one of the freshest things in this room sitting amongst the older frames on a chest of drawers, added almost three years ago.

It’s subconscious when you touch the ring on your hand, a thin silver band and a bright carnelian crystal, the protective talisman she had worn since taking over the family duties. You had a matching set of earrings and your aunt the necklace from the set.

The ring was one of the only things of your sister’s you let see the light of day; the rest was hidden away in storage that sat in your spare room, the majority of the space taken up by the stacks of cardboard boxes. There was a spare set of bedding you’d instructed Hoshi to set out while you held Minghao up, his head resting on your shoulder and the crook of your neck. It was too close for what you considered comfortable proximity with a complete stranger, yet you hadn’t felt your usual aversion when someone was in your personal space.

It bothered you, you thought as you stirred the mixture of medicinal herbs in a mug. That’s why you were still thinking about it. It bothered you how you could still feel the warmth of his cheek and the tickle of his hair on your skin. And what bothered you even more was that your sister hadn’t made an appearance tonight. Her ghost was still lingering in the house and the office and almost without a miss, she breezed around you to check on you after an exorcism, but tonight the house was utterly still.

When you get back to the guys, you see Minghao is starting to wake up. He seems groggy and confused, his hair sticking up in different directions, tousled after the fight and the journey here, but you think he seems otherwise unharmed. Hoshi looks up from his phone, suddenly animated.

“You’re alive!” He squeaks excitedly. Minghao sits up slowly, assisted by Hoshi as you sit down beside them with the mug of tea and herbal medicine.

“Excellent observation.” Minghao says, voice laced with fatigue.

“Well it’s good news cause we won’t get hit with a law-”

“Hosh!” You hiss in warning; what Minghao doesn’t know won’t hurt you in legal fees. “I left some painkillers in the kitchen for you, go have some.” You wanted to talk to Minghao alone so you wait for Hoshi to hobble out of the room. You turn to Minghao. “It’s good news because it means your body is strong enough to withstand possession.” You say. “Here, have some tea, it’ll make you feel better.” And you hand him the mug carefully.

“Thanks.” He mutters.

You watch as he takes a discreet sniff and then a tentative sip. He hums in approval after a second. You raise your eyebrows in question.

“It’s good tea.” He doesn’t elaborate. He’s quiet as he takes a few more sips and you start to worry why he’s not asking questions. He’d clearly been curious enough about what happened that he agreed to leave with you.

“Have you ever seen a ghost?” You ask suddenly, not sure what compelled you to open with that. Minghao does a double take as he holds the mug to his lips. He tries to play it off as if it’s too hot, but the shift in his eyes doesn’t escape your notice. “So you have. Did it possess you?”

Minghao sighs, bringing the cup of tea to rest against his thigh. He looks as if he’s weighing up how much he should tell you. You don’t blame him; you’re total strangers and you’re claiming to know stuff about ghosts, it’s not a surprise the guy probably thinks you belong in Looneyville.

“I think it did,” He begins. You lean in slightly, in anticipation. “It wasn’t the only time either. It was at my uncle’s house, I think it was haunted. Every time I visited, I couldn’t remember much of what happened. The way someone edits a video tape - there’s just snippets of things I saw or felt.” He says. “And then one day I saw the ghost itself, standing on the balcony and looking down at my family in the garden. After that, it stopped. I never bothered telling anyone about it all.”

You nod slowly, imagining a younger Minghao staring at the spirit speechless and confused.

“You must have been frightened. It must have been hard, all that time, keeping it to yourself.” You pause. “I’m sorry that we let the ghost get to you tonight. We should have been more careful.” You hope your apology eases Minghao’s mind, knowing that it was your fault and it can be explained to a degree.

“What do you even do?” He seems more curious than reprimanding.

“I’m an exorcist and Hoshi is my medium. We go after ghosts and get them to move on. That ghost at the gallery was lingering near his art work, too attached to it to leave this world. There is a natural progression that must be kept, so we move it along.” You explain.

You leave out the part that if a ghost stays too long, they become trapped here, their souls unable to ever leave, wandering the earth for all eternity, drifting endlessly. It happened rarely but it was a fate that could befall someone. They could also become vengeful spirits, some did, almost demonic in nature and begin to hurt anyone that was unlucky enough to cross their path.

You’d never really had to tell anyone in detail what you did, since your industry generally took mediums in and helped them understand their abilities and you never needed to tell ordinary people on the street what you did.

Clients came to you after going through a screening process set up by the Council’s Head Quarters and usually believed in ghosts before they even walked through the door. All you had to confirm was that you were indeed an exorcist and how you could help them. But telling Minghao about it seemed weird; you spoke simply of it, when it wasn’t quite as simple as it sounded.

So you’d decided to inform Minghao on a need-to-know basis.

“I think I understand. You take care of the dead, you’re like the boat guy in the underworld, what’s that myth?” Minghao thinks for a moment. “In Greek mythology, you know the one?”

“Charon.” You say automatically. You’re not really sure what to make of his comparison. In some ways he was right but you’d hardly ever thought about what you actually do. You were more burdened with the fact that you had to carry this on for your whole life - living in a world full of ghosts that you couldn’t escape. You’d never been allowed to consider doing anything else in your life; the path paved in front of you before you’d even been born.

You were born with a gift, you’d been told. A gift to see more than what meets the eye. Every time you heard that, it made you want to retch or scratch your skin off. It wasn’t a gift, it was a curse. A life sentence.

Your father had been lucky, being one of your line to miss out on the sight, the blessed sibling unlike your poor aunt, but neither you or your sister had been spared. Yet, you’d accepted your fate, your duty and the way that your life would go. Live amongst ghosts until you died and maybe became one yourself.

“Yeah, him. He helps people find their way. It sounds like a pretty important job.” Minghao pauses to look at you. Your eyes meet and you can’t find the words for it, but you feel something. There’s something heavy in his gaze, as if he’s trying to dissect you. It makes you feel naked. The look on your face must have been obvious because he purses his lips then says: “You hate it though.”

You mentally shake yourself out of his stare.

“Doesn’t matter,” you shrug. “Speaking of jobs. Sorry if you get fired. You could try explaining it was an emergency though I doubt they’d love that. If you do lose your job, let us know, we could hook you up with something.” You fish out a business card from your pocket; it’s solid black card with silver writing in one corner. He takes it and inspects it.

“You have an exorcism business?” He asks. Just as you’re about to answer, Hoshi limps back into the room, water bottle in hand. He settles down in the same spot to Minghao’s left.

“What’d I miss, hmm?” He looks between you and Minghao.

“I filled Minghao in on some details.” You reply.

“Oh?” Hoshi catches a glimpse of the card in Minghao’s hand and points towards it questioningly. “You offered him a job too? That’s great, we could always use more mediums around here.” He says enthusiastically.

You hadn’t felt awkwardness in quite a long time, curtesy of working with ghosts who just don’t make you feel that way, scared, yes, frustrated, maybe, but awkward? Like never, but tonight you were getting a reminder of how much you hated the feeling.

Minghao on the other hand refused to be affected by the contagious awkwardness.

“You have an opening?” He asked simply.

“Yeah, I’m the only medium in the firm right now, by regulation we call up Seokmin every once in a while, he’s a freelancer and he comes to work between our office and Seungkwan’s office.”

“Right, and what do you actually do as a medium?” Minghao probes further. You don’t like it.

“Hmm… I lend my body out for money.” Hoshi grins.

“So you’re a hooker?” Minghao’s voice rings with disbelief, then shrugs. “Not my place to judge.” He concedes.

“Ignore him. Technically yes, we have an opening, but you’d have to undergo some basic training if you want to work here.” You add.

“Training?” Minghao perks up. “I’m actually a martial arts instructor, the security job was just for some extra cash. What kind of training?”

You can’t help but let out a tiny laugh. Is it relief or irony, you don’t know. So you’d been right, he most certainly could have kicked your ass if he’d been conscious.

