#the last skeleton i ogled was nightmare

[lover-of-skellies]

I feel like I've been called out, help /j/lh

[missybee-writes]

Shadow in the Dark: Chapter One - Cursed

Genre: Sci-fi; Romance; Horror

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

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!OC

Summary

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

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

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

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Chapter two: Munson Magic

Ao3 link

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Chapter One

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ready?” Mum squeezed her hand.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hi?” The girl smiled weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. I haven’t read any.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just did.”

“Just now?”

“Yes.”

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

Rose eyed her suspiciously. “Yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ghost table?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rose braced herself. “Which is...”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rose hummed noncommittally.

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Motherfucker,” She mumbled.

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

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

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

“You are such a dick.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Eddie!” Jeff called out.

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

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

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

“Give us a hand, Henderson.”

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

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

“Oh my god!” He cried out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Niiice,” Gareth drawled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[gazsluckyhat]

Sarah's House - TW

Sixteen - Tattoos

Masterlist

It's been too long and I'm so sorry. My mental and physical health has been horrid. Along with some writers blocks I just haven't been writing.

This chapter has talk of miscarriage and sexual assault. Please take care of yourself.

Price knew he shouldn't take the mission. The outcome seemed obvious, or so he thought. Until he wasn't anymore.

or

Like calls to like. Or something of the sort.

Sarah listened intently as Kyle talked, fisting handfuls of popcorn and M&Ms to her mouth. Johnny doing the same from beside her. The new tv the only light source in the dark room. The curtains had been shut and they'd all piled into her bed for a marathon of Kyle's choice.

"So Sauske is bad?" Her eyes switched between the show and Kyle easily, her brain trying to understand what he was saying. Kyle chuckled.

"Not right now, but yeah. His whole family is." Her brows furrowed.

"But he seems to be friends with Naruto?" Johnny snorted beside her, the before mentioned character yelling about something.

"Not really. Maybe a little. Just watch." So she did. Thankfully the version they were watching was dubbed so she didn't have to focus on reading and watching. So far she liked it, Naruto reminded her a lot of Johnny. They had the same attitude. She nuzzeled closer into Kyle, her fingers toying with his little curls. John and Simon had base duty, promised to bring dinner home later. Her period had finally quit two days before. And the nightmares that joined it.

"Sakura is hot." Sarah rolled her eyes. Of course Johnny was ogling the females.

"Soap, she's like thirteen." Sarah laughed with Kyle as Johnny's face changed to a horrified look. His hand going to the St. Benedict necklace that stayed around his neck. Blue eyes wide as he muttered a prayer under his breath. Sarah noticed it was the same prayer he muttered earlier in the week when she'd blown him in the kitchen.

"I looked thirteen when ya'll found me."  She piped up, Kyle's eyes averting at the mention of her past.

"No bon, you looked dead." She froze at the words. She'd never really looked at herself then. There'd never been a mirror in the prison. And the hospital had washed as much grime as they could. She didn't miss the look Kyle shot Johnny, or the way Johnny went a bit pale and looked down.

"Were there pictures?" Her voice was low.

"Sarah, I don't think it's important." Kyle tried. Not wanting to lose her again.

"You had to identify me by my scar, but I could only really be identified by a picture. Did you take one?" Johnny answered.

"We took multiple. To send to Kate when we realized the state you were in." She met his eyes. "As evidence." Evidence. Because what had happened to her was a crime and people were punished. But not the right people.

"I wanna see them. Please." The boys looked at each other. "Who took them?" Kyle pulled his phone out, tapping and typing something before handing it to her. A app pulled up and a folder opened. Her last name was at the top.

"All the stuff we found and the pictures are in this folder. There's a physical copy as well." Her fingers shook as she swiped through papers until pictures popped up. The first one was of her, sedated in Simon's arms. It was more focused on her thigh. Her skin was hidden under dried blood, vomit, feces and just grime. It looked like someone had wiped enough away to get a good picture of the scar. The next one was of her body. She could see fresh wounds, a angry red as they seeped. She was rail thin, her collarbone poking out like a knife. She couldn't see her breasts. They were non-existent. Not even her nipples showed. Her ribs were so prominent she looked like a skeleton with fabric draped over it. The well built muscle she'd built over her years in the military had been dissolved. Left behind was molted skin and weakness. It made her sick to her stomach. Everything she worked so hard for had been ripped from her. The scar across her shoulder blade was so evident. She could feel it now, when her skin had been ripped in two. The next one caused her to gasp. It was her face. She was laying down, Simon's shirt peeked around her neck. A gloved hand was cradling her face. It didn't look like her face though. The eyes were so dark and sunken in. The cheeks hollow. It looked like a creature from a horror movie she'd watched. Her lips were white, skin peeling from being so chapped. Johnny was right, she did look dead. The image of her mother's body floating to mind. Even eaten up with cancer she'd looked more human than her.

"Okay, that's enough." Kyle pulled the phone free from her grasp, Johnny scooting even closer to kiss her head. "Please don't cry baby." She hadn't realzied she was. Kyle's nimble fingers wiping them away.

"I worked so hard for so many years to keep myself in shape. To get the muscle mass I had." Her voice shook. "For it to be taken from me." Johnny pulled her into his arms.

"You can do it again Bonnie. We can help. Be even better this time, I promise." Sarah shook her head.

"That's not the point though. So many years of training and working out for nothing. It didn’t even help me when I needed it." Kyle shushed her.

"It kept you alive. They had the upper hand. But I've seen old videos, taped trainings. You would have come out on top had they not played dirty. Hell, you'd win in a fight with any of us. Maybe even give Simon a run for his money." She chuckled. "You are a damn good soldier Sarah. They didn't take that from you."

"Were." She looked at them both. "I was a damn good solider." It sunk into them then. "No one in their right mind would let me back in the field."

"Is that something you want?" Johnny asked from behind her hair. Sarah paused. Was it? She'd worked her ass off for years. But now, did she want to do that again? She looked at her hands. The scars still fading.

"No." She sighed. A weight seeming to leave her. Tears prickled at her eyes again. "No. I don't." She fell into Johnny. Kyle slipping in with them, kissing her head.

"It's not bad to not want it. It's okay to outgrow something." Kyle's words danced around her head.

"But I didn't outgrow this."

"Yes you did. It might not look like it but you've had so much growth since we found you, love. So much." Kyle replied easily.

"You're not tha wee scared thing anymore, bon."

"Johnny's right. You look like an actual person now." Hands squeezed the more supple areas that had developed. Sarah smiled as more tears raced down her cheeks.

"I feel like I've let everyone down. Being a soldier was my dream and now- now I want nothing to do with it."

"No one thinks that. If anything we think more of you. You sacrificed everything Sarah. You think you didn't but you did. Most people wouldn't have made it as long as you. I'm proud of you. For everything. For facing your fears. For standing up. It's what made me love you." Kyle's hands were warm agaisnt her cheeks. Johnny nuzzeled her neck.

"Well shit. I think I fell when I caught ya' blowin' Kyle." A scoff and a shove and they were all laughing. "He's right though. We're so proud of ya' bonnie. So much." Sarah cuddled the two in the bed, letting sleep tug her in dreamland.

Simon grunted as he continued to work the punching bag. The basement of John's house had a diy gym in it. The boys trained there every day, Sarah happily watching her men shirtless and sweaty. Simon's tattoos were on display, the black ink making a tapestry across his skin. Sarah spent many nights tracing them and inquiring what each one meant.

"A picture lasts longer, Flower." Her cheeks flamed as he turned to smile at her. She hopped off her makeshift seat and walked towards him, her fingers tracing the doves printed on his arm.

"I want one."

"A dove?" Eyebrow raised, the scar that cut through it shining. Sarah rolled her eyes.

"A tattoo smart one. I've always wanted one, just never found the time. Would you take me?" Simon looked at her.

"Of course I would. But are you sure you want one?" Sarah nodded.

"I have a bunch of ideas actually." Simon chuckled.

"I could go for another one too." Sarah smiled. "Let me call my guy and see if he has any spots open."

Sarah sighed as she unlocked her phone again, double checking the pictures were still there. Simon's guy had a opening a week later, Simon booked the whole day. His piece would take a while by itself and he wanted to make sure Sarah was completely comfortable. Taking her hand he squeezed. Sarah almost instantly relaxing into the seat.

"It's okay if you change your mind." A shake of her head.

"No. I want this. I think I need this." Simon nodded. The mosaic across his skin had been healing as well. Scars that he had controlled. That he chose.

"Do you want me to stay with you? I can wait to get mine."

"No. Well, maybe for the first little bit? Until I'm more comfortable with him." Simon chuckled.

"Her, flower. My guy is a girl. Best damn artist I've ever seen." Sarah seemed shocked for a moment before nodding.

"That makes it better. If you trust her so do I." He brought their conjoined hands and kissed them.

"They'd be dead before they could touch you, Flower." That bright smile and laugh made his heart skip a beat.

"I don't think murder has to be your go to option every time, Si. Though I do love that you're my attack dog."

"Woof."

The tattoo parlor was the opposite of what Sarah expected. Every picture was black and white and hand drawn, a pink frame holding them to the wall. The lobby held pink couches, lip shaped pillows dotting them. A snack station was in the corner, Water and lemonade in two containers. Small snack cakes and crackers on the end of it. It was bright and pink. A woman behind the desk wore a crop top and flared jeans. Sarah struggled to see her big macho lover strewn across one of the pink couches.

"Simon! Been forever." The girl walked out and gave him a hug.

"It has. That boy been bothering you?" The girl laughed.

"Hell no. He actually moved to France. Thank you again." The girl looked towards her. "You must be his 'Flower'." Sarah's cheeks grew hot. A quick peek at Simon showed the same under his black face mask.

"That seems to be me. Government name is Sarah." The girl smiled.

"He said this is your first tattoo?" Sarah nodded. "And that you plan on getting multiple?" Another nod. "Hell yeah then. Just got some papers for you to sign and then we can get started."

"Thanks Lydia. Kelly in the back?" Lydia nodded.

"Yeah, she was just setting up for you. Have to you the big table for the gorilla here." Sarah laughed. Simon turned to her.

"Still want me to stay?"

"I think I'll be okay. Do we pay now or before." It was Simons turn to laugh. He ducked down to kiss her head.

"Already taken care of, Flower. Just relax and have fun." With a wink he strolled through the doorway into the back.

"Haven't seen that man show emotion ever. You're good for him."

"Thanks. He's the one that saved me though." A knowing look in Lydia's eyes made a small smile fall into place.

"Just sign here and here. He told me a little, hope that’s okay. We just wanted you to be comfortable."

"I trust Simon. Fully. I know he'd never put me in danger."

"He threatened death if anything happened to you in my chair. And seeing as he chased my ex out of the country I believe it."

"He's the biggest softie. Under that gruff bad boy act." Lydia laughed and led her to her chair.

"What are we getting beautiful?"

"Most of them are little. But I have pictures." Sarah handed her the phone, the first one on screen.

"Awesome. You know where you want them?" Sarah nodded and pointed at the first spot. "Okie dokie. Go ahead and crawl up here. You okay with taking your shirt off?" Sarah nodded.

