#the lost october sessions | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

r3starttt · 2 months ago

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GHOSTFACE ABBY

PAIRING: abby x reader

SUMMARY: Why not take a break from college and try the sticky, intoxicating atmosphere of a Halloween party? What could possibly go wrong, right?

CW: abby is a bit of a stalker. knife kink (like, fr) dry humping. breath play. choking. slight noncon but not really. mask kink. spit kink. cum eating. blood kink(? fingering. strap on. messy sloppy violent sex. bit of a pervert insane Abby and reader ngl.

A/N: ITS FICTION, REMEMBER IT DOESN'T NEED TO MAKE SENSE, REMEMBER NO MEANS NO, CONSENT MATTERS AND I DO NOT INTEND TO MAKE IT SEEM ANY OTHER WAY.

TAGLIST | KINKTOBER: @s4pphic-myth @levilvrr @girlkisser168 @bilsvlt @tlouloser @marsworldd @softlikesilk-chiffon @grey-jedi12 @slut4ellienabby @roos4lm4 @elliezlils11utt @1-800-fantasy @ellieswifee232 | - abby taglist: @imdrowningindispair @rkivedpages @aouiaa @bruhhtsukjf @twopeoplee @wastdstime | I dedicate this to @clairoscharm lysm

Halloween night—the air buzzing with anticipation for weeks as if the entire month of October revolved around this one event. Since the clock had struck midnight to mark the start of the month, Halloween had been the only topic on everyone’s lips. Your roommate, half-asleep and barely keeping her eyes open, had interrupted your shared study session with a groggy yet excited declaration that Halloween had officially begun. For her, at least.

Exams were looming just as close as the holiday, and you weren’t exactly thrilled about the idea of going to some lame party. It wasn’t like it would be your last Halloween, or the last chance to throw on a costume and get drenched in sweat while the stench of alcohol clung to your skin. But when the study material became a blur and your brain refused to retain anything, you found yourself thinking, why not? Maybe a break was exactly what you needed.

So here you were, wearing a last-minute ghostface mask, barely bothering to put any effort into the costume despite it being one of your favorite movies. Half the people in the cramped, sweaty space around you were dressed just as lazily. You’d lost track of your roommate hours ago, the blur of bodies and pulsing music swallowing her up as you found yourself dancing mindlessly with someone whose face you hadn’t even glanced at. A long braid swung past your peripheral vision, and the way they touched you made it easy to assume—hope—it was a woman. But it didn’t really matter. Both of you wore masks, and in your alcohol-fueled haze, you doubted you’d remember any of this tomorrow.

Boredom set in quicker than you anticipated. The press of bodies, the heat rising off the dance floor, and the tightness of your costume made your skin itch. You pushed away from the stranger behind you, their touch becoming less interesting by the second. You turned to face them briefly, offering a lazy dance before slipping away toward the kitchen, your throat burning for a drink that wasn’t spiked punch.

Something inside you craved more—maybe more alcohol, maybe more excitement.

As soon as you stepped into the quieter space, you ripped off the mask, gasping for air. The kitchen was a sanctuary compared to the chaos outside, and you immediately began rummaging for something to soothe your dry throat.

“Hey.” A hand gripped your shoulder unexpectedly, and you spun around, a flicker of annoyance rising as you struggled to process the voice. It was your roommate, glancing over your shoulder at the masked figure still lingering in front of the doorway. They were staring at you, unbothered by your roommate’s obvious curiosity. "Uhh, you got another gift? I forgot to tell you, it's a note- Who’s that?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

You shrugged, dismissing the question as you reached for a drink.

“Don’t be like that, that's why creeps stalk you" she laugher at you, giving your hand a playful squeeze before her boyfriend swooped in, pulling her away by the waist. “They look hot. Go have some fun!”

You watched her go, their matching costumes adorable as they disappeared into the crowd. Despite her sweet words, your heart wasn’t in it. You didn’t come here looking for romance or hookups. You just wanted to drink, dance a little, and wake up tomorrow with sore feet from your heels rather than the crick in your neck from the endless hours hunched over textbooks.

The buzz of your phone in your pocket interrupted your thoughts. You fumbled for it under the thin black robe you’d thrown on, nearly exposing half your leg as you pulled it free. An unknown number flashed on the screen, but before you could decline the call, it stopped.

Prank call? you wondered, about to take a sip of your drink when the phone vibrated again, the same unknown number lighting up. This time, curiosity got the better of you, and you thought on answering, heading upstairs in search of some quiet.

Maybe it was some stupid prank, but who knew—perhaps it would be entertaining enough to break up the monotony of the night.

After knocking on a few doors, you finally found an empty room. It felt oddly strange, like a guest room no one had ever used. With the door locked behind you, you tossed your phone onto the bed and peeled off your mask, taking a moment to inspect the sparsely decorated space. Just a small bed, some empty cabinets, and a window overlooking the front garden. The wood creaked as you opened the window, the night air cooling your flushed skin. The phone buzzed again, and you glanced down at the screen.