“Ah, not that kind of training. Like learning to be a medium. After that, you could work with an exorcist, contract or freelance so you get paid per exorcism.”

“Do you think I could do it?” Minghao asks. You can tell the question is aimed specifically at you, the way his eyes roam your face, but you’re hesitating. He does have an aura around him, something still and strong about the air which he carries himself with. You had to admit he had potential and he was already looking better after the possession despite the short period of time to recover.

“Probably.” You say carefully. “It’s not the kind of thing I can judge right now since I don’t really know anything about you. But you definitely have the medium ability. Listen, this is a difficult job. And it’s dangerous too.”

“Yeah, people die in this business, like YN’s s-” you feel your heart sinking.

“Hoshi!” You warn. “Don’t scare him. It doesn’t happen that often.” You look away, unable to bear the weight of Minghao’s inquisitive look at the newfound information.

“I’m not directly inviting you to work for us since you’ll live a better life away from all this. The offer is however on the table, working for us or within our sphere. You have the abilities after all.” You almost tell him he’s cursed too, like you, then you realise he’s not. His fate hasn’t been sealed yet, therefore there’s still hope for him. Instead you get up and walk over to cluster of cardboard boxes, kneeling to rummage through for a moment, plucking out a small jewellery box.

Once you sit back down you open it and flick around its contents until you find what you’re looking for. It’s a ring; a sleek, black onyx band, the only protective talisman you currently have in the house and you extend it to Minghao.

When he sees the ring, his eyes bug out comically, clearly misunderstanding.

“It’s a little too soon, don’t you think? We met an hour ago.” He can’t hide the look of disgust on his face. You roll your eyes.

“It’s to keep you safe, genius.” You deadpan at him. “Regardless of your decision, wear this to avoid getting possessed again.”

Minghao accepts the ring, having the decency to look ashamed at his assumption. It bothers you when it fits on his finger perfectly, the crystal hugging his skin snugly. You don’t tell him it was your grandfather’s ring, the one he wore when he and your grandmother founded the firm and indirectly cursed you years before you were even a possibility. Better he not know the weight it carried.

#seventeen #xu minghao #the8 #minghao #seventeen scenarios #seventeen imagines #seventeen x reader #the8 x reader #the8 scenarios #the8 imagines #minghao x reader #seventeen fics #seventeen slow burn #momobani.writes

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nyashykyunnie · 4 years

Note

Might as well hope on the bandwagon. May I please request a Father Xiao scenarios? Maybe his child can be a half-adeptus like ganyu (Child auto-corrected to Childe when I was typing this xD)

A/N: took me awhile to think of a Xiao hc cuz I was tryna choose between some scenarios AHWHEGW Also SAME, MY PHONE AUTCORRECTS INTO CHILDE ALL THE TIME AHAHAGAGSG AND YES XIAO HAVING A HALF-BLOOD CHILD EEE NGL HE GONNA BE EXTRA PROTECTIVE AHADHJADGS I’m so excited for this ehehh. Also tyvm for the req!!! I hope you enjoy this anon!! Btw this was supposed to be for three charas but I got carried away with xiao so ahah,.... Woops =w=;;

𝙵𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛! 𝕏𝕚𝕒𝕠 x 𝙶𝙽! 𝙲𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚍! ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

. 　﹢　˖ 　✦ ¸ .　﹢　 ° 　¸. ° ˖ ･ ·̩　　｡　☆　　　ﾟ＊　｡　☆ ✦˖

Having a child, with his own blood running through your veins, you being the spitting image of him- Was the last thing Xiao could ever imagine ever happening to him.

It’s understandable that he was really shocked to know you are his. Xiao is, after all, the Conqueror Of Demons. He is more than used to being in battle, always being on high alert and ready to slash any enemy down since it isone of his duties as the Vigilant Yaksha who protects Liyue.

Xiao was very cautious around you. With your small and fragile body, he feared that even touching you was enough to kill you. The Wangshu Inn keeper had to teach him ‘how’ to hold you because Xiao’s fear of holding you might just make him stay ten feet away from you at all costs.

He watches over you from afar, always ready to strike at whatever dares to bring you harm.

Though, most of the time, the yaksha is always leaving you to Verr Goldet’s care so he can fulfill his duties. It was fine at first- Until Verr had to talk to Xiao about it. He told him that he shouldn’t be too focused on that job.

She told him the possibilities of his constant negligence of you, she told him you might grow “Deprived From Fatherly Affection”. Xiao was shocked of course, he didn’t really know that.

He felt guilty, he was so blinded by not wanting to inflict any form of harm on you, he didnt expect that it’ll inevitably lead you to growing some unwanted mindsets and habits.

Xiao isn’t really one for affection, there’s no need to explain that. Majority of his skills are more on the ‘slaughter’ and ‘exorcise’ expertise.

Regardless, he is not just a protector of Liyue now, he is a ‘father’ now. Specifically your father. This new responsibility isn’t something he will run away from.

Don’t expect much from him though. Xiao is still hesitant to some extent, he’s trying to figure out how he will interact with you.

Unlike him, you’re fragile. More fragile than glass. He’s afraid of exerting accidental force that will lead him to hurting you. You’re just too small- so small can’t even reach pass his knees(Please this yaksha is just overthinking too much)

Baby steps, that’s what he’ll do. Slow and steady so he wont be too overwhelmed.

He starts off by simply talking to you, maybe even playing with you for a bit with enough begging. Xiao slowly got used to handling you as time went by. Verr was even suprised at one point when she saw Xiao handling you during your tantrums.

Xiao made good progress with you. He didnt even know that he was unconciously getting attached to you, he didnt know that he adored your presence. He didn’t realize that he gets a little frustrated when he needs to leave you behind. Xiao developed his ‘father instincts’ to such a level to the point that he sometimes wished his Yaksha responsibilties were less demanding.

When you are trouled with nightmares- Xiao will put some stuff to wardoff evil. Though, he also heard that child mortals are more effectively comfoted if they are sung a lullaby, so he’ll do that. Just... Don’t tell anyone else or that will be your last (maybe)

The immortal sometimes even comes home with new clothes since he knew that children grow and he wouldn’t want to see you struggling with the small fit ofyour clothing. He also makes sure to put some spells on them too to ward off evil.

Xiao unconciously spoils you, his mind always drifting; ‘Maybe they’ll like something like that. Mortal children I’ve seen are fond of those stuff’. Naturally, he’ll make a way to afford that small gift for you. If he cant, then he’ll just learn how to make it himself.

He loves you, he just doesnt know how to convey that. Being an adepti, being raised as a machine for war- Love wasn’t something he is great at. But even if it’s that, he’ll still strive for you secretly. Xiao will no doubt make the most descreet efforts to adore you. He still doubts himself even after all the progress he’s made in becoming close to you.

“Silk Flowers!” You squeel in delight as you spotted a bouquet of it from afar. You dash off from Xiao’s side, making the adepti startled and call out your name.

But still you were a child, of course you just kept running and running until the ground beneath you rumbled at what seems like caused from footsteps. Your feet wobbled and almost knocked you off of your feeting. Then it stopped, a huge shadow looming over your small figure. You look up only to have the color of your face drained.

“D-Daddy!” You cried out in absolute horror, falling down to the ground. You were terrified, how could you not? Monsters were real, and one of those monsters was about to murder you in cold blood. “Daddy! Help!”

Just at the beast was about to swing it’s flaming axe towards you- The wind shifted, as if slicing through the air and knocking back the mitachurl.