"Wore a tank top under it." Lydia folded it and set it in a chair. They talked about exact placement and size. When Lydia started the machine Sarah took a deep breath and closed her eyes. The stinging sensation was grounding. The pain was nothing compared to what she'd felt before. But it was relaxing. Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.

"Hey, you okay? Do we need to stop?" Concern was on Lydia's face.

"No. No. It's just… Nice. I know it's weird. I've just been through so much that it's nice to chose something for myself." Lydia smiled.

"I'm glad I could be the one to help." She was focused, making sure every line was dark enough and straight. Shading blended perfectly. Sarah cried when she first saw the finished look. She couldn't hold back the tears.

"I love it. Thank you." Lydia nodded and they started the second one.

Simon thanked Kelly and slipped out to find Sarah. He knew which room was Lydia's. Had spent plenty of time in it. The door was shut, for Sarah's benefit. Pushing it open he spotted Lydia bent over his Flower, hand moving slowly as she traced lines. Sarah was asleep. Eye's closed and breathing even. Simon chuckled.

"You got you a brave one." Lydia didn't even look up. Simon took the extra chair and put her shirt in his lap.

"God, do I know it." He watched as Lydia finished the fifth one, fingers stretching before starting the last one. "Did she tell you the meaning of them?"

"Did she tell you?" Simon stared. "Yeah, she did. Not saying a word though. Gonna let her tell you." So he sat there. Watching as his girl slept, the peaceful look on her face enough to fully relax him. She'd been through so much. Had so much done to her, that watching her relaxed and asleep could have made him cry. She was okay. He had to tell himself. She was safe with him and the boys.

"All done. She might be my new favorite client." Lydia stood. "I'll let you wake her up." Simon stood, knelling beside her and gently shaking her shoulders.

"Flower." Green eyes under thick eyelashes looked back at him. "She's finished. Just has to wrap them." He helped her sit up. Lydia already waiting to wipe and cover.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to nap on ya'." A chuckle.

"No don’t be sorry. The easiest person I've had next to Simon here."

"You did great Flower. So proud of you." Another kiss to her head. Once finished they walked to the front and Simon paid. Sarah grabbed a cup of lemonade and a snack before hugging Lydia and getting in the car to head home.

The boys were in the living room when they got back. Johnny picking her up and spinning her around before kissing her. Kyle and John happily waiting to kiss her themselves.

"You wanna see them?" She'd already told Simon about them and everything.

"Of course love." She smiled before taking the shirt off and removing the tank top. Turning around she heard them gasp before a set of fingers danced beside the tattoo. The tattoo that ran the length of her spine. It was a vine with flowers, each boy's birth flower along with hers attached to the vine. It was beautiful.

"I thought it was fitting since someone has been calling me Flower." A chuckle from Simon.

"It's stunning Bon."

"Is that my birth flower?" Kyle traced the flower lightly.

"All of them belong to each of you. I did my research." John kissed her. Lips sealed to her own.

"I love you." Sarah giggled.

"So do i." Turning around she held out both of her arms. On the upper inside part of her left arm was decorated with the words 'you do not yield'.

"It's a quote from one of my favorite books. Thought it was fitting." Her right arm held the words 'long story short, I survived'. Simon spoke up.

"That one is my favorite." His lips meeting her cheeks as he held her. "It's the truth."

"Do any of you know the theory of the Red String?" Her right wrist held a set of hands reach for the other, a red string tangled in their fingers. "That there's a red string that binds us to our soulmates. That it can tangled and bend and stretch but never break. You can always find your way back to them."

"My grandmother told me about it when I was little." Kyle spoke up. "It was one of my favorites." Sarah smiled brightly.

"Let me see the one on your hand." Johnny reached for it, the set of sparkles and stars dark.

"I just thought this one was cute."

"I like it. Your eyes always sparkle." A kiss to her cheek. Simon made a noise and pointed to the couch.

"I'll stand. You guys sit yeah?" Confusion on their faces they sat.

"Everything okay?" John asked. Sarah nodded.

"I uh, I got one last one. There's a story behind it." She looked at Simon or gave her a smile and nodded. "It's kinda bad." Turning slightly so her ribs showed she let them see the last one. On the side of her chest, beside her left breast were a set of angel wings, a halo in the middle. "When I first got captured and they first started assaulting me sexually I um. I ended up pregnant. I'm not sure how far along. It took my a while to notice anything. And it was only confirmed when the lab took blood for some test. They told the Genreal. He in turn gave the order for the guards to beat it out of me, which they did. And of course I knew that having a baby was the worst thing possible and was thankful that I lost it." She took a breath.

"Sarah.."

"It didn't start hurting until you guys found me. I let myself almost forget about it. But after coming to and actually healing a bit It hit me. I'm still thankful that I didn't have it. It didn't deserve to live that life. But it still hurts. Like a ache. And I don't wanna forget it so I thought I’d get this for them." A body slammed into hers. The only thing keeping her upright were the arms wrapped around her, the silent sobbing shaking her. Another body joined in, then another and another. Simon joined last. All five of them keeping each other upright. 

If you got the quote then know I love you. Also I love tattoos and hope to steal Sarah's lol

[sixsidedsex]

So, i wrote you something based on your latest posts. Hope you like it!!!

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Ink was struggling to keep their sanity, Nightmare already produced more slick than a normal monster, but combined with the goop being pushed out with every thrust, the sound their bodies made when they connected over and over was embarrassing. Hips still moving at a brutal pace, Ink panted out.

"Fuck, mama. You're so wet. This is what you've wanted all day, huh? So desperate for my cock, what a greedy cutie you are.."

Nightmare yelped when the artistic skeleton growled and bit into her shoulder none too gently, those sharp fangs definitely drawing goopy blood. Ink's pace faltered for a moment, but then they wrapped their arms around Nightmare , holding her tight and thrust inside her even faster than before.

"Ah, fuck, Ink I'm-" Nightmare whined, keeping her face buried in a pillow.

"Me too mama, I'm almost there."

Ink panted back, their pace never faltering. They adjusted her hips, aiming for that spot that would make Nightmare see stars. Immediately they were rewarded, as soon as their cock hit that sensitive spot, the black skeleton threw her back and screamed, her hands digging into the bed sheets, her whole body rapidly tensing and untensing as her orgasm ripped through her.

Ink wasn't very far behind, the feeling of Nightmare's pussy clenching around their dick bordered on painful with how tight she was, and they only managed a few short thrusts before they came, filling the octopus-like skeleton up with their cum, their hips periodically jerking. The two skeletons laid there catching their breath for a moment, then Ink, still a little out of breath, pulled back from Nightmare and took in the view.

The black skeleton was still panting, eyes closed and hands lay beside her head. Multicolored eyes shamelessly ogled the rest of her body, especially where they were still connected. Some of their cum had started leaking out, just adding to the mess of ink and Nightmare's goop, no doubt ruining the sheets below. Ink let out a sigh as they pulled their dick out of Nightmare's cunt, licking their ''lips'' as more of their cum flowed out.

Nightmare didn't have time to react before she was grabbed and flipped onto her back, letting out a small sound of surprise. She looked up to see Ink hovering above her, and the look in their ever changing eyes sent a shiver up her spine.

Ink didn't say anything, with one hand resting on her hip, their other went for her sensitive pussy, slowly playing with her clit and smirking at their partner's sharp inhale.

"Coming once and you're spent? I thought you had more stamina than that, mama!"

Ink's left hand moved faster.

Nightmare moaned, her pussy was still sensitive after her intense orgasm, but she couldn't resist her sexy partner when they looked at her like that and moved their hands to rest on dark green hips. She wasn't given a chance to say anything in return though, since Ink once again quickly positioned their big cock against Nightmare, cum and ink still dripping out of her wet and needy entrance, and pushed all the way with a quick motion. Nightmare threw her head back onto the pillow, teeth gritted and hands digging into Ink's back.

Despite cumming already, Ink's cock penetrated her over and over like they had all the stamina in the multiverse, their pace was just as fast as it had been. Gloved hands grabbed Nightmare's cheekbones before their mouth harshly pressed against hers, the black skeleton let out a muffled sound of surprise and Ink took the opportunity to shove their tongue into her mouth. The kiss didn't last long before the Ink pulled back, but stayed close enough to rest his forehead on Nightmare's.

Ink whispered playfully, "Hey Mama, you gonna let me cum inside again?"

They licked the side of a goopy cheekbone.

"You think you can get pregnant from this? I want to see you all nice and round with my babies."

They smiled at Nightmare's cunt tightening around them at their words, they weren't lying tho, the thought of Nightmare walking around with a big, round belly because of them drove Ink crazy with lust and love.

"I can feel you getting tighter Mama, you want that too? Want me to fill you up with my hot seed over and over again until you have no choice but to get pregnant? Cum spilling out of your pussy, hoping it takes? To have more children than you know what to do with?" Ink was starting to lose their own rhythm at the erotic fantasy, but they couldn't stop themself from daydreaming.

"Want me to breed you? Keep you pregnant and filled with our kids forever? With my seeds? You wouldn't have to do anything ever again. You'd like that, wouldn't you? Stars, you'd be gorgeous."

Ink leaned down to kiss Nightmare again, harshly biting her "lip" , making her moan at the pain.

"C'mon Mama, let me fill you up nice with my cum again, i need to see you big and full" Ink panted hot against her face, they were so close to coming again. Nightmare must've been as well, as soon as those words left the artist mouth, Nightmare moaned in pure ecstasy, her second orgasm of the day rushing through her.

Ink once again wasn't far behind, as soon as Nightmare came again they thrusted hard before letting their cum fill Nightmare's pussy and womb all together. Still holding her partner close and basking in the afterglow, Nightmare was content to stay there as long as possible. Soon enough, Ink had regained their strength, but instead of pulling out of Nightmare, they rolled and humped their hips, moaning softly at the sensations of her tighty pussy.

"Dear? What're you-" Nightmare was interrupted by a tongue being shoved into her mouth, and her body was pressed back onto the bed. Ink pulled back licking their "lips", eyes half-lidded and colored eyes bright as they stared down at Nightmare like she was prey.

Sitting up fully, Ink thrusted their hips back and forth against Nightmare's, smiling at the pleasure that came from the skeleton underneath them.

"We're not finished here just yet, mama!"

Ink finally removed their gloves, throwing them in a random direction, and reached down to rub against her clit while their hips kept rocking in and out of that sweet pussy.

"We're gonna keep going until I'm sure you'll end up pregnant and full with my babies."

Nightmare gulped at Ink's words and the devlish smile on their face, but with the heat rushing through her and the pure admiration for her restless partner, she chose to accept her fate at being Ink's cum dump for however long the artist decided.

-

-

-

-

Weeks later, Nightmare sat in the bathroom, glaring at the small stick in her hand, as if willing it to be right. Glancing over at the counter, all of the other tests she had taken were the same result.

She was pregnant.

Ink will receive wonderful news at that morning.

HHHOOOOUGHHHH MY GOD IM SWEATING HTIS IS SO GOOD??? AND IM SO FLATTERED YOU WROTE THIS FOR ME????

god the descriptions. inks silly dialogue compared to nightmare barely having any. bro im hard as fuck right now i wanna draw something based off this thank youi soooooo mcuh

[supernatural-bias]

c!Slimesicle x Reader

━“New Friend!”

━Charlie

━Tw: Quackity being Quackity I guess

━Note: Charlie is so precious istg. Also, this idea came from when I had a dream last night about Quackity domestically abusing me and someone else. It was pretty bad, but I’ve had worse dreams. Nightmares are the norm for me at this point. When I can even go to sleep that it ‌

━Song: “Ghost Fight” By Undertale: The Sound Track

Fundy groaned as he stood by a black wall. The fox hybrid was pissed, to say the least. He had been stuck on watch duty for the third time in a row. Nothing interesting ever happened while he had to wait on the outskirts of Las Nevadas, only the occasional creeper or skeleton that showed up before getting blasted to bits. But Quackity insisted that he was the best of the best when it came to this job, constantly putting the man in the same position.

Leaning grumpily against the nearest wall, Fundy mumbled a string of empty curses as he kicked a pebble with his foot. He watched it with narrowed eyes as it landed a couple feet away.

“Fucking hell, even L’manburg was more intresting than th-” 

His speech halted, ears perked up at a sudden noise from nearby. Fundy stood up straight, reaching for his crossbow that lay on his back without even realizing it. Aiming the deadly weapon outwards, he pointed the tip in the direction of the noise.

Fundy had heard a twig snap. Clear as day. His enhanced ears had picked it up almost immediately, warning the man that something was near.

Or someone.

The sounds around him seemed to fade away as he narrowed his eyelids with a scowl. The sun glinted off the metal end of his crossbow, casting a beam of light on the wall behind him.

Suddenly, about three feet from the left of him, a tall figure emerged. Fundy whipped around, his hat nearly falling off as his tail fluttered with the air.

It was a human. Those were pretty rare nowadays, considering all the hybrids that were roaming around. The only thing worth noting about this human though was that they had a thick trail of blood gushing down their head.

Stumbling with murky eyes and muddled speech, their (e/c) eyes locked with his. A small shimmer of hope appeared as they parted their lips.

“Help….me…” They croaked dryly before their eyes rolled into the back of their head.

Falling to the ground with a ‘whump!’ Fucdy scurried over.

Shit. This is going to be hard to explain to Quackity.

---

The first thing (Y/n) experienced when they came to was a pounding pain in their head.

(Y/n) grit their teeth harshly, groaning subconsciously while rolling over, as if that would get rid of the feeling of unrelenting tourture in their cranium. The thin sheets around their body shifted with the movement, allowing a bit of cold air to seep into their warm body.

After gaining the strength to peel their heavy eyes open, (Y/n) immediately closed them. Bright lights had infiltrated their retinas harshly, providing a very uncomfortable feeling to throb in their iris’s.

It took (Y/n) a second to open their eyes again, not wanting to meet the same fate as before. Except this time when they looked out, a set of curious green eyes stared right back at them.

“Gah!” They sprang up, regretting it as something seemed to tear in the side of their head. Wincing, they looked at the person laying next to them with eyes as wide a sacusers. 

A green...thing was next to them in the white bed. Some sun shone down from a nearby window, making the new person seem transparent.

Wait

No

They actually were transparent.

(Y/n) ogled at the see-through, tinted green being. But most importantly, that they were laying next to them. In a bed. 

Alone.

“W-who are you!” (Y/n) said, glancing down quickly to make sure they still had clothes on. Their basic set of shirts and pants were still on, a small splatter of blood evidence that they hadn't been removed in any way from their body. Okay, so they hadn't been violated. That's a plus.

The guy next to them sat up with a big smile, looking oblivious to how jumpy and scared (Y/n) was. He had glasses on and a cotton t-shirt with a heart design. His hair kept shifting between a woodsy brown color, and a sticky sort of green. Just looking at it made (Y/n)’s head spin. It was like an optical illusion the way his skin would swirl with. A small looking stick thing protruding from his head. If you flipped the guy upside down, he could almost pass as a really big gummy popsicle.

“I'm Slimecicle! But you can just call me Charlie!” He beamed with a bright tone, wiping away a bit of goop from his hair that got on his glasses. (Y/n)’s eyes flitted around nervously, confused out of their mind.

“Where am I? Why are you lying next to me?” They stuttered. Charlie’s smile only grew. He thought that they were very pretty.

“You’re in Las Nevadas!” He giggled like it was obvious. His voice was playful. Not a deep baritone or a scratchy sound like most of the people (Y/n) had met. “Fundy brought you in, and told me to keep watch while he talked to Quackity.” Charlie kept the warm smile on his lips the entire time, eyes filled to the brim with happiness. It made (Y/n) relax in the slightest bit.

“You looked cold, so I decided to come lay next to you.” He said before a look akin to realization passed on his face. “Oh no! You’re hurt!” He pouted, reaching out quickly to touch (Y/n)’s faces.

They moved away frantically, not trusting him enough to touch them just yet. Charlie frown deepened, now accompanied with large sad eyes as he withdrew his hand.

“Im sorry. Quackity doesn't like when I touch him either. Sorry.” He apologized twice on accident, not looking (Y/n) in the eyes for the first time ever since they had woken up. He instead directed his attention down to the bed that they were both still sitting on, playing limply with the plain white sheets.

(Y/n) regretted being so harsh to him. They shuffled over slightly, placing a tentative hand on his arm while trying to ignore the ever present injury in their skull.

Charlie looked up with stars in his eyes. Their small hand felt really warm on his cold skin. It was a warmth he hadn't felt in a while, not even from his best friend Quackity.

“It's okay. I was just a little scared of you, that's all.” (Y/n) said, not really knowing what else to do. But it seemed like that was enough for Charlie. He perked up, going back to his original peppy state.

“I get that a lot!” He laughed like it was some sort of inside joke, (Y/n) only nodded along with, still not taking their hand off his arm. They liked the texture of his skin. It was a smooth feeling, only being magnified by the coolness he seemed to radiate naturally.

“Can I touch your head now?” He asked innocently. (Y/n) smiled slightly, appreciating how he asked this time. With a fist pump of victory, the strange man reached out to move some hair gently away from that area of their head.

When Charlie brought his hand back, it was matted with blood. Some of it was dried up, and some of it was more fresh. Looking down at the cream bed sheets, (Y/n) saw a little pool of their blood beginning to form steadily.

Charlie gasped loudly. It seemed like everything he did had to be overdramatic, but (Y/n) didn't think it was on purpose. Nor did they think it was annoying. In fact, (Y/n) found it weirdly endearing.

“We have to clean that up right away!” He grabbed their hand, pulling them off the bed and out of the small room swiftly. (Y/n) wobbled, trying to keep up with Charlie's pace as he dragged them along. Footprints made out of the same green substance as his skiing lingered behind the pair like a trail. The sudden change in motion made (Y/n) a little sick.

(Y/n) was about to ask him to stop pulling them along and that the pain in their head was too much for this, but they stopped at a door right before they could see anything. Charlie knocked with a goofy grin, the sound echoing through the hallway.

The door had a neon pattern, with a design of casino chips littering the polished wood. Looking up slightly, there was a little plague with a name on it.

Mr. Quackity J̶a̶c̶o̶b̶s̶-̶S̶a̶p̶n̶a̶p̶

The last name had been clawed out ferociously, only allowing (Y/n) to see the first name. They looked over at Charlie to ask what that was all about, but he was looking at their still intertwined hands with a toothy grin and wide eyes.

(Y/n)’s face flushed when he caught them looking at him. They looked away, only glancing back at the unusual man when he spoke again.

“I used to see Quackity do this all the time with his other friends!” Charlie said, feeling the need to explain for some reason. He too had a small dusting of pink on his cheeks, but it looked more like a lime green than anything. (Y/n) nodded, their face continuing to heat up.

The door in front of them then creaked open with a heavy smell of cigarette smoke coming from behind it. (Y/n) coughed lightly, wrinkling their nose up at the corners.

Charlie's smile dipped when he saw how uncomfortable (Y/n) looked. He reached over without realizing it with his free hand to pat their shoulder, when a shadow appeared over him.

“Charlie? What are you doing here?” Quackity asked with a gravelly voice. The man in question snapped his hand to his side with another smile, although a bit smaller than when it was directed at (Y/n).

In front of the pair was a very short man sporting some pitch black suspenders with a white button up. He had a large scar running down the right side of his face, teeth and angry red tissue showing from the inside of his cheek. Even if he was shorter than the booth of them, he held an air of superiority and confidence that carried his entire being. The man couldn't be over twenty two.

“Hi Quackity! I wanted (Y/n) to meet my other best friend. Also, they’re hurt and need some help.” He said. Quackity nodded slowly, taking a drag off his cigarette that was hiding from the corner of his mouth. He ran a hand over his face, the beanie that he was wearing moving slightly.

(Y/n) already did not like the look of this dude. The way Charlie spoke about him made him seem like such a great person, yet as far as they could tell he was just another edgy midget with a gambling problem. (Y/n) didn't like the look of malice in his eyes either.

“You know where the first aid supplies are.” Was his short response. Charlie seemed to deflate a little.

“Oh. Okay.” He nodded, grin threatening to slip. (Y/n) squeezed his hand as a reflex, making another blotting of blush to show up on the both of their cheeks.

Quackity glanced at their hands for a second, looking up with a curious expression. He hummed with an air of mystery, taking the smoking stick out of his mouth before throwing it on the ground and crushing it underneath his heel with a polished shoe.

“Nice talking as always.” Quackity said. He closed the doors soon after, going back to whatever he had been doing before.

(Y/n) waited for something else to happen. Charlie just stood with his hand in the air, the aftermath of a wave that was sent at Quackity hanging limply.

Suddenly, the green man turned to her with sparkling emerald eyes.

“C’mon best friend! Let's get you all cleaned up!”

And then he led them down the hall once more.

Slime my beloved <333

-WayToSarcastic

[yastaghr]

Nightmare’s Gang of Wranglers 3

Summary: The first ride and the first camp are achieved. The fire brings out something new in everyone.

Link: The first ride and the first camp are achieved. The fire brings out something new in everyone.

The first ride of the trip was always the most problematic. This trip was no exception. Nightmare had sighed when Ink had lost his stirrups the first time. The next three times had been annoying. After that it had ceased to be annoying and started to become funny. Rustle wasn’t going to let him fall, and it wasn’t like Nightmare himself hadn’t ridden without stirrups before. Just so long as he kept his heels down Nightmare would be happy.

But that was just the start of the problems. Dream was turning out to be just as annoying as he knew he’d be, but for an entirely different problem. That problem had a name. His name was Cross. Cross, apparently, hadn’t taken enough heed of all the stories Nightmare had shared with his gang about Dream. Cross was too thirsty for that. He was taking full advantage of his position behind Dream to watch his ass. Yes, he said it was because he wanted to be sure of the other’s seat, but Nightmare knew better. One, he knew that Dream’s seat was impeccable, and two, he could see the purple blush on Cross’ cheeks. He was just lucky that Dream didn’t notice. He would only pay for ogling a client, not for trying to go behind Killer’s and Nightmare’s backs.