“How dare such filthy demon dare to even make their presence in front of my child, let alone even dare to strike!” Xiao growled, his eyes flaming gold from raw fury as he walked with the air dancing violently around him. “ I’ll make you pay”

Xiao’s voice was flooded with resentment, his primodial jade radiated as it felt it’s master’s sudden abundance in power. He spun it as his Yaksha mask formed in his face. At the roar of the enemy, Xiao leapt forward, striking the demon in overwhelming speed. He moved so fast it’s too the point the mitachurl wasn’t given any chance to react. But was it done? No, not even a little bit. That demon frightened you to the point your voice faltered in calling him. He has seen you in tears but never to this extent. Xiao was fuming as he plunged down, his anemo spears stabbing the enemy with no hint of sympathy.

When he finally finished the kill, Xiao’s mask disintegrated and immediately walked to your crying state. He clicked his tounge, feeling a huge pang in his heart as he saw you this disheveled.

“Da-daddy!” You wailed, reaching your arms out for him desperately as your tears clouded your eyes. “Waah!”

He wanted to scold you, he really did. But the sight of you crying like this made the words stuck in his throat. Xiao instead lifted you in his arms, letting you bury your face on the crook of his neck and sob freely. You soaked his shoulder and Xiao didn’t complain, he just rubbed your back to let you know he is there.

“Does anywhere hurt?” His nonlachant voice rung in your ears softly, stealing your attention. “If there is, better tell me now or those wounds will cause further damage in you.”

“[Y-y/n] is bad.” You hicupped. “[Y/N] is so bad daddy is now ou-ouchie. Daddy now hates [Y-Y/N]”

“Hate? You mortals have odd ways of thinking” Xiao sounded a little rough, making you flinch. “Don’t be ridiculous, I would never bear such hostility towards you. Moreover, I’m not hurt. I’ve lived for thousands of years, pain is something minimal for an adepti such as myself.”

He scoffed.

“On the other hand, your life is counted by only one hand. You have yet to experience what life will truly bring you.” Xiao’s voice started to soften bit by bit as he softly squeezes your small body towards him more “However, I am your father. If darkness decides to crawl at your feet and even when you are frigthened of what’s ahead- Call out my name. I’ll always be there.”

“Da-daddy promises?” You look up to stare at his amber orb. “Daddy will make monsters go bye-bye?”

“Yes” He simply answered. “Now stop your noisy crying, we’re going back to eat.”

He appears cold, his way of talking always straight to the point, but still he loves you. Adeptus Xiao, the guardian yaksha, his power will not simply be used in order to slaughter the darkness creeping around Liyue. With his Vision and might as Alatus, the Golden-Winged King,... He will protect you at all costs and raise you no matter how he is troubled regarding his difficulty in making much of emotions.

You are one his greatest gifts, a treasure he will sincerely hold in his heart forevermore. It doesn’t matter if his karmic binds attack him, he will venture out of it for you.

A/N: AIGHHTT AAAA ITS MY FIRST TIME WRITTING FOR XIAO HNNN, Did I do good??? AAAA I DUNNO AHDKSGF. I hope you all liked it hngghhhh ;___; Also I’m sorry for being inactive a lot AAAAA, school is starting to get mre and more demanding. I have more hcs upcoming so dw! I wont end up completely turning into a dead ghost!

#genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin headcanons #genshin scenarios #genshin fic #genshin imagines #genshin xiao #vigilant yaksha #xiao x reader #xiao x gender neutral reader #xiao #adeptus xiao

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red-doll-face · 4 years

Note

Here is a request for slashers if they're open. My brain does a thing where I am affectionate w a person but if I get nudged away (even if it's just to readjust the position), it goes "oh no. They don't want u to touch them. Do not touch ever again or they will get mad at u. U disgust them." Even tho touch is my love language & it hurts, I just won't touch. If confronted, I will get confused & panicky cuz "u didn't want me to touch? Im respecting ur wishes? Did I miss something?" Its a mess.

Requests are indeed open, I’m sorry I take foreverrr to do these but i hope u enjoy! I don’t know what to call this tho. For simplicity’s sake I’m calling this nervous reader lmao, idk what else to call these.

Slashers x gn nervous Reader

Jason Voorhees:

Jason can very much relate to the feeling. When he first meets you, he’s sure that you’re frightened. He restrains from being too close to avoid coming off as overbearing, doesn't want to touch you because if you flinch he’ll be so hurt. He just assumes he disgusts you. Based on the reaction all of his other victims have when they see him, he’s sure you’ll probably be the same.

Once Jason is sure that you don't feel that way, he’s a cuddle monster. He wants to be close all of the time, holding hands, letting you sit in his lap, you name it. He’s so starved and quickly decides that touch is his love language too. He’s not even sure how he’s lived this long without it.

The only time I can see Jason maybe gently sort of setting you down elsewhere and walking off is when he senses strangers on the property of what once was Crystal Lake. He’s out the door before he can even see your hurt expression, Which is worse because this might lead you to jump to conclusions.

If you distance yourself from Jason, he immediately is thrown off. He can’t directly ask you if he’s done something wrong and when he tries to initiate affection with you and you don’t reciprocate whole heartedly, he’s at a loss.

He’ll get on one knee while you sulk on the couch and give you a silent plea to tell him what's wrong. You can panic and try and avoid it but he is certain there's something going on and he wants so badly to know what he’s done to put you off. You tell him and he immediately is shaking his head no, he could never be mad at you, never be disgusted with you. You’re the most breathtaking person he’s ever had the pleasure of holding, the first, most likely.

Jason nods because he understands how you feel. In the future, he’s persistent about how you feel when he untangles himself from you, making sure you’re ok.

Michael Myers:

In the later stages of your relationship, Michael is insatiable when it comes to being in contact with you. For a long time, towards the start of your relationship, he didn’t like it. It felt weird. All of the touch he's experienced prior was so clinical and sterile that he doesn’t quite know how good touch is supposed to feel. He’s so touch starved that he’s almost positive he doesn't even need it.

Slowly, he builds a tolerance for it, much like one does with alcohol, constantly checking his boundaries and letting him control the situation and he’s all for movie night, huddled up on the couch, or waking up with his head on your chest. His own personal pillow.

There are, however, moments when his need to make someone tremble with fear and then blodgeon them to death with a can opener from their own kitchen becomes too strong, so he tries to keep away from you. In the past, he might have used you to satisfy similar desires of a sexual nature and may have really hurt you but he knows that it’s not always enjoyable to you.

Then, you stop touching him. Much like Jason, he starts to think you’ve become sick of him. Sick of his coldness, his muteness, his withdrawn demeanor. Maybe you’ve moved on and he tries to tell himself he doesn’t care but he doesn't think he can see himself touching anyone but you now.

It gets to the point where he comes home one day and you look heavily troubled, expressions he’s seen on your face before, only in the event that something terrible has happened. You ask to speak to him and he obliges.

You explain that you don’t think this relationship is working, that you’re pretty sure he’s disgusted with you and how difficult this event is because you didn't even want to talk about it but it's been hurting you for too long.

His response is to stand up very slowly, pick you up and lay down with you over him, simply laying there. Hopefully, knowing you’re the one person he would ever allow to participate in this intimacy is enough to show you that you mean more than you think you do to him.

RZ Michael Myers:

This Michael is more perceptive to your touch than his counterpart, your touch sends little shivers down his spine and as soon as he gets pretty used to it, he’s eager for more. This also takes some time but significantly less. He’s enamored with the idea of returning to a somewhat normal life. Your affection grounds him in that fantasy as much as being a murderer might take him out of it.

As he establishes a relationship with you, he may even be the one to start touching you instead of the other way around. He’s read books and always wondered what it might feel like to have someone genuinely touch him without fear in their eyes. Without malice.

An unsuccessful ‘day at work’ might have Michael feeling a little het up though. He can be moody and more rageful. Neither you nor his hobbies can calm him. He seems colder than usual in these states and can come off as very standoffish.

So when you try and touch him and he shrugs your hand off his shoulder, he can’t or isn't in the state of mind to address your frown and worried look. Michael, instead stomps off somewhere to be alone for a while; maybe take his anger out on something else. Some unsuspecting soul or maybe even a poor animal in the wrong place at the wrong time.