The next problem was Dust. It was always like this; as soon as he thought Nightmare had gone out of his hearing range he started talking to his brother. Nightmare sighed. Blue didn’t seem too disturbed, but that couldn’t be said of his pony. Berry hadn’t ridden near Dust recently, so the gelding must have forgotten about his chattering. His ears were constantly swiveled back, but Blue seemed to be handling him well. His seat was good and his hands were soft even as he maintained control over the horse. That made Nightmare feel better about letting him stay there.

The last problem, and one that Nightmare had been predicting, was Ink’s paints. Their sloshing around was scaring the pack train. Blood and Sugar eventually had the whole line stop so they could redistribute the load. That seemed to calm down the mules, but Cherry was being his usual spooky self. That was okay. They were used to Cherry’s spookiness.

Nightmare was impressed when they made the first stopping place in reasonable time. He had allowed for much more malarky than actually occurred. Unfortunately it looked like they needed that time. The camp was in shambles. If Nightmare had to guess he would have said that a herd of elk had bedded down there recently. The trees were still leaking sap, the grass was laid flat by the weight of those sleeping bodies, and the tents that were the sleeping areas were torn to the ground. Nightmare sighed. It would take at least an hour to fix everything.

His crew immediately ground tied their horses and got to work. Dust and Blood saw to the grass, fluffing it up so that the horses could actually eat. Cross set to gathering firewood and wiping down the trees. Sugar looked after the pack train. Error used his strings to fix the tents, and Killer helped Ink to dismount. Dream and Blue had gotten down and were looking around.

“How can we help, brother?” Dream said instantly, Blue right beside him. Nightmare blinked his one eye at him. He hadn’t expected them to want to help.

“Why don’t you… help Sugar unload the food for tonight?” He eventually said. He still didn’t trust his brother, not after what he had done, but he knew that unpacking the mules would be very hard to mess up.

Dream and Blue nodded, ground tied their horses, and walked calmly over to Sugar. Good. They at least knew better than to spook the horses.

=====

Killer’s soft voice interrupted his focus on his brother. “Somebody’s got a crush, huh?”

Nightmare spun to face him. Killer had his signature grin on his face, and his soul was beating at a speed Nightmare recognized as happy. Nightmare relaxed slightly and said, “I didn’t realise Cross was being so obvious. He’s been ogling Dream’s ass this entire time.”

Killer chuckled. Nightmare didn’t see what was so funny. “Yeah, Cross. The big guy’s always had a soft spot for people who dote on the horses.”

Nightmare tilted his head. He didn’t particularly remember Cross being like that in the past, but Killer was miles away more observant than he was. That was why Nightmare trusted him to be his second in command. He was a general; Killer was his chief of intelligence. Neither of them could operate without the other. And they both needed Cross to keep the peace between them and guard against the dangers of the road.

“Well, he’d better be prepared to meet the consequences of his actions. Dream is a client, and he is definitely not a part of our relationship. What would you say would be an appropriate punishment? 15 lashes?”

Killer grinned. If there was ever a monster who was the definition of a sadist, it was Killer.  “Oh, at least. I’d say we edge him a few times, too.”

Nightmare shook his head. He had the final say in this, and he thought that that was going a bit too far. “It’s only been a few hours, Killer. If he continues this behaviour tomorrow, then we can think about edging him. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir!” Killer said, saluting. Then he wandered off to begin unsaddling the horses for the night and getting everything ready for supper.

=====

Blue was fascinated by the fire. He could vaguely hear the rest of the Star Sanses and Nightmare’s Gang moving around, setting up things for the night, cooking food on the other side of the fire, and, in Ink’s case, chattering away. None of that really mattered to him right now, though. His whole attention was consumed by the fire.

It had been so long since he had seen an untamed fire like this. When he was younger he saw them every weekend while his Dad was still alright and well. Then, after his accident, Blue had seen them every night as he struggled to raise a child all on his own. Then Stretch had grown up enough to say he hated the smell of smoke and that was that. Blue hadn’t realized how much he missed it until now.

Blue’s hypnotized state ended when one of Nightmare’s Gang sat next to him and passed him a cup. Blue looked into it. It seemed to have… ketchup?

“Here, drink it. I’ve never met a Sans who didn’t like a condiment, and you’re pretty cute, so enjoy,” The stranger said. His voice was deeper than Blue would have pictured, deeper and hoarser. Blue would have predicted the hoarseness after all of the talking this monster had done today.

Blue honestly wasn’t sure who the monster behind him had been talking to, but he couldn’t judge. One of his best friends still hadn’t stopped talking. Ink would have been hoarse had he been a normal monster. He wasn’t.  It wasn’t that he was crazy. Ink was the kind of anomaly that rules had to be built around. So was the dark boned skeleton Blue recognized from a few years ago. Now if only Blue knew his n-

“What’s your name, anyway? I’m Sans, obviously, but most people call me Dust. Not my brother, though. He still calls me Sans,” Dust said with a grin, his mismatched eye lights shining bright. The concentric rings of red and purple were almost as fascinating as the fire.

“I’m Blue,” he said, startled, “Technically it’s Dr. Blue, but I don’t actually practice at the moment, so most people call me Blue. My brother calls me Sans, though, too.”

The wide smile that shone from Dust’s skull was dazzling. Blue’s eye lights widened as he took it in. Wow, Dust was cute. A blush spread across Blue’s maxilla, along with a hesitant smile. Maybe he could do something about that? Stretch wouldn’t be happy, but he already wasn’t happy about this little trip. What would be the harm in having a little fun?

“Well, Dr. Blue, I’d love to have you examine me sometime,” Dust said, waggling his brow bones.

Oh, that was flirting! Blue knew what to do with flirting. He batted his eyelids back at Dust and leaned in. “Oh, I’d be happy to. I’m sure you have some pieces of your anatomy that can fascinate me for hours. I might even have one or two suggestions that would make your life more… pleasurable! Mweh heh heh heh!”

=====

Ink overheard his friend laughing and grinned from ear to ear. “Yay, Blue! I’m glad he’s feeling good enough to laugh. He’s always so stuffy! That was one of the reasons we took this trip; to make Blue relax a bit! He-”

“Stars, do you ever shut up?” Error growled. He was securing the last string to the ground with some kind of spike. Ink didn’t know the names of any of this stuff, and he barely knew Error’s name. As far as he was aware he had never left the city before. Then again, his memory was absolutely horrible. Not as bad as Blue’s dad’s, but still objectively horrible. Good thing he wasn’t objective!

“Nope!” Ink said, popping the p. “I don’t like it when things are quiet at all! It’s super scary and makes me feel isolated and alone in a place where no one can rescue me. The same thing happens if I see too much of the color white! It’s kind of a trigger, so I fill up the silence with as much noise as I can and make lots of art! I’m constantly repainting the walls of my apartment, and I always have some music playing at home.”

Error was giving Ink the funniest look. It was almost… sympathetic? Curiosity sparked in Ink’s mind. Why would anyone relate to an experience like that? Ink was about to ask when Error spoke up. “That’s stupid. You’ve got actual friends, idiot. They’re not going to abandon you.”

Ink nodded. “I know that, but that’s not how triggers work. Triggers are totally illogical. They’re weird little psychological phenomena that we don’t fully understand. A trigger can be anything from the smell of lilacs, to the taste of chemo medicine, to the feeling of tulle between your toes, to the sight of a specific crack on the ceiling of your house, to-”

“The sound of door locks? Those ones with a full bar you lock into place with a key?” Error asked suddenly.

Ink took in the sight of him. Error looked haunted. Interesting. Ink’s curiosity made him a promise: he would find out everything about Error and his past that he could to satisfy his own curiosity. If he was going to do that, however, he needed to win Error’s trust.

“Yeah! That’s definitely something that could be a trigger,” Ink said, then he went on, “and it’s not like you’d have to know why it was a trigger, either. Sometimes we just have something that’s triggering to us without any explanation. Dream is that way about moles. The little furry animal, I mean. Totally sends him into a panic attack whenever they show up in a nature documentary we’re watching. Blue now likes to pre-screen any movies we’re going to see, just in case. Actually, he pre-screens them for a lot of things. Useless sex scenes, for one.”

Error snorted. Ink blinked at him, feeling an unfamiliar paint combination roll over him. He couldn’t have put a name to it, but there were bits of yellow, pink, and green in there. Yellow was happiness of all sorts, pink was affection or love, and green was the need for something. It could be the need for information, or food, or a plan, or… anything, really.

“Don’t,” Error snorted, “Don’t tell me you’re one of those sex purists who thinks you should only have sex after marriage. That’s so stupid.”

Ink laughed his own unique laugh that couldn’t decide between being a chuckle and a giggle. “No, I just think that those stupid sex scenes take away from the body of the story. Sometimes they’re good, but mostly they’re just put in for horny fans. They don’t even make any sense. People just don’t hop into bed with perfect strangers at the drop of the hat. At least, not any sane people. Not that sanity’s earned its good ratings, mind you.”

“Well that’s true,” Error agreed with distaste. “Sex shouldn’t be some kind of spectacle for anyone to see. I know I wouldn’t want anyone but my lover or lovers to see me like that. I might be the most handsome skeleton in existence, but that doesn’t mean I want to show myself off.”

It was Ink’s turn to snort. “You? Handsome? Your bones are black, Error. Don’t you know that the darker your bones are the less handsome of a skeleton you are?”

Error’s grin was absolutely crazy, and Ink couldn’t help but mirror it. It looked like so much fun! “That’s what they want you to think! After all, so many people are cursed with white bones. They had to come up with some way to boost everyone’s egos. Telling them that white bones are best is a good PR spin! I bet even you believe it about your own bones!”

Ink blinked at him, then slipped out of his overshirt and bared his bones. They were covered in patterns, almost random, that had more black to them than white. “It’s not like my bones are all white, though. I guess that means that, by your definition, I’m ugly, too! Oh well.”

Error’s larger eye light was now almost as wide as his socket. The other one, the grey one, had wandered off. Ink wondered if he could even see out of that eye or if he just had lazy eye. Either way it was disconcerting. “Well… you’re not that ugly. You’re less ugly than all those bleached-boned idiots in the movies. After all, you have some black on there. And the contrast looks… kind of nice, if a bit blurry. D’ya mind taking a step back?”

“Why?” Ink asked, tilting his head curiously.

“It’s none of your business why, chatterbox!” Error screeched, “Just do it!”

Ink sighed. He’d been doing so well with winning Error over, but nothing worth doing was worth doing too fast. He stepped back a few paces. “Alright, Error. Is this good?”

Error was too busy studying Ink’s patterns to answer. Ink studied his expression, committing it to memory. It was so… fascinating… the way he was staring at Ink. The play of light on the black bone of his skull was so enchanting, and the lines of his mouth were inviting in a way Ink couldn’t place. He longed to sketch it. Maybe later, after dinner, although the fire wouldn’t be  the ideal light source. Needs must, though!

=====

Killer grinned as everyone took up their positions around the fire. The small blue skeleton and Dust were already seated, flirting with each other like there was no tomorrow. The artist and Error were arguing, but it involved more words out of Error than Killer had heard the entire time he’d been working for them. Blood and Sugar were sitting as far apart as they could stand, cooking the food and shooting each other longing glances. Cross was sitting at attention next to Dream and shooting him the most adoring looks. Dream seemed just about as oblivious as Nightmare could be. He was staring into space, zoning out. That left Killer to work on Nightmare. Perfect.

“Hey, Boss~” Killer purred as he slid in next to Nightmare, taking one of his tentacles into his hands and slowly massaging it. It was tense as hell. It was pretty obvious who was causing their leader so much stress. His eye light was fixed on Dream like it had been nailed in place.

“Yes, Killer?” Nightmare said distractedly, his eye light not leaving Dream, “What is it?”

Killer brought the tentacle up to his teeth, kissing it. “The tension in your aura is palpable, Boss. You need to relax a bit. Let me lavish you with all the attention you so richly deserve.”

Nightmare turned to face him, his eyebrow raised and his one eye light showing Killer his amusement. “Laying it on a little thick tonight, aren’t you? What are you trying to do, impress me? You know you already do. Or are you trying to distract me from Cross’ misbehaviour? I can see him over there. He’s acting like a lovestruck teenager.”

So are you, Killer thought to himself, a lovestruck teenager that’s fallen in love with his biggest rival. Out loud he said, “If you want to say that about Cross you have to say that about all of them. Dust is flirting with that small blue one like it’s his favorite hobby, Blood and Sugar are doing their Romeo and Juliet act, and Error is arguing so much with that artist that I wouldn’t be surprised if his voice wasn’t hoarse tomorrow.”

“The small one is called Blue and the artist’s name is Ink,” Nightmare said absently.

Killer blinked at him, then smiled his most winning smile - the one he wore when he was trying not to get caught at something sketchy. “You know, it would probably be a good idea if we introduced everyone before matching people up for the night. Why don’t I get everyone’s attention and you can tell people who they’ll be sleeping with?”

Nightmare tore his eye light off of Dream just long enough to narrow it at Killer. Then he sighed and shrugged. “Fine, then. No knives, though. I know you like to show off, but please, save it for another time.”

Killer saluted with the half-ironic, half-serious form that drove Nightmare crazy. “Got it, Boss!”

Then he turned to the center of the fire everyone was gathered around, raised his hands to his mouth, and hollered, “Heylalo, skellies! Listen up, the boss has something to say!”

Eight heads turned to face him with expressions that varied from annoyance to curiosity to mildly dissociative. Killer frowned slightly. Blood he could understand, but why would Dream be dissociating? Had something happened to him since he and Nightmare parted ways? Or was it just the general absentmindedness of a normal monster? Killer vowed to find out.

Nightmare’s grunt interrupted his thoughts. Killer turned to face his handsome datemate and listened closely to the orders of the night. “Now that I have your attention, I’m going to introduce you all and tell you who you’ll be sleeping with. Remember that these arrangements might change as the trip goes on, so if you can’t handle sleeping with someone please let me know. Blood, Sugar,” He pointed to the two of them in turn, “you’ll be sleeping together in the red tent. Ink, Blue,” Again he pointed to each of them in turn, “You’ll be sleeping in the blue tent. Killer, Dream,” He signaled who each of them was, “you have the yellow tent. Error, Dust, please take the black tent,” He gestured at both of them. “Finally, Cross and myself will take the green tent. My name is Nightmare. Now, does anyone have any questions?”

The boss studied each face in turn, as did Killer. They would compare notes later.

Cross was blushing and averting his eyes from Nightmare’s face. He knew he was in trouble for today, but that didn’t stop him from looking forward to being punished. It never had before.

Blue was looking at Dust with longing and a flushed face. The expression was mutual. Interesting. Maybe they should be paired up in a tent tomorrow night. Dust could use a bit of a chance to unwind.

Ink had clearly lost interest in the conversation. He was looking around at the clearing with his hand twitching in the air. Long strokes, short curves, and forceful jabs would have painted a picture if Ink had only been holding a paintbrush. Killer would have bet any amount of money that he was already planning a drawing or two of their surroundings. Artists were like that.

Blood was eyeing the food with hunger, as usual. After what he had been through it was hardly a surprise. Sugar was beaming at his brother. Only his practiced eye told Killer that he was ready for their night’s more… intimate activities. Hopefully this time they wouldn’t get caught.

Dream was eyeing Killer with something like anxiety, except moreso. It almost looked like fear. It did look exactly like the expression Nightmare had turned on him the first time they’d been asked to share a tent. Huh.

Finally, there was Error. Error, as usual, was grumbling to himself. Killer knew exactly what he was upset about. He hated having to share a tent with anyone. He was always on edge, worried that they were going to bump into him in the night. He knew better by now, though, than to complain. Nightmare had no sympathy for his disgust at the touch of others anymore. No one had ever touched him at night. That wasn’t going to change.

Nightmare nodded when he was satisfied that no one was going to complain. “Good. Now, Blood, please serve out tonight’s food to everyone. It’s time to eat.”

[anneimaginesundertale]

Scattered Skeleton Shenanigans

(What skeletons do in their moments of brotherly bond)

Mafiafell

Sans and Pap(has scar on his face)

Sans often calls Pap, Scarface, after seeing the movie("I SWEAR TO ASGORE IF YOU KEEP CALLING ME THAT-" "s c a r f a c e." "THAT'S. IT!!!"). And Pap's NYEHHing him out through the window can be last seen from witnesses(especially their old granny landlord) at the scene of the crime. When questioned by the police, "HE DESERVED IT. HE SHOULDN'T HAVE PROVOKED ME." "heh, worth it." The landlord chewing out the skeletons(like being chewed out by angry Bugs Bunny; they're weak against granny) for breaking the property and peace is what made the police decided to end the case right then and there, as the officers scratched and shook their heads at this rather bizarre scene.

Outertale

Sans and Pap

Gravity took some weight(heh) getting used to but Pap passed the test with flying colors, but not Sans(that rebel doesn't want to give up that one perk he has over others: sleeping like a bat, literally).

Sans is a fan of Simple Plan's songs. Cuz their songs express his conflicting mood(regret or rebel?) very well; "cuz tonight i'm feelin' like an astronaut, sending sos from this tiny box. and i lost all signal when i lifted off. now i'm stuck out here and the world forgot. can i pleeeeease come down? cuz i'm tired of driftin' round and round. can i please come down? now i lie awake and scream in the zero gravity and it's starting to weigh down on me. woah, let's abort this mission now. can i please. come. down?"(Astronaut by Simple Plan) Cuz he can relate to them(rebel it is!); "i woke up it was 7. waited til 11, just to figure out that no one would call. i think i got a lot of friends but i don't hear from them. what's another night all alone? when you're spending everyday on your own and here it goes. i'm just a kid and life is a nightmare. i'm just a kid. i know that is not fair. nobody cares cuz i'm alone in the world. is. having more fun than me. tonight."(I'm Just a Kid by Simple Plan) "SANS, YOU'RE NOT A KID! STOP THIS TOMFOOLERY AND GET DOWN FROM THE CEILING THIS INSTANT! GRAVITY IS NOT A TOY TO PLAY WITH!!" "screw gravity."(with 'make me' face, passive aggressive lil shit) "!!!"(with 'CHALLENGE ACCEPTED MOTHERFUCKER' look), Pap proceeded to throw away Simple Plan's albums to the trash, but to his frustration, they're back where they were, with Sans's shit-eating grin greeting his presence. It is said that Pap's pterodactyl screech can be heard in the distance, frightening the neighbors.

G!Bros

Sans and Pap

When they're shopping together, they ALWAYS have to have this conversation. "Sans." "yeah, bro?" " What did I tell you, the last time we were here?" "that you will buy me a bra if i behave, bro?" "No, Sans! You were scaring the retail staff for ogling in the women's undergarment section and almost got kicked out. I had to save you from that trouble!" "ah, bro. you sure you won't buy me a bra? i bet they have a nice zbra for my cup size." "For the last time, Sans! Zebra is an animal, NOT a bra with Z on it!!"

Dancetale

Sans

You know the phrase 'Despite language barrier, music brings people closer together' and all that jazz? Well, monsters do that by dancing to it to solve discord between humans and monsters without escalating further into violence. It is a very effective and peaceful method monsters encourage to humans, but Sans took it to another level. Last night, his neighbor for the last several hours, kept blaring their music into the afternoon and evening, no sign of ever stopping. Normally, Sans would be fine with people turning on the music cuz he himself is intuned to it on his dance but when that fucker decided to sing with their horribly off key voice is when his patience waned. He knocked on their door and politely suggested them to lower their volume, only to be met with a door slam to the skull. 'welp. they had their chance.', as his patience finally snapped and he began to form an evil plan. His job involves manipulating with electronics, and the fact that he knows a lot about hacking, he put it to good use. What he did after that would give evil masterminds a run for his money. He hacked the neighbor's electronic devices, syncing them to YouTube music playlists to switch their music to his. He kept blaring The Hampsterdance Song by Hampton the Hampster on endless loop to drive the neighbor crazy. They didn't know how this had happened or how to stop it. Everytime they turned off the power of one device, another would start off. He could've sworn he heard their frustrated scream via hacked sound system, as he peered through his curtained window to see the neighbor pulling at their hair in frustration from afar. He did this all throughout the night, tormenting his neighbor. When he thought he heard their close-to-broken sob at 3AM is when he counted it as victory and gave mercy, as he changed the song to Caramelldancing (Radio Mix) by Caramell on endless loop over the rest of the night, listening to the sweet music of their anguished wail to his ears in his sleep. Never mess with a petty skeleton.

Pap

When Sans is in pranking mood, Pap can tell he consumed something that drove him into that state. Sans put the song The Hampsterdance Song(the same one he tortured his neighbor with) in repeat that drove Pap crazy. He groaned and asked, "WHAT DID YOU CONSUME TO MAKE YOU JUMP LIKE A MONKEY?!" "sugar, spice, and everything nice, bro." "UGH, YOU MUST'VE CONSUMED YOUR MORE THAN INTAKE OF SUGARY FOOD, DIDN'T YOU? AND, WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOUR VOICE?! IT SOUNDS LIKE YOU ATE A CHIPMUNK IN DRUGS!!" "itsy bitsy spider and up the water sprout~ helium is one hell of a drug, bro" "NYEH! EVEN IF YOU'RE NOT A HUMAN, I DOUBT THAT IS GOOD FOR YOU. WHAT IF YOUR VOICE IS STUCK LIKE THAT FOR GOOD?!" "then, more's for me", as he inhaled some more helium in his system. "SAAAAANS!!!"

Underlust

Sans and Pap

Sans and his acquaintance were drinking at Grillby's when the latter proposed a bet. Everytime they hear a word 'booty' in the song Booty Man by Tim Wilson, they take a shot. After the song was finished, there was no winner as they all had drunk their asses off way past their limits while worried Grillby called his brother to pick him up. Next day, Pap lectured on his drinking habits and the importance of self restraint while Sans nursed his hangover and groaned as his headache worsened, pleading his bro to lower his loud volume. *later* Sans played the song Slap Dat Ass by Pornland to make Pap flustered and embarrassed as revenge for his hangover morning. "SANS, THAT IS HARDLY APPROPRIATE! TURN IT OFF!! OR ELSE!!!" "heh, what are ya gonna do? spank me?" "NO, I WILL BURN ALL OF YOUR SO CALLED SECRET STASH OF PORN MAGAZINES YOU HAVE AMOUNTED OVER THE YEARS AND I'M NOT AFRAID TO DO IT." "you wouldn't dare, bro." "OH, YES I DARE, BROTHER. NOW, TURN. IT. OFF!" He turned it off, only to start playing another obscene song. "OH, IT'S ON!!!" Ah, what a lovely day to start a brotherly quarrel.