After he’s calmed down some, he returns and almost forgot about that sad little gleam in your eye before he left. Michael remembers when he sees you blankly staring at the TV, pointedly avoiding his gaze even as you utter a weak welcome home. It’s not very welcoming. He sits stiffly beside you, watching you from the corner of his eye. You’re closed off from him and he doesn't like it at all.

Migrating towards you slowly, he eases you into a familiar hug, his big bear hugs that are a little tight but inviting all the same. His huge torso and long arms seem to swallow you in his warmth. You hardly reciprocate. You look a little surprised. Though he never addresses it verbally, (which is probably better for you) Michael offers a single glance that communicates everything he needs to say. Don't ever think that again.

Thomas B. Hewitt:

Thomas’ self esteem issues and self image are not good. He honestly doesn’t like to imagine what he looks like to other people unless it can be as a threatening man you don’t fuck with. Meeting you, he realizes that it’s good to protect his family but he’d rather you not see him as someone only capable of harm. Tries his best to get the point across that while Hoyt may be adamant that horrible things happen to you, he’s not going to let them.

Thomas has received affection but always a familial affection. A pat on the back from Monty, proud claps to his shoulders from uncle Charlie, and hugs and kisses from his dear Mother. Nothing so foreign as a strangers touch over his arm or a soft embrace.

Unfortunately, Thomas can get reactive when you attempt to touch him without his mask on. He’s absolutely settled on the false reality that you’ll see his face and immediately decide that you never want to touch him again. Interacting with you with his bare face? That's a no for Thomas.

He puts on his mask that covers the scarred skin over his face and you look dejected. He was preparing for you to pressure him but instead finds himself trying to find out why you won’t touch him now. It’s not his face, is it? You respond with your reasoning. Thomas is so confused. How could you think that you disgust him? That he doesn’t want you to touch him?

He’s quicker than the others and immediately sweeps you up into his arms and holds you as close as humanly possible. Feeling disgusting and like some sort of burden is a feeling he’s so familiar with and if he can take it away from you, he will.

Will aggressively initiate touch with you for the next week or so just to solidify the fact that he cares about you and won't reject you just as you didn’t reject him.

Bubba Sawyer:

Bubba is a great cuddle buddy and partner. Hugs are his favorite and he hugs his brother all the time, lifting both Nubbins and Chop Top into the air for some brotherly love. If you’re smaller than them he’s all about picking you up and perhaps a little rough housing with you. He’s careful though or at least there are attempts made to be careful

Bubba, though he could easily spend the whole day doing nothing and everything with you, has work. Chores, butchering. Cooking, and tending livestock. Plenty to do at the sawyer house and he does most of it. Suffice to say there are times when you want to lather attention all over him yet he has to go back to work.

So caught up in work that he doesn't get what's going on til way later, when you’ve had time to stew in your emotions, firmly telling yourself that Bubba is annoyed by you probably. He’s baffled and confused at your silence, your crossed arms. The little furrow in your brow. He can already tell there’s something upsetting you.

Honestly, Bubba is so affectionate I can’t see him being the kind of person even capable of alluding to the fact he might be disgusted by you. How, if all he wants to do is love you? You may bring it up as a joke that you thought he didn’t like you and he almost seems offended. Not like you?

Bubba can squash any feelings you may have about that and then some. He will not let you drown in insecurities, not on his watch. This man will do everything in his power to make you feel beautiful because you really are.

I’m sorry these are super long but thanks for requesting!

#slasher x reader #michael myers #michael myers x reader #halloween #rz halloween movie #rz michael myers #rz michael myers x reader #jason voorhees #jason voorhees x reader #friday the 13th #thomas brown hewitt x reader #thomas brown hewitt #thomas hewitt #bubba sawyer x reader #bubba sawyer #leatherface x reader #texas chainsaw massacre #slashers

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fruit-salad-ship · 2 years

Note

Genuinely curious, cuz you mentioned Grey and Plum’s dynamic recently. What is their past together like, and what does he think of her dynamic with Peach? Does he roll his eyes at their mutual dumb brain or just find it all funny? Oh, also… is Plum a lesbian or has she shown interest in men or other genders in the past? No need to answer all of these if you don’t wanna! Just living for your professors <3

Their past is a relatively new one. Grey hadn’t met plum until she took the job on the island, and got a call to break up a fight at the docks, expecting it to be two visitors, but it was plum and peach. His first moments meeting her were spent trying to stop peach utterly destroying her on the spot. Afterwards, they got five minutes to introduce themselves properly, as he patched up a scrape she got during the kerfuffle. They hit it off pretty fast, but that’s not hard with Grey, he’s just very social and adaptable to different people, and jolly to boot. He bought her lunch as an apology, and they began a professional relationship, nothing more at that point.

Once grey found out more about the new staff member from peach, he tried to mend the hostile relations, firstly getting to know plum better, not unusual, as he does this with all the staff, and takes time to talk with anyone who works on the island about how they are and what they want to gain from the work. They began to bond more and more over tech, gadgets and gizmos, plum kept up with the new phones, updated her computers and gear to the newest models, and is sent items from the rangers to use in the field, on the rare occasion she steps away from her desk. They got to talking all about that kind of stuff, and found a lot of common ground and adoration for the finer things in life. Grey may slum it on the island but he attends all the big conventions and demonstrations around the regions, to keep up with the latest item development. Plum goes because her family always get tickets given to them. So they buddy up to go on a mini-break to scope out the new kit. Grey isn’t complaining because plum will upgrade him to a better room or whatever, using her good family name whenever possible.

Their friendship grew naturally, they shared common ground, and eventually over drinks one night, away from the island, realised they’d both dated peach to some degree. Spent a night being catty in a weirdly loving way about the woman, and again, the foundations of their friendship grew stronger. Turns out when you have the same awful taste in women, it tends to bond you to others haha!

Plum when away from peach is far more collected and tolerable, it’s being around her rivals hot headed aggravating nature that brings the worst out in her, or I suppose, it brings out her frustration and competitiveness. Grey sees it, and often teases her for it, but usually is quick to try and defuse any confrontations, with relative success. Peach will listen to Grey, most of the time, and usually leaves to cool off, giving him five minutes to sit with plum and clear the air, make sure she’s ok and not too upset about the other professors behaviour.

As for plum, she’s dated mostly men in her teens and early 20’s, then some women later on. Her family was always quite proper, and so she kind of tried to ignore the whole ‘oh damn that girls cute’ thing that started to grow in her, to keep her parents happy. She’s grown a lot since those days, and now at age 28, has fully admitted and accepted that she’s probably definitely not straight. She has a type it would seem. Beefcake, gender doesn’t seem to come into play as much as she once thought. I guess the whole triad are bi, grey a little less so, but he’s pretty open minded and would probably try anything at least once to figure out if it’s for him or not.

#brainrot #fruit salad

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helliontherapscallion · 4 years

Text

Shenanigans and Love (Adrenaline Junkie Part 13)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: the Warden, mentions of death, phantom pain syndrome, extreme fluff

Word count: 3,226

The light glow of the redstone lamp illuminated your work space. Currently, it was about two hours before everybody was due to wake up and you were hovering over your journal containing your notes on the Warden. Not much was known about the cave-dwelling creature, but you found a couple of books about it at the library. So far, you found out that it indeed didn’t have eyes; it navigated via a mixture of hearing and a vibration network found in the blocks that had the glowing tentacles on them (you now knew that they were called ‘sculk blocks’). The sculk blocks would pick up on movement or touch, it would send vibration waves through the air, where it would reach the Warden’s own sculk stalks. Without the sculk stalks on the Warden’s head, the Warden was defenseless.