(They may not be all accurate with your skeleton headcanons, but I thought I'd share this with you, to give my two cents in it. Enjoy.)

Submitted by @bluejayebirdie

—

These boys...I swear! I haven’t even solidified headcanons for any if them yet (and I don’t really plan to do Underlust) but good Lord! These boys! They are all ridiculous and I love them!

I love the idea of the Mafiafell boys with a sweet old granny landlord who lectures them on their antics.

I love Outertale Sans being on the ceiling (and acting like an emo teen). The idea of them having to adjust to gravity is interesting, especially since UT Papyrus seems to have an odd relationship with that force anyways.

That conversation between the G!bros? Canon now, and G!Paps hates it!

I do have to wonder how Dancetale Sans can consume helium. Do skeletons have lungs and vocal cords? Are these questions I should even ask about magic skeletons? (Also I love the sentence, “Never mess with a petty skeleton.” That applies to so many of these boys!)

Like I said, I don’t plan to do Underlust, but I feel like this conversation could be between many Sanses and Papyruses...The brotherly banter is great.

Thanks for submitting this, @bluejayebirdie! You’re awesome!

[ultramaga]

Paying in service would be pretty reasonable as

A) it fits in with history - potentially it could lead to slavery, or it might be benign

B) the healing is far beyond what we could do - for example, I had a tumour but removing it caused nerve damage, lifelong loss of function, and pain to the point my ailments name was "the suicide's disease".

So for the last thirteen years I have been unable to work. Imagine the effect on society if you could prevent that, keeping workers productive instead, with almost instant effect?

The French feared and hated English medieval longbowmen. They trained so hard it permanently altered the skeleton. It might take twenty years to make a top tier archer.

The French would cut off the two fingers they needed to use a bow whenever they could.

Imagine being a feudal lord in real history. They just turned your elite weapon that took twenty years to make into a beggar, a drain on society.

Now imagine a DND equivalent with ogl rules, or around 3.5 or below.

Rings of regeneration works out as the cost of an MRI. So even if you don't have access to top tier healers, a city would have a hospital with a couple of them, in a secure building, and the very rich would probably always wear one.

A pragmatic ruler would want their war machine repaired. A good ruler would want loyal soldiers rewarded.

And in either case, soldiers will have far better morale if there is a reasonable chance of avoiding disability, which is a nightmare in all but the wealthiest society.

"Surrender to us, and you will be healed. Your lord is too stingy to tend to the crippled. Why serve him? We will take care of all".

That would be a compelling argument, even if the lord with the magic was lawful evil.

And if your son slipped with a leather tool, and lost an eye, then a second before a healer could cure disease, then a debt could be paid with service, and the child might enter the church or be apprenticed to a magician.

The equivalent of a Louis Braille would not invent a written language for the blind. Why bother? There might be sign languages, but not specific to the deaf.

And wheelchairs? Well, DND magic mostly doesn't reverse aging, so I can imagine an elderly sage using one in a home, but outside?

We live in a world of cities without horses or livestock. Before the car, dung was a major problem. And smooth pavement? Forget it! Your wheelchair would be caught constantly.

A sedan chair, carried by slaves, servants, or magic would be most likely. Terry Pratchett explored this to an extent, with golems willingly labouring millennia after their creators had perished.

Planescape had zombies in that role.

Of course, an evil mage, cleric, or even bard, was given a different route to curing disability...

They can't even let polymorphic spells make you not a cripple...

[hekate1308]

A Destiel Christmas Calendar, December 7

Masterpost

Castiel hasn’t quite forgotten everything back from his non-homeless days; and so he finds himself cooking while waiting for Dean that evening. He’ll find a way to pay him back, of course; he has no idea how, but he will; but for now, he’s rather certain the teacher will appreciate a well-cooked meal when he comes home.

True, it’s just burgers, but he was always good at making Dean.

“Cas?” Dean calls out when he returns. Again, he wonders why he never corrects him when he uses the nickname. He likes it. Maybe it’s as easy as that.

“In the kitchen” he calls out. How strange, to be able to say that again. He doesn’t think he’s turned on a stove prior to this night in almost a decade.

“This smells amazing!” Dean exclaims as he strolls in, a happy grin on his face, his eyes sparkling.

He’s absolutely mesmerizing.

Cas can’t help but stare, even as he chastises himself for it. Dean is just a good man who wants to help him, and he certainly doesn’t deserve to be ogled because of that.

“I wanted to thank you for – “

“You don’t have to thank me for anything. It’s what anyone would have done.”

“No. Everyone else would have called the police.”

Dean shrugs. “Well, everyone else’s not very charitable then, is it? And so close to Christmas too.”

“It’s not yet... not for another two and a half weeks” he reminds him. Dean grins.

“Even better, gives me enough time to plan out the family party.”

Cas’ heart sinks. Of course Dean will want him gone by then. Not that he had any expectations that this would last longer than a few days at the most.

Dean reaches out and squeezes his shoulder. “With you helping, it will be much easier to prepare all the food” he mentions casually as he looks at the burgers.

Cas’ heart starts beating faster. Dean assumes he’ll still be here at Christmas. That means a few weeks of not wondering whether he’ll freeze, a few weeks in the warmth, a few weeks with good food.

“Dean, I – “ He clears his throat, realizing he doesn’t know what to say. “Would you like a burger?” 

Now he can cook too? That’s just unfair. Who allowed the hot guy to be able to make burgers too?

Dean would almost be offended, if the food weren’t so delicious. “This is awesome! Where did you learn that?”

Cas shrugs. “I experimented a bit when I was in college. It’s not as difficult as the average teenager would like to believe.”

“Don’t I know it” Dean grins. “You should hear the things my pupils complain about but they are teenagers, so who am I too judge? They have it hard enough as it is.”

Cas gives him one of his pleased little smiles and Dean feels even worse for what Charlie told him. Sure, she only meant the best, and it’s not her fault nor Cas’ that the story is so freaking depressing, but he still feels like he shouldn’t know all of this without Castiel telling him.

“Hey, Cas...” he begins uncertainly. “There’s something I have to tell you.”

Castiel freezes. Certainly Dean meant it when he talked about cooking for Christmas? HE’s not going to throw him out on a whim, is he?

“It’s nothing bad – that is – I Hope – “ he breaks off, rather frustrated. “Look, there’s no easy way to say this. I have a friend who’s good at finding stuff, and she told me what happened to your brother, and his family, and I’m just – I’m sorry, man.”

Castiel stares at him. He doesn’t like to talk about Jimmy. He doesn’t like to think about Jimmy or Amelia or Claire, because when he does all he can see in front of him is that horrible place he had to go to identify them, feeling like a piece of himself was gone.

“I – “ He takes a deep breath. He can do this. For Dean, he can. “I understand there are newspaper articles available, and my name is rather... unusual. I am not surprised she found... I’m not angry. I just.. I rather wouldn’t talk about it.”

Dean nods. “I get that, man. We all have skeletons in our closets.”

It’s not just skeletons, Cas thinks. It’s nightmares still, after all these years, and the fear of returning to his family to find they have all forgotten about him or were glad he was gone.

“Anyway” Dean begins brightly, “I have to tell you about this class of mine and their lesson in Ancient Greece some more...”

He’s of course not that interested in telling him, Cas knows, just like he isn’t that interested in hearing it. But he’s grateful nonetheless, and listens carefully as they finish their meal.

[cosmosogler]

hmm. i didn’t sleep well last night even with the podcast. maybe had the wrong volume. and i woke up for the last time at about 7 with a cramp in my leg and that was pretty bad. then i just laid there on my back for 25 minutes until my alarm went off and then i got up.

i was kinda hoping that biking for an hour would exhaust me. i guess i am an endless well of energy. trickle by trickle i always got what i need for physical stamina. sometimes.

that’s been true for a long time. mom and dad always complained that i had no pain tolerance. and i can’t sprint forever, sure. but this is basically the longest/hardest i’ve ever biked aside from that ride downhill along the glacier in alaska, but that really hurt my wrists for like a week afterward. i always feel tired, the whole time, but i never really... stop. i guess that’s a suitable metaphor for my life.

mom and dad complain about a lot of things about me that probably aren’t true. but... i don’t really have a standard to compare their comments to. i’ve talked about that before... i don’t have a good feel for my personality. i’m unsure of the decisions i might make when under pressure and i don’t like that. it’s not like i feel like i’m nothing. i feel like i’m everything.

and the comments about me, to my face? are also everything. and the comments about me when they think i’m not around. also everything.

but i never feel like i’m acting different than how i normally act!!! what gives? which is it? am i cold or warm? am i deeply intelligent or deeply stupid? i make some pretty stupid decisions. being a physicist doesn’t make me smart automatically.

am i honest or two-faced? am i egotistical and too good to interact with other people or do i have no self esteem? 

in some cases i can be both in different situations, sure, i accept that people act differently sometimes. but i can’t be everything all the time. some of these comments happen on the same day.

sometimes i’ll think i am being perfectly reasonable and people will laugh at me for getting so worked up and i don’t understand because i was using my normal voice. maybe i was annoyed? but not upset by any measure. i’m getting that a lot now... jennica always laughs and says “that sounded REALLY sarcastic” when i say stuff like “i think the fire brigade is cool, my brother wants to be a firefighter and i want to be supportive.” 

i don’t know what her game is there. i don’t know why she keeps saying that. sometimes she puts her hands over her mouth like i said something monstrous when i am having a conversation with another classmate. she doesn’t come across as doing it on purpose. but now she is introducing me to her family members as “this is sammie, i can never tell if she’s being sarcastic or not” and i either have to try to smile through the pain and say “nice to meet you” and hear jennica say “SEE!?” or make an openly sassy comment about the conversation i’m having with my classmates at the bar.

i guess there’s more than two options of course. there are infinite ways to follow up an introduction. 

man i haven’t even described the day i am having today. 

i got up and showered and had a bowl of cereal for breakfast. i waited for suzanne to leave home to get to the book convention, then i waited another ten minutes, then i biked over. it took like six minutes to get there so it wasn’t a big deal even though my butt cried every time i hit a crack in the sidewalk.

no bike lane on main street. that’s why i was on the sidewalk.

i got to the warehouse and asked where everyone was in the group chat. then i went inside and looked at some books. i picked five out fairly quickly- i was only allowing myself to get 4 or 5. i got a mark twain humor theory thing, a biography of mary poppins’ author, a compilation of african mythologies, a big collection of king arthur stories, and a compilation of southwestern native american fairy tales. 

i found jennica by the mythology shelf. i asked her why she didn’t tell me she was here when i asked where everyone was. she shrugged and then tried to convince me that the brothers grimm fairy tales were the originals and also the best thing ever because they were so dark and brutal. 

it occurs to me in retrospect that she probably doesn’t know very much about me or my interests or how many hours i’ve put into studying world mythology. 

(not as many as i’d like, but more than she thinks.)

i paid for my books and then found suzanne’s fiance jake in the parking-lot-turned-courtyard. he’s not in the group chat so i wasn’t mad or anything that time. he let me sit by him and we talked about the book he’d found- “beyond the human eye” i think it was called. it had microscopic and telescopic images and looked like it weighed 20 pounds. i know he’s super antisocial, but he seemed to not be bothered by the one-on-one conversation. maybe that’s mostly a “party with people he doesn’t know” situation. i don’t know him very well yet. we seem to have a lot in common though.

eventually he mentioned that he’d found a pokemon book and thought of me. he asked if i wanted to see it. before i could register the information i’d said “sure” so we were back in the entrance. i made finger guns at the security guard because i’d asked kind of dazed questions the first time i went in and he was reasonably patient with me. we left our backpacks by him at his request.

we didn’t find the book but that was ok. when we went back outside we found suzanne, who had brought rebika, adamya, and her brother alex. then ioannis showed up. jake told suzanne that we’d been looking for the pokemon book and i cut in with “i don’t even play it around you guys that much i don’t know why you associate pokemon with me.”

suzanne looked at me like i was high. she said i play it all the time. i play for 5-10 minutes a day to do the daily stuff, but this week i had been playing it more because i was stressed... i told her it was a good way to feel accomplished because it’s only a matter of “doing the thing a lot” in order to get the thing i want.

in retrospect i think i was resetting for that jolly marshadow for like 25 minutes while hanging out with them last saturday. but i do mostly play at home and not particularly at the office.

anyway i hung out for a while and then we went to get brunch at a cafe across town. i looked at jennica, who was driving me and ioannis, and i said “it’s way easier to appreciate how fast a car is once you’ve had to walk or bike the same distance.” we basically drove the same exact path i’d used to get home last night.

we were at the cafe until like 1:45... mostly talking about etymology. i was a little antsy about the time, just because i had a lot of things to do today (i was right to be worried). we ogled some vultures hanging out by a lake and i took a bunch of pictures because there were like 30 of them sitting around. then half of us went shopping while the other half either got driven home or back to the warehouse to grab our bikes. i was already exhausted.

i got back to the apartment just in time to grab my box from amazon before the office closed. snoopy’s cat walk-through brush was in there! i set it up and sprinkled some catnip on it like i was feeding some fish. within two minutes snoopy was rolling around under it so i watched her do that for a while. she really loves it. i can never quite get her chin the right way when i brush her so now she can do it however she wants.

instead of cleaning the apartment i watched youtube videos for a while. eventually i took a deep breath and called the crisis center. they can’t make recommendations and told me to ask my insurance, which is the opposite of what i wanted to do. i scrolled through google instead. there’s no one near me except one solitary therapist with no reviews or information. i did eventually find that she doesn’t take my insurance so i called a different one who is kind of nearby but also didn’t have any reviews or information except for a phone number. i left a message. if she’s not open on saturdays i might be in trouble though.

also the crisis center doesn’t do appointments on saturdays so that was out too.

i might have to just use my 12-ish allotted appointments with the on-campus counseling center... i didn’t really want to do that because it takes like 3 appointments to get established and then i’d just have to do this search all over again after the 12 meetings were up.

then i made myself some dinner. it wasn’t that great. it needed another dish to complement it but i really didn’t have the energy to make rice or anything.

after that i biked out to the grocery store... at like 6:30. i got everything i needed and i think i stayed within my budget? i got some halloween decorations for my window. and now it’s finally the time of year when it looks like i am being festive instead of having a random wooden skeleton hanging on my wall over the keyboard piano.

he keeps an eye on snoopy while i’m out.

biking home was a nightmare with the cat litter in the front basket throwing off the center of gravity. i had to carry TWO heavy bags on my shoulders instead of one and it was cutting off the blood supply to my arms. still kind of sore where the handle straps were digging into my skin.

after i got home i put everything away and STILL didn’t feel like cleaning the apartment so i...? not sure what i did. a bunch of different little insignificant things. looking through tumblr i guess.

i realized that none of my classmates know that i draw or write. it feels like it should be such a big part of me and yet... i just don’t talk about it. i don’t have much time to draw. i make time sometimes but i dunno. i don’t show them anything. i don’t think anyone even saw the “sunset” representation i drew during our lab introduction when the lecturer was describing how we use symbols and stuff. i talked about that several weeks ago. how she remembered mine and said it was unique i guess.

i started a short story that i was gonna write about someone else’s character, and i still have the general outline in my head, but... i guess the idea feels stupid. it’s really hard to write my characters these days. i don’t know how much emphasis to put on them when other people’s characters are also in the story. i always feel like they are stealing the spotlight. in stories that are written about them. yeah.

i wish... i had a better way to tell what people knew about me. like the pokemon thing genuinely surprised me. this has happened a lot. people say i talk about it constantly, all the time, but like... i dunno. i only remember bringing it up once a week at most in undergrad, just in little references. like “oh there’s an event this week.” 

i guess it might be because i’m not very self aware? am i? i sure feel self conscious. is that different from self aware? 

i make everything about myself. i have to remind myself that i write these for me first and that’s why they are long all-consuming black holes of talking about myself. because otherwise it feels like i’m the only thing i ever talk about. i can’t... share... most of the things i like or am interested in. it feels like. i know i talk about the things i like all the time. is that still talking about myself? i’m so confused.

i’m really struggling to figure out how to not talk about myself all the time. being stuck in a house with mom and dad for eight and a half months was probably not very good for my conversational ability. i don’t know how to talk about anything other than myself because i spent eight months doing nothing but living inside my own head and sometimes walking my dogs. i don’t have anything to talk about! i was my whole life for so long that i forget how to... not. i feel like i don’t focus on other people enough.

ha. that’s another thing. my old friends used to say that they thought their friendships with me were real one-sided because i would share my problems overwhelmingly and not listen to them. then i go to therapy and the therapist is like “people aren’t your friends because you don’t share anything about yourself and expect them to share everything.” 

WHICH IS IT??? WHICH??????? NOT BOTH!!!!!!!!

GOD! I REALLY STRUGGLE WITH MY RELIGION, OK? I FEEL LIKE I SHOULD COMMIT MORE TO A BUDDHIST LIFESTYLE BUT I CAN’T SEEM TO FORCE MYSELF TO AND I WORRY THAT THAT MAKES IT CULTURAL APPROPRIATION OR SOMETHING BECAUSE OH I’M FAKE BUDDHIST, I JUST WEAR IT AS A FASHION STATEMENT, I DON’T ACTUALLY PRACTICE BUT BELIEVE ME I REALLY AM PART OF THAT RELIGION. BELIEVING IN GOD WAS SO HARD EVEN UP UNTIL HIGH SCHOOL. I FELT LIKE GOD HATED ME AND HAD TO TELL MYSELF EVERY DAY THAT HE WOULD UNDERSTAND EVERYONE HE MADE BECAUSE HE KNEW EVERYTHING. AND YET CONTINUOUSLY HORRIBLE THINGS WOULD HAPPEN TO ME AND PEOPLE I CARED ABOUT.

MY POLITICAL VIEWS ARE HARD TO DEFINE. I FEEL LIKE I DON’T HAVE A WORD FOR MY COLLECTION OF BELIEFS. I DON’T HAVE A GOOD IDEA OF WHAT FINANCIAL SYSTEM WOULD WORK BEST. ALL OF THEM SUCK!!!!!!!! AND I CAN’T FIX THAT PROBLEM!!!!!!!!! SO I DON’T THINK ABOUT IT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! BECAUSE OTHERWISE IT STRESSES ME OUT AND MAKES ME MISERABLE LITERALLY ALL DAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I WORRY THAT ALL THIS “NICENESS” AND “KINDNESS” AND “SWEETNESS” THAT OTHER PEOPLE DESCRIBE ME AS HAVING IS FAKE. I’M NOT ACTUALLY KIND. ALL I CAN THINK ABOUT IS MYSELF AND HOW I WOULD FEEL IF I WAS IN THEIR SITUATION. WHAT ELSE AM I SUPPOSED TO THINK ABOUT??? I’M NOT ACTUALLY KIND BECAUSE I’M NOT BRAVE. I CAN’T STAND UP FOR OTHER PEOPLE WHEN THERE’S TOO MUCH RISK I WILL GET HURT. I CAN’T STAND UP FOR MYSELF WHEN THERE’S TOO MUCH RISK I’LL GET HURT!!!!!!! IS THAT VIRTUE SIGNALLING? DO I JUST WANT THE ATTENTION WITHOUT ACTUALLY MAKING A COMMITMENT? I DON’T KNOW!

AM I EVEN CAPABLE OF MAKING A COMMITMENT? I DON’T EVEN PRACTICE POKEMON BATTLES BEFORE I ENTER COMPETITIONS AND THEN I GET BUMMED WHEN I DON’T WIN HALF THE TIME! WHAT DID I EXPECT?????? YOU HAVE TO PRACTICE TO BE ANY GOOD AT ANYTHING AND I DON’T PRACTICE ANYTHING BECAUSE I SPEND ALL MY TIME DOING NOTHING BECAUSE I’M AFRAID IF I MOVE I WON’T BE ABLE TO STOP MYSELF FROM HURTING MYSELF. BECAUSE I HATE MYSELF!

AND I THINK VIDEO GAMES AND CARTOONS ARE REALLY COOL AND I LIKE TONS OF CHARACTERS AND THEY SHOW UP IN MY DREAMS BUT IT’S WEIRD BECAUSE MY BRAIN JUST KIND OF PICKS OUT RANDOM FACES FOR ROLES AND PERSONALITIES IT MAKES UP FOR THE PURPOSE OF THE DREAM SO IT’S NOT REALLY THAT CHARACTER IT’S JUST GOT THEIR MASK ON.

I STILL THINK YOSHI IS REALLY CUTE AND I LIKE USING HIM IN SMASH BROS BECAUSE I HAVE BEEN PLAYING AS HIM FOR 20 YEARS AND IT’S WHAT I’M GOOD AT. BUT I’M ALSO REALLY GOOD AT BOWSER SO IT’S OK RIGHT??? IT’S NOT NERDY RIGHT???????????

LOOK AT HOW MUCH I DON’T KNOW ABOUT ANIME, WHICH I ACTUALLY DO KNOW ABOUT, I’M NOT A NERD RIGHT??????????????? YOU CAN’T TELL THAT I’M FAKING IGNORANCE RIGHT??????????????????

I REALLY LIKE UNDERTALE AND I WILL LISTEN TO THE SOUNDTRACK AS MANY TIMES AS I WANT AND YOU CAN’T MAKE ME STOP BUT I STILL DIE INSIDE IF SOMEONE SEES MY YOUTUBE RECOMMENDATIONS AND SEES “RUINS EXTENDED.”