You also read about the anatomy of the creature. Known juvenile specimens ranged from seven to eleven feet tall while adults spanned from twelve to a whopping twenty feet tall. While their average lifespan is unknown due to the parasitic nature of the beast, it is known that they are out of their juvenile stage once they are approximately twenty years old. Thinking back on the one in the cave, it was about twice as tall as you were. That was a juvenile mob and it’s probably grown rapidly since then. The thing that killed you so viciously was a juvenile. You shuddered thinking about what an adult could do.

Juveniles are charted to be more erratic in their decisions while adults were known to be calculating and alert. Known weaknesses were known to be the sculk stalks and the heart. It was going to be incredibly difficult to take it down by yourself, but if worse comes to worse, you’d gladly take the beast down with you. Just in case, you left behind a small will with things you were planning on giving to your family. You were going to leave your workshop and your blueprints to Arthur, your collection of diamonds to Tommy and Wilbur, your stock of netherite and gold to Technoblade, and your wealth and life savings to Philza. You requested that Philza take care of Arthur, you couldn’t ask for a better father figure to have than Philza. Only the best for Arthur. In addition, you had a letter prepared for every member of your family. They were still in their first drafts, but they were coming along fast. In them, you detailed how grateful you were for every single one of them and reminisced on your favorite memory you shared with them. You still had about a week and a half left before you planned on attacking the cave, but you always liked to have extra time to complete things.

Your alarm clock sounded with harsh, lazer like beeps before you quickly silenced it. You didn’t need Arthur or Philza waking up so early. Sighing, you hid your journal and letters under a false bottom drawer and gently closed it. You trudged up the stairs quietly and made your way to the bathroom to shower for the day. When you took off your prosthetic, you could feel the phantom pains shoot up your nonexistent wing. In addition to that, the feathered stump and the areas around it felt stiff. The warmth of the shower did nothing to alleviate the pain.

After your shower, you started to make breakfast. Soon after, the other members of the household filed into the kitchen with differing energies. Arthur, the hyper, knowledge craving kid he was, walked into the kitchen with a bounce in his step and his head held high while Philza followed him with disheveled hair and tired blue eyes. With breakfast situated at the table, everyone started eating. You continuously shifting uncomfortably in your seat didn’t go unnoticed by the two as they eyed you after they woke up a little more.

Finally having enough of your constant movement, Philza finally spoke up, “(y/n)?” You hummed, turning to look at him, “yeah?”

“Is everything okay?”

You suddenly become hyper aware of your movements as you force your body to sit still. “Everything’s fine, why you ask?”

“You look a little uncomfortable. Are you sure everything’s alright?”

You sighed, “I’ll tell you later. Arthur did you have anything specific you wanted to learn today?”

His eyes shone with the brightness of all of the stars in the universe as he made quick work to swallow his mouthful of toast, jumping in his seat slightly as he chewed. “Yes! I was wondering if you could teach me how to work with comparators!”

“That takes a lot of time and patience to learn, we probably won’t get it all done by the end of the day today. Is that alright?” He enthusiastically nodded, shoving the last bit of toast in his mouth and running off with a mouthful of unchewed bread.

You could feel a slight worry stab your gut, “Arthur, swallow your food before you run! You could choke!”

You watched as he stopped at the bottom of the stairs, vigorously chewed, swallowed, and resumed his sprint upstairs. You dragged a tired hand through your hair and sipped at your coffee.

“Ender, now I know how you felt with us when we were kids. Kid’s gonna be the death of me.”

Your dad chuckled, sipping at his own coffee. “He’s a lot more tame than you four were. Techno and Wilbur weren’t that bad, you were just a tad bit more chaotic, and well, you remember how Tommy was. You’re just way too worried about him. Kids will be kids, they do crazy things and sometimes you can’t stop them. After the couple months of adopting Tommy, I just let him learn from his mistakes. You gotta let them learn from their mistakes or else they’re never gonna learn. It’s just something all parents have to do if they want their kid to grow as a person.”

“That’s tr- wait, parent? Arthur’s my protégé, not my kid.”

He smirked over his mug and raised an eyebrow at you, “really? Cuz you seem awfully worried about him.”

“Dad. I’m just worried that he’s gonna accidentally kill himself. What, can I not be worried about my protégé?”

“No need to get defensive, just trying to point out the obvious-”

“The obvious? Dad, I'm only twenty. I’m not adopting anyone anytime soon.”

“I adopted Techno when I was twenty three,” he pointed out with raised eyebrows, “besides, I think you’d be a great parent. You’re already a parental figure for Arthur anyways, so nothing would change too much.”

You were silent for a moment as you stared at him blankly. You never viewed yourself as a parental figure type before. Your current lifestyle of never leaving your workshop would never be able to accommodate having someone that depended on you. You could hardly take care of a goldfish (you still had Bubbles’ grave in the backyard at your house in L’manberg), let alone an entire human child. Sure, you babysat Fundy when Niki was too busy to, but that was your nephew and it was only for a day at a time. You planned on taking Arthur with you back to L’manberg (only if he wanted to of course), but you didn’t think that far ahead. He was probably going to have to stay at your house. You weren’t cut out to be a parent, you wouldn’t be good enough for Arthur.

Philza, noticing your slightly panicked zoned out state, quickly reassured you, “you don’t have to make a definitive decision right now, you have time. Just- just consider it. If you have any questions or concerns, feel free to come to me. I think I’ve raised enough kids to know what I’m doing,” he chuckled to himself.

Your feathered wing dropped in relief as you gave him your best smile over your coffee mug. “Thanks Dad, I honestly don’t know what I’d do without you, you’re a lifesaver.” Right after that, a particularly large burst of pain shot along the length of your nonexistent right wing and loitered in the area around the base of your wing. You bit your tongue at the sudden pain as you felt the muscles twitch.

“It’s no problem, I’ll always be here to help ya.” He smiled at you before his eyes snapped to something behind you. His smile dropped as he eyed you concerningly, pointing behind you. “Is- is it supposed to do that?”

You followed his eyes behind you to your prosthetic wing. The metal was twitching in sporadic bursts with varying intensity. You could hear the slight scratching of the metal clashing lightly against the wooden chair. Though it was very inconvenient, you supposed you should be glad that it was moving with the muscle impulses of the muscles you used in flight. Suddenly, you could feel a muscle directly on the base of your wing twitch as the metal moved in tandem with the impulse. The entire wing extended to it’s full length and knocked over the chair next to you. It stood erect for a bit before another twitch caused another spasm that worked its way throughout the length of your metal wing. This time, the wing reared back to your body and almost smacked you in the face. If you didn’t move, your eye would’ve probably been plucked out by one of the metal feathers.

Your flesh wing puffed up slightly in embarrassment as you turned to look back at the blond man in front of you, “technically? I mean, it’s just the sensors picking up on the twitching. I-I’ll get the chair.”

As you stood up, you grunted in pain as another spasm hit you. This time, your wing extended fully perpendicularly to your back causing the muscles in the base of your nubby wing to be pulled unexpectedly. Hissing, your hand shot to rub at the base of your wing. “Fuck that was a bad one.”

You heard the screech of wood on wood as Philza stood up and hurried over to you, dodging a couple of swings from your wing. His hands were hovering indecisively in front of him. “Tell me what I need to do.”

“Take it off. Just- hhh, just take the sensors off. There should be seven of them, all on my back and shoulders.” You bent over with your hands gripping the table with each spasm of your muscles. You could feel the fabric of your shirt being pulled slightly from your body and the warmth of your dad’s hand brushing against your twitching skin as he hurriedly ripped the sensors off your skin.

Once they were all off, the metal wing drooped limply downwards, occasionally being moved slightly when what’s left of the flesh stiffened. “Good, can you unfasten the belts? There’s three of them, they’re a little- ah, a little tricky. After that, carefully pull the metal out through the slit in my shirt. Make sur- sure the sensors don’t rip.”

You sighed when you felt the wing being taken off from you and pulled through the slit in your shirt. Slumping back down into your chair, you reached a hand around to nead the skin on your back. You could feel the twitching slowly decrease in intensity, leaving a sore feeling in its wake. Your wing was placed gently onto the table in front of you, some parts hanging off the side. “Goddamn, I haven’t had an episode that bad since I grinded out making weapons for the War.”

You could hear water running before a glass was placed in front of you and Philza picked up the chair you knocked over and pulled it up next to you. He started to rub circles around the muscles around your wing. You sighed in content, feeling the knots in your back being relieved, “thanks. That feels good.”

“(y/n)?” A small voice said from the doorway of the kitchen. You shot up and bit back a groan when your sore muscles were moved. The young boy was leaning into the doorway with his hands on the sides and his mop of brilliant copper hair hung downwards. He looked worried and slightly scared.

“Hey Arthur, we can start your lesson soon, I just need a sec.”

“Are you okay?” His wavering tone and small voice combined with the tears slowly filling his eyes broke your heart. Eyes softening, you stood up and walked over to him, pulling him into a soft hug. “Of course I’m okay, you don’t need to worry buddy,” you deepened your voice and spoke dramatically, ‘(Y/n) Minecraft the Great, Conqueror of the Unknown’ will never be taken down!”

He gave a watery chuckle against your shirt and burrowed his head deeper into your shoulder, gripping you tighter. You reached up to stroke his hair and wrapped your left wing around him loosely, shielding him from the world with a protective feathery barrier. You could hear Philza picking up dishes from the table and quietly start to do the dishes. Despite the occasional twitch in your back and the phantom pain shooting down your wing, you directed all of your attention to Arthur. Eventually, he pulled away and wiped at his blotchy face. “Are you still up for the lesson?”

Just as Arthur opened his mouth, Philza interrupted him from behind you, “you’re not doing anything until you feel better (y/n).”

“Dad, honestly it isn’t that-”

“Don’t say it honestly isn’t that bad, we both know that’s not true. You’re on bedrest for today.”

You grumbled to yourself as you stood up and handed your glass of water to Arthur, who sipped at the contents giving you a small “thank you.” Nodding, you were escorted out of the kitchen by Philza and ushered to the couch. Once you were laying down on your stomach, he handed you a book and placed a hot water bottle on your back. Before you could stop it, a pleased hum left your lips as your body relaxed on the couch. “You’re staying here. I better not find you anywhere else when Arthur and I come home.”

You lifted your head up and stared at him with an eyebrow raised, “where’re you taking him?”

The corners of his mouth twitched and his eyes lit up slightly before he put on his stern facade once more. “Just to the village. I need to pick up a few things.”

“And you need him why…?”

“Well, I can’t go without someone helping me! I’m an old man after all.” He started to nudge Arthur towards the door and slipped his shoes on.

“You’re only thirty six, but whatever. Arthur, be good for my dad.”

“Alright (y/n), feel better soon!” He gave you a bright smile before he was pulled out of the house by Philza.

You tried to read, but the nagging worry for Arthur in the back of your mind never allowed for you to be immersed in your book. You knew Philza would never let anything happen to him, but you couldn’t help but worry whenever Arthur wasn’t in your line of sight. You supposed that it was a part of being an avian hybrid; you needed to constantly know if the child was alright. You tried to force yourself to go to sleep, but the pain prevented you from doing so, so you ended up mindlessly watching the seconds tick by on the clock. Before you knew it, your eyes closed and you were put in a light slumber.

You were awoken by the front door opening and laughter filling the house. You cracked open your crusty eyes and groaned as you sat up. You looked at the two with bleary eyes. Arthur was laughing at something Philza said as the blond looked over at you. “Hey hun, you feelin better?”

“Yeah a bit. What’d you get at the village?”

“Just some things for dinner. Arthur, wanna help me cook?”

Arthur, being the walking ball of sunshine that he was, nodded vigorously and started to drag the older man to the kitchen. Furrowing your brow, you called out to them, “do you want me to help?”

“No, stay there. Don’t come in!” Arthur’s excited voice shouted back to you, making you raise a brow at his words. You couldn’t lie, you felt nervous at his words. Just what did he have in store for you? Occasionally, you could hear yelps and bangs, which made you want to go into the kitchen even more. But you held off, trusting Philza.

About an hour and a half passed before you were summoned to the kitchen by an overly excited Arthur. Once in the kitchen, you were in slight awe. Spread out on the table was your favorite meal with the addition of fresh cookies left to cool on the stovetop. “All this for me?”

They smiled at you as Arthur ushered you to your spot at the table. “I… don’t know what to say. I- thank you guys.”

“Don’t thank me, it was all Arthur’s idea. I just helped.” Philza looked over at the blushing boy with a smile.

You reached over to ruffle his hair, “well, thank you Arthur. You know me too well, these are all my favorites!”

The boy bashfully smiled at you, “there’s something else too, but that’s for after dinner.”

You put a hand against your heart, touched, “Two surprises in one day? Ender, you’re spoiling me!” Arthur laughed at you.

Dinner went by fast with light-hearted laughter bouncing throughout the kitchen. The dinner and cookies tasted amazing, your taste buds felt like they were in heaven. After dinner, Arthur drug you to your room with an excited Philza following you two. On your bed sat your wing, but it had colorful things attached to the surface. Furrowing your brow, you looked closer to find various magnets sticking to the iron surface.

They ranged from the nonbinary flag to small mobs to little puns (your favorite ones were ‘olive you’ and ‘bird puns fly right over my head’). You could feel your smile widening at every magnet you saw, your wing fluttering in happiness. One of the magnets made you stop completely though as you stared at it with wide eyes. It was simple, but oh did it make your heart sing in joy and your eyes fill with tears. On the magnet, in big, bold letters were the words ‘world’s best parent’.

“Arthur…” You looked at him through blurred vision. He looked nervous, looking anywhere but at you and shifting on the balls of his feet. You lunged forward and pulled him into a tight hug and wrapped your wing around him, making sure he was as close to you as possible.

Philza watched the exchange with a soft smile before he decided to let you two have some privacy. His heart was full of happiness as he walked downstairs to clean up the kitchen with a bounce in his step and his wings fluttering uncontrollably. He was ecstatic to officially welcome Arthur to his family. Sure, he had a small hand in leading Arthur over to the ‘world’s best parent’ magnet, but it was Arthur that picked out the magnet for you. He knew you were going to make a fantastic parent.

General taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@crybabyjabby @izzybobizzy13 @goldenstarofthunderclan @bunnyz-pxstel @averytiredfanfictionwriter @dcml04 @sparkling-gayyyy @bbigbbrainn @thaticecreambish @kiinokochii @satansphatass @bxkubitch @bxmentchildxx

Series taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@acecarddraws @ravennightingaleandavatempus @dirtydiavolo @yeiras-world @immadatmostthings @hee-hee-haw @jackalopedoodles @m1lkmandan @vanhakirja @im-a-depressed-gay @coolleviauchihadreamerlove @questioning-sanity @camisascam @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @kakamiissad @jayistrash4 @lifestylesleep @speedymaximoff @sun-shark-tooth @appetiteofapeoplepleaser @lestrangenymph @kinismanditory @dragons-lurk-here @rinzyx05 @the-wandering-pan-ace @angelic-scent @shinipii @dont-hug-me-im-a-fander @izzydimensional @used-avocado @laura--444 @wing-non @lovely-echoo @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @mysteryartisticwriter @momo-has-a-gun @misfortunatem00n @w-0-r-n-n @v-kouya @kusuinko @cheybaee @dulcedippers @jaciahbabes

#sbi x reader #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois inc x reader #philza x reader #mcyt x reader #platonic #reader is gender neutral #tw: the warden #tw: swearing #tw: phantom pain

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fuckit-hero-of-trains · 3 years

Text

Sit by the fire until... Chapter 2

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25870150/chapters/81650737

Here’s the thing they don’t tell you when you get magically transformed into a bunny rabbit against your will by the corrupted darkness of the Sacred Realm: somethings, unfortunately, tend to stick.