DO YOU KNOW HOW FASCINATING FILM THEORY IS? I DO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

THAT’S WHAT I THINK ABOUT! THERE! IT’S WRITTEN DOWN SOMEWHERE! BUT MAYBE YOU ALREADY KNEW ALL THIS BECAUSE I AM SUBCONSCIOUSLY TALKING ABOUT ALL OF THIS ALL THE TIME AND I DON’T ACTUALLY HAVE ANY SECRETS OR ANY CONTROL OVER WHAT I SAY OR DO OR WHAT PEOPLE THINK OR KNOW ABOUT ME! I DON’T HAVE ANY CONTROL OVER ANYTHING THAT HAPPENS AROUND ME OR TO ME! I’M JUST A REALLY NERDY LUMP WHO HAS NO SKILLS AND NO ACTUALLY GOOD QUALITIES! ONLY FAKE GOOD QUALITIES! I DON’T REMEMBER HOW TO CARE ABOUT OTHER PEOPLE AFTER I SPEND TIME AT HOME AND I HAVE TO AWKWARDLY RE-LEARN HOW TO BE CONCERNED IN FITS AND SURPRISED STARTS- OH! TAYLOR SEEMS TO ACTUALLY BE UPSET! MAYBE I SHOULD ASK IF HE’S OK??? IS THAT HOW YOU CARE ABOUT PEOPLE AGAIN??????????

I THINK I HAVE ALL THESE SECRETS BUT I DON’T! I DON’T HAVE ANYTHING! I CAN’T EVEN LIE RIGHT BECAUSE I CAN’T TELL IF I AM OR NOT ANY MORE!

[supernatural-bias]

c!Charlie x Reader

---‌

"New Friend!"

Charlie

Tw: Quackity being Quackity I guess

Note: Charlie is so precious istg. Also, this idea came from when I had a dream last night about Quackity domestically abusing me and someone else. It was pretty bad, but I've had worse dreams. Nightmares are the norm for me at this point. When I can even go to sleep that it ‌

Song: "Ghost Fight" By Toby Fox

GN!

---

Fundy groaned as he stood by a black wall. The fox hybrid was pissed, to say the least. He had been stuck on watch duty for the third time in a row. Nothing interesting ever happened while he had to wait on the outskirts of Las Nevadas, only the occasional creeper or skeleton that showed up before getting blasted to bits. But Quackity insisted that he was the best of the best when it came to this job, constantly putting the man in the same position.

Leaning grumpily against the nearest wall, Fundy mumbled a string of empty curses as he kicked a pebble with his foot. He watched it with narrowed eyes as it landed a couple feet away. "Fucking hell, even L'manburg was more intresting than th-"

His speech halted, ears perked up at a sudden noise from nearby. Fundy stood up straight, reaching for his crossbow that lay on his back without even realizing it. Aiming the deadly weapon outwards, he pointed the tip in the direction of the noise.

Fundy had heard a twig snap. Clear as day. His enhanced ears had picked it up almost immediately, warning the man that something was near.

Or someone.

The sounds around him seemed to fade away as he narrowed his eyelids with a scowl. The sun glinted off the metal end of his crossbow, casting a beam of light on the wall behind him.

Suddenly, about three feet from the left of him, a tall figure emerged. Fundy whipped around, his hat nearly falling off as his tail fluttered with the air.

It was a human. Those were pretty rare nowadays, considering all the hybrids that were roaming around. The only thing worth noting about this human though was that they had a thick trail of blood gushing down their head.

Stumbling with murky eyes and muddled speech, their (e/c) eyes locked with his. A small shimmer of hope appeared as they parted their lips.

"Help....me..." They croaked dryly before their eyes rolled into the back of their head.

Falling to the ground with a 'whump!' Fundy scurried over.

Shit. This is going to be hard to explain to Quackity.

---

The first thing (Y/n) experienced when they came to was a pounding pain in their head.

(Y/n) grit their teeth harshly, groaning subconsciously while rolling over, as if that would get rid of the feeling of unrelenting tourture in their cranium. The thin sheets around their body shifted with the movement, allowing a bit of cold air to seep into their warm body.

After gaining the strength to peel their heavy eyes open, (Y/n) immediately closed them. Bright lights had infiltrated their retinas harshly, providing a very uncomfortable feeling to throb in their iris's.

It took (Y/n) a second to open their eyes again, not wanting to meet the same fate as before. Except this time when they looked out, a set of curious green eyes stared right back at them. "Gah!" They sprang up, regretting it as something seemed to tear in the side of their head. Wincing, they looked at the person laying next to them with eyes as wide a sacusers. A green...thing was next to them in the white bed. Some sun shone down from a nearby window, making the new person seem transparent.

Wait

No

They actually were transparent.

(Y/n) ogled at the see-through, tinted green being. But most importantly, that they were laying next to them. In a bed.

Alone.

"W-who are you!" (Y/n) said, glancing down quickly to make sure they still had clothes on. Their basic set of shirts and pants were still on, a small splatter of blood evidence that they hadn't been removed in any way from their body. Okay, so they hadn't been violated. That's a plus.

The guy next to them sat up with a big smile, looking oblivious to how jumpy and scared (Y/n) was. He had glasses on and a cotton t-shirt with a heart design. His hair kept shifting between a woodsy brown color, and a sticky sort of green. Just looking at it made (Y/n)'s head spin. It was like an optical illusion the way his skin would swirl with. A small looking stick thing protruding from his head. If you flipped the guy upside down, he could almost pass as a really big gummy popsicle.

"I'm Slimecicle! But you can just call me Charlie!" He beamed with a bright tone, wiping away a bit of goop from his hair that got on his glasses. (Y/n)'s eyes flitted around nervously, confused out of their mind.

"Where am I? Why are you lying next to me?" They stuttered. Charlie's smile only grew. He thought that they were very pretty.

"You're in Las Nevadas!" He giggled like it was obvious. His voice was playful. Not a deep baritone or a scratchy sound like most of the people (Y/n) had met. "Fundy brought you in, and told me to keep watch while he talked to Quackity." Charlie kept the warm smile on his lips the entire time, eyes filled to the brim with happiness. It made (Y/n) relax in the slightest bit.

"You looked cold, so I decided to come lay next to you." He said before a look akin to realization passed on his face. "Oh no! You're hurt!" He pouted, reaching out quickly to touch (Y/n)'s face.

They moved away frantically, not trusting him enough to touch them just yet. Charlie frown deepened, now accompanied with large sad eyes as he withdrew his hand.

"Im sorry. Quackity doesn't like when I touch him either. Sorry." He apologized twice on accident, not looking (Y/n) in the eyes for the first time ever since they had woken up. He instead directed his attention down to the bed that they were both still sitting on, playing limply with the plain white sheets.

(Y/n) regretted being so harsh to him. They shuffled over slightly, placing a tentative hand on his arm while trying to ignore the everpresent injury in their skull.

Charlie looked up with stars in his eyes. Their small hand felt really warm on his cold skin. It was a warmth he hadn't felt in a while, not even from his best friend Quackity.

"It's okay. I was just a little scared of you, that's all." (Y/n) said, not really knowing what else to do. But it seemed like that was enough for Charlie. He perked up, going back to his original peppy state.

"I get that a lot!" He laughed like it was some sort of inside joke, (Y/n) only nodded along with, still not taking their hand off his arm. They liked the texture of his skin. It was a smooth feeling, only being magnified by the coolness he seemed to radiate naturally.

"Can I touch your head now?" He asked innocently. (Y/n) smiled slightly, appreciating how he asked this time. With a fist pump of victory, the strange man reached out to move some hair gently away from that area of their head.

When Charlie brought his hand back, it was matted with blood. Some of it was dried up, and some of it was more fresh. Looking down at the cream bed sheets, (Y/n) saw a little pool of their blood beginning to form steadily.

Charlie gasped loudly. It seemed like everything he did had to be overdramatic, but (Y/n) didn't think it was on purpose. Nor did they think it was annoying. In fact, (Y/n) found it weirdly endearing.

"We have to clean that up right away!" He grabbed their hand, pulling them off the bed and out of the small room swiftly. (Y/n) wobbled, trying to keep up with Charlie's pace as he dragged them along. Footprints made out of the same green substance as his skiing lingered behind the pair like a trail. The sudden change in motion made (Y/n) a little sick.

(Y/n) was about to ask him to stop pulling them along and that the pain in their head was too much for this, but they stopped at a door right before they could see anything. Charlie knocked with a goofy grin, the sound echoing through the hallway.

The door had a neon pattern, with a design of casino chips littering the polished wood. Looking up slightly, there was a little plague with a name on it.

Mr. Quackity J̶a̶c̶o̶b̶s̶-̶S̶a̶p̶n̶a̶p̶

The last name had been clawed out ferociously, only allowing (Y/n) to see the first name. They looked over at Charlie to ask what that was all about, but he was looking at their still intertwined hands with a toothy grin and wide eyes.

(Y/n)'s face flushed when he caught them looking at him. They looked away, only glancing back at the unusual man when he spoke again.

"I used to see Quackity do this all the time with his other friends!" Charlie said, feeling the need to explain for some reason. He too had a small dusting of pink on his cheeks, but it looked more like a lime green than anything. (Y/n) nodded, their face continuing to heat up.

The door in front of them then creaked open with a heavy smell of cigarette smoke coming from behind it. (Y/n) coughed lightly, wrinkling their nose up at the corners.

Charlie's smile dipped when he saw how uncomfortable (Y/n) looked. He reached over without realizing it with his free hand to pat their shoulder, when a shadow appeared over him.

"Charlie? What are you doing here?" Quackity asked with a gravelly voice. The man in question snapped his hand to his side with another smile, although a bit smaller than when it was directed at (Y/n).

In front of the pair was a very short man sporting some pitch black suspenders with a white button up. He had a large scar running down the right side of his face, teeth and angry red tissue showing from the inside of his cheek. Even if he was shorter than the booth of them, he held an air of superiority and confidence that carried his entire being. The man couldn't be over twenty two.

"Hi Quackity! I wanted (Y/n) to meet my other best friend. Also, they're hurt and need some help." He said. Quackity nodded slowly, taking a drag off his cigarette that was hiding from the corner of his mouth. He ran a hand over his face, the beanie that he was wearing moving slightly.

(Y/n) already did not like the look of this dude. The way Charlie spoke about him made him seem like such a great person, yet as far as they could tell he was just another edgy midget with a gambling problem. (Y/n) didn't like the look of malice in his eyes either.

"You know where the first aid supplies are." Was his short response. Charlie seemed to deflate a little.

"Oh. Okay." He nodded, grin threatening to slip. (Y/n) squeezed his hand as a reflex, making another blotting of blush to show up on the both of their cheeks.

Quackity glanced at their hands for a second, looking up with a curious expression. He hummed with an air of mystery, taking the smoking stick out of his mouth before throwing it on the ground and crushing it underneath his heel with a polished shoe.

"Nice talking as always." Quackity said. He closed the doors soon after, going back to whatever he had been doing before.

(Y/n) waited for something else to happen. Charlie just stood with his hand in the air, the aftermath of a wave that was sent at Quackity hanging limply.

Suddenly, the green man turned to her with sparkling emerald eyes.

"C'mon best friend! Let's get you all cleaned up!"

And then he led them down the hall once more.

---

c!Charlie, you platonic hand in marriage please.

I have so many requests to do and they are all so good! Augh!

I think I'll go do those right now. Hope you enjoyed reading this one as much as I did writing it. Not gonna lie, I think this is my favorite chapter as of right now.

2031 words

-WayToSarcastic