Now, Legend isn’t saying that he’s hiding a cotton tail under his tunic or that his soul secretly aches to frolic in meadows or spend his time sleeping in holes or whatever else it is that rabbits do when they're not busy being very confused and scared twelve year old Hylians.

No.

But that doesn't mean he was left unscathed by having his entire anatomy re-written in less than an instant.

Because of course he wouldn’t. Goddess forbid he ever catch a break for once in his life.

He was still pretty young when it happened, so Legend can’t remember if his teeth had been quite so bucked before the incident. Regardless if they were or not, they sure as Hylia are prominent now. Then there's also the fact that he never really grew into his ears, the damn things always just a shade longer than they should be for a regular Hylian.

Before he joined this wild cucco chase masquerading as an adventure, Legend would sometimes catch himself looking at Ravio wondering, Is that how I would have looked? Besides the hair and eyes, the merchant was supposed to be his mirror image after all. Zelda and Hilda were, so it stood to reason that he and Ravio should be the same.

In which case, the bucktooth thing was going to be a problem regardless.

The ears, on the other hand, are a completely different story. From the quick glances Legend has managed to steal of Ravio’s side profile, the merchant has relatively short ears himself, which just make the Veteran’s own look comically long when the two stand side by side.

And ugh, and that wasn't even touching on his… less physical changes.

Namely, his cravings.

Noshing on some leafy greens while home alone doing some chores? A-Okay.

Getting caught by Warriors and Twilight absentmindedly chewing on the hay he was supposed to be feeding the horses? Ehhh, not so much.

Goddesses, his ego still hasn’t recovered from the amount of jokes the Pretty Boy had made at his expense. And that’s not even mentioning the veritable mountain of carrots he found in his bedroll, no doubt courtesy of that flea bitten farmhand.

Regardless of the less than natural way he got these… attributes, Legend couldn’t say they were all bad. ‘Cuz sure, his ears were a bit longer than average, but he could also hear better than most of his companions, able to catch the sound of crunching leaves above even their loud bickering. Like wise, his eyes were sharper than others in the low light of dawn and dusk, allowing him to see things others would miss.

Frankly, both skills had helped keep him alive during his quests. He was thankful for them in a weird huh, guess that works kinda way, but thankful all the same.

But sometimes Legend wanted to wring the goddesses necks because really? Being turned into a rabbit couldn’t have fixed this particular problem?

This particular problem being his absolutely horrible pollen allergies.

“ A-A-A!”

Each rapid, involuntary inhale feels like a simultaneous punch to the gut and a gasp for breath, the air yanked into his body and then stoppered up. It leaves the veteran in a state of limbo as a paralyzing calm falls over him; lungs full of air, shoulders hiked up, muscles tensed.

For a second, everything feels lodged in place, frozen, like the Champion had used his stasis rune on him.

And–

Legend clamps his mouth shut and tucks his face into his elbow just as tension snaps and–

“- acheew! ”

Nothing but a soft, cut off sneeze slips past his lips, yet, the force of holding it back still sends Legend bowing over. He stays there, hunched over for a breath as his body recovers, before he straightens back up, sniffing irritably as he tries to ignore the itch prickling at his eyes and the congested pressure throbbing behind his sinuses.

A chortling huff sounds next to him and when Legend glances down he can see Wolfie– or should he say, Twilight– peering up at him, mouth open and tongue lolling in a doggy grin, but icy blue eyes too pointed, too teasing, to be anything but human.

Legend's nose twitches tellingly as it begins to tickle again and the wolf gives another stuttering huff. A laugh. Legend can practically hear Twilight’s twangy, Awww. You sneeze like a bunny.

The bastard.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, dog boy,” Legend grumbles, wiping harshly at his face in an attempt to stave off another sneezing fit. “Don't you have trees to piss on or something?”

That earns him peeled back lips and a growl, but Legend just sends the other a responding sneer as strides past the grumpy wolf and out into the rolling field of tulips that stands in front of them.

Another huff, this one more annoyed than amused, sounds behind the veteran before the wolf streaks past him, loping through the flowers with his nose down and tail high.

Legend rolls his eyes.

Twilight loves to show his teeth, but the farmhand is quite literally all bark and no bite.

And besides, they both have better things to do than needle one another. If Legend is going to be miserable, he may as well take steps to make that misery as short as possible.

Afterall, they aren't out here swanning through a meadow of flowers for pleasure.

The last Dark Portal they had all walked through had, once again, separated them. Legend and Twilight were lucky enough to find one another quickly, though, now that Legend thinks about it, it probably had less to do with luck and more to do with Twilight’s nose.

After regrouping, they had tried to search for the others more that day, but a storm had them holed up in a cave overnight to wait out the deluge. They had gotten up early to start their search again today, but so far they had no such luck in finding any of the others in the forest.

Which just left the inexplicable meadow of tulips surrounding the wood.

Legend had been hoping that the rain would keep some of the pollen at bay, but nooo that would be too merciful, wouldn’t it?

If anything, the rain just made this whole experience more aggravating. Now, along with stinging eyes, a running nose, and a throbbing head, Legend also had the delightful honor of feeling the tulip stalks and leaves and petals sliding wetly across his skin, the annoying slap of his tunic smacking his thighs as it got more sodden by the second, and the disgusting squish of water between his toes with every step he took through this Wind Fish damned field.

And sure, maybe it was worth it to reunite with the other heroes, but really, would it kill the goddesses to make his life just a little bit easier.

A bark pulls Legend from his miserable musings. Twilight's dark tail stands out among the ocean of pastel pinks and yellows and oranges, wagging frantically twenty meters away. It disappears after a second, replaced by a muzzle and expectant eyes.

Twilight barks at him again.

He must have found something.

Finally, Legend thinks as he begins to make his way over toward the other, hopefully a reason to get out of this floral hell hole.

“What is it, boy?” Legend asks, voice going high and mocking as he takes delicate care stepping on as many flowers as possible, “Little Time-y fall down the well again?”

Instead of a growl for his effort, Legend gets a flurry of black flecks falling upward, like pieces of reverse snow, in his peripheral vision.

“You know,” Twilight says as he straightens to his full height, eyes half-lidded. Unamused, “You’re really not as funny as you seem to think you are.”

And before Legend can interrupt that– No, actually, you just have a dog shit sense of humor. Literally– Twilight continues, “I can smell the smithy all over this thing.” He nods down at a small tree stump breaking through the tide of flowers. “The scent is a bit old, probably from sometime before last evening, but still traceable. I should be able to find him from here.”

Legend eyes the stump for a moment, peering into the cracked hole in the top of the wood. Inside, he can see the round, red caps of several toadstools sprouting.

He can also sense magic. Close to that of the fairies– natural and glittering and smelling of moss– but not quite the same.

The Smithy’s doing?

Or a natural occurrence?

Regardless…

“Welp,” Legend says, straightening up, “Let's go find him. Couldn’t have gotten far on those little legs of his.”

“Again,” Twilight huffs, the black fractals already consuming him once more as he transforms, “You’re not as funny as you think...”

His voice distorts and fades into nothing as the magic swallows him whole, leaving Legend once again having a conversation with a very unimpressed looking wolf.

“I like you better when you can’t talk,” Legend tells Twilight as the other sets off, snuffling at the ground.

The other pauses to give Legend a look that would be more at home on a disapproving mother’s face, before continuing his tracking.

He also whaps Legend in the leg with his tail.

Hard.

The prick.

They continue on their trek together like that for a while, Twilight occasionally pausing to shove his nose into the dirt some more as he decides which direction to follow as Legend trails behind, keeping his eyes peeled for a quadripartite tunic and a head of straight, gold hair.

It isn't long before the farmhand turned canine breaks off into a light trot and then a jog, and then a full on sprint.

And stops just as suddenly.

Legend is out of breath by the time he slides to a stop behind the farmhand, but from a cursory glance around, there doesn’t seem to be a short, mouthy smithy anywhere in the vicinity.

“What happened?” Legend asks, still searching, turning circles as he cranes his neck, “Did you lose the trail?”

Twilight gives a light whine, grabbing Legend’s attention.

Then he does two full spins and sits primly, looking up at Legend.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Legend crinkles his nose at the canine. “Use your words.”

Wolfie rolls his eyes in a way that Legend didn’t think was possible for dogs and then stands.

The canine stares at him intently, as though making sure Legend’s eyes are locked with his own. And then he flicks his eyes over the yellow tulip he is sitting next to meaningfully. Then back to Legend. Back and forth back and forth, his eyes go for a full minute before he stops and stares at Legend once more.

Legend feels as his face wrinkles in confusion.

It's just a regular tulip, just like the thousands currently around them. Pretty enough, he supposes. The bulb seems to be a little wilted, like it's been weighed down by rain water perhaps, but other than that, nothing to sneeze at.

Or everything to sneeze at, if you’re Legend.

Legend gives the flower one more skeptical glance before turning to look at Twilight once more, brow raised.

“Pretty,” he assures the other. “Not sure how it helps us find Four.”

Twilight heaves another too human sigh.

And then he reaches up, takes the sleeve of Legend’s tunic between his teeth, and yanks.

“Hey!” Legend yelps as he’s dragged down into the dirt, “Watch the teeth! The embroidery on this thing took forever to do and even longer to enchant!”

Twilight pays him no mind, pulling him down and forward, closer to his chosen tulip.

Legend tries his best to keep his face away from the damn thing.

“I swear on The Three, if your slobber stains–”

Legend’s words crumple up and die in his throat.

There’s something in the tulip.

At first glance, Legend would identify it as the Smithy's earring. The small feathered one that he takes special care of. The one that Four refuses to tell Legend the origin of, besides his cryptic, “From a friend.”

Legend would say that it was just the earring, but… but it isn’t.

Rather than being completely red with a white tip, Legend can see that this little feather is only mostly red. Right before the tip, a darker red plumage takes over, followed by purple and blue and green.

Also, rather than being attached to the small, golden chain and stud Four uses to fasten the jewelry to his earlobe, it’s attached to a body.

A very, very small body.

By now, Twilight has let go of his sleeve, but Legend both doesn’t notice and doesnt care, all of his attention fixed on the little creature before his eyes.

From what he can tell, the little creature is asleep, curled up in the bulb of the flower, his feather tail tucked up near his nose for warmth. Looking past the plumage, Legend can see that the little guy has a very rat-like face, complete with a small, twitching pink nose, long whiskers and–because the creature is shivering– long, chattering rodent incisors. Oval shaped ears stick out from the creature's head, a mix between mouse-like and Hylian.

And framing those ears is shoulder length, soaking wet blonde hair.

Blonde hair held out of the little guy's face by a green headband.

And…

And he’s wearing the smithy’s tunic?

“... Four?” Legend whispers in amazement.

And just saying the other’s name out loud is like a spell because suddenly Legend can see all signs. The little guy has Four’s bag over his shoulder and the Four Sword at his hip. That same magic that was by the stump– the not-fairy, fairy magic– completely surrounds him, dusting him in the same way he is currently dusted in yellow pollen.

“Is that you, Smithy?” Legend asks a little louder.

But rather than startle awake, the small creature– Four, Legend reminds himself– simply hunkers down more fully into the flower, curling up more fully as his shivers increase.

“He must have transformed in order to speak with the Minish around here.”

Twilight’s voice, even though it is a whisper, gives Legend a start. He hadn’t realized the other had transformed, nor had he seen the farmhand crouch down by his side.

The other isn’t looking at him as he speaks, cool blue eyes instead locked on the fitfully sleeping smithy, face concerned.

“He once told me that the Minish are insatiable gossips. He must have transformed to try and find us.”

The concern on the farhand’s face darkens the longer he stares.

“He must have been caught out in the storm,” Twilight says grimly.

Legend tries to imagine what that would be like. To be the size of a mouse and out in a storm. Tries to imagine what it would feel like for gale force winds to pull at drag at him, crushing him into the dirt one moment and yanking off his feet the next. Tries to imagine dodging back and forth between tulips, avoiding the head sized, stone cold rain drops pelting down from the sky

It's not a pretty pictograph, he’ll admit.

And ugh, Legend really isn't a fan of what it's making him consider.

He spares another glance at Four.

And fuck, the little guy shivers and shivers and shivers until the fower he is sleeping in is shaking with it.

And then, he sneezes, the sound coming out tiny and squeaky and weak.

Son of a bitch.

With a sigh that is as weary and reluctant and annoyed as he can possibly force it to be even though the vetran is feeling none of those things, Legend takes hold of the flower near its stem. As gently as possible, he digs his nails into the soft green there, cutting the flower from the ground while keeping it intact.

He hands it to Twilight, who takes it from him with gentle, if slightly confused hands.

With one hand, Legend flips open his shoulder bag. With the other, he rips his hat from his head with a motion probably a tad more violent than is really called for. He arranges the hat inside the bag, making sure to cover his items with the soft fabric while also shaping a soft bed.

Without looking up from his work, Legend extends a hand out to Twilight.

Makes a grabbing motion when what he wants isn't immediately in his hand.

After a second, Twilight slowly places the stem of the flower back in Legend’s hand and the Veteran gently lowers it in the small nest he had created, making sure the bulb sits in a place both shielded from the sun and extra comfortable thanks to the extra fabric padding beneath it.

In one smooth motion, Legend takes a hold of the strap of his bag, pulls it carefully off of his shoulder, and places it on the other side of Twilight’s neck.

And then, he reaches down and touches the dark stone hanging from the necklace around the farmhand’s throat, letting the darkness flock around and consume him.

When Legend blinks open his eyes, Twilight is looking down at him smugly.

He is looking down farther than usual.

Also looking smugger than usual.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, shaking out his fur before hopping on all fours to get closer to the bag.

“I didn’t say anything,” Twilight replies, not bothing to wipe the smug look off his stupid face even as he lowers the bag to the ground for easier access.

“Yeah you did,” Legend hisses quietly as he clambers carefully into the satchel, settling down the nest of leather and items and hat.

He pulls the flower closer to his side where it is warm.

Inside, he can feel as Four’s shivers begin to lessen.

"Cute," Twilight laughs from above them.

"Fuck you," Legend whisper spits, though he makes no move to push Four's flower away. If anything, he pulls it closer when he hears the smaller hero start to make small, chittering snores, surprised the smithy could sleep through such a racket.

Twilight, thankfully, doesn't comment, instead pulling the top of the bag loosely closed to give them some shade. Then, Legend feels as he gently lifts the satchel back up, slings it slowly over his shoulder as to not disturb the contents inside, and begins walking, hopefully back in the direction of the forest.

Legend can still hear the farmhand laughing to himself from within the bag, but without the others' eyes on him, he finds he doesn't care.

The pollen still itches at his eyes and nose and Legend can still feel the pound of his sinuses even now. But something about the shade and warmth and soft rocking of the bag makes it hard for him to mind.

Four gives a harty twitch, kicking a petal directly into Legend’s face.

And even that doesn't dissuade the veteran from his task.

Instead, Legend sighs and pulls Four even closer, relaxing despite the discomfort.

He’s got dirt on both Twilight and now Four, the two heroes with sticks most firmly inserted into their asses. He can get out of whatever chores and lectures they try to pin him with.

Yep, he thinks , distantly. That's why he did this.

For the blackmail.

And no other reason.

#yes this is the live write that started the whole sneet thing #I write fluff and thats the thanks I get for it /j #lu legend #lu twilight #lu four #reluctantly soft legend is such a mood #I adore it #also #the image of minish four curled up asleep in a tulip made me go feral #so I had to share it with others #train writes #linked universe #linkeduniverse

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