Unknown number.

The phone buzzed again, and this time, curiosity got the better of you. You picked it up and clicked on the unknown number. Before you could speak, the person on the other end hung up. Maybe they got the wrong number, or maybe you could have some fun with it—prank them back, perhaps.

So, you tried again until they answered, the silence between you and the caller stretching on for a beat too long.

Then, a voice—distorted, almost robotic—crackled through. “You’re not going to say anything?”

You smirked at the tone, leaning against the windowsill. “And why should I?”

A low chuckle echoed through the line. “You took off your mask.”

Your smirk faltered, and you glanced around the empty room. No one was there. The door was locked. “How do you know that?” It felt stupid to ask. Haven't you learned from your horror movies to never say the truth?

“I’m watching you.”

The words made you uncomfortable but not scared—just a little on edge. You leaned out the window, scanning the crowd below, your eyes narrowing until you spotted them. The person from earlier, the one you’d been dancing with, stood beneath the flickering streetlight, their braid still hanging down from the mask they hadn’t removed. A sense of unease washed over you.

“Oh, it’s you.”

The voice on the other end of the line was amused. “Talk like you know me.”

The robotic distortion couldn’t mask the mocking tone, and you rolled your eyes. “The voice changer’s a nice touch, but I’m not into men. So, thanks but no thanks.”

They laughed again. “I know. I felt it.”

The way they said it made your skin crawl, and you shifted your weight, trying to shake off the discomfort. “If you wanted to fuck me, you could’ve just come over instead of asking for my number and pulling this creepy shit.”

Silence greeted your accusation, but then you saw them step back into the house, disappearing from sight. The voice, now laced with something darker, whispered, “Who said I asked for your number?”

Your brows knitted together in confusion. “What?”

But they had already hung up.

You stared at your phone, dialing back over and over again, only to be met with nothing but silence. the unsettling realization creeping in that this wasn’t just a prank.

Your thoughts raced, and you frantically tried to get ahold of your roommate. If anyone could help or at least confirm this was some elaborate joke, it would be her. But as expected, there was no reply. Probably busy with her boyfriend, fucking in the back of his truck, oblivious to the flood of messages you sent—urgent pleas—all falling on deaf ears.

If what he or she, said was true and they really was coming for you, then what? What could you do? Hide in this empty, unfamiliar room until morning? Sneak out of the house, risking everything for what?

Was this just some elaborate game to mess with your head? Maybe it was your roommate and her boyfriend playing a cruel prank, knowing how much you loved horror movies.

How ironic, you thought bitterly. The last time you watched Scream, they mocked it endlessly, laughing at how you called it your favorite. There was a humor in the stupidity of the characters' decisions, how everyone died in such obvious, avoidable ways.

And here you are.

The pounding music rattled through the walls and floor, vibrations crawling up the windows and doors, masking any sound that might have been out of place. You didn’t hear anything strange—or at least, you convinced yourself of that. No more calls. No more knocks. The alcohol coursing through your veins dulled the edge of unease, numbing your thoughts as the beer in your hand burned its way down your throat. Each bitter sip was a slow erasure of worry, an excuse to keep your phone face down and your gaze fixed on the window, half hoping to see someone familiar out there in the dark.

But no one came. No one ever would.

You downed the rest of the beer in one go, your nerves drowned in the haze of indifference. The strange call, the unsettling feeling—it was nothing. It had to be. The night was dragging on, the party getting louder, more chaotic, as if the whole neighborhood had surrendered to the noise and drunken laughter. The vibration of it all felt endless—until three sharp knocks cut through the noise.

Your heart stammered, beating against your ribs. Maybe it was a couple, drunk and looking for a private space. That was it. Nothing strange. You cursed under your breath, fumbling for your mask. "Hold on—I'm coming!" you called out, annoyance biting at your tone.

You abandoned the empty beer somewhere in the room, grabbing your phone with a shaky hand, adjusting the mask over your face as you unlocked the door.

But it wasn’t what you expected.

They stepped in without hesitation, a figure in the same costume as yours, locking the door behind them with a deliberate click. “Take your time,” they said, their voice low, almost mocking.

A pulse of dread shot through you. You could push them, shove them away—but something in the air made you hesitate. One of their hands lingered on the door, the other stayed at their side, but their presence was overpowering. The thrum of music outside dulled, the beat fading into the background as if the room itself had swallowed the sound.

“This isn’t funny,” you managed, your voice faltering as their hand reached for something under their robe. Before you could move, before you could think, the glint of a knife appeared between you, slow and deliberate, the blade tracing an invisible line in the air.

"Don't make this harder," they murmured, tilting their head. The voice was too familiar, too close. “The phone.”

You froze, confusion knitting your thoughts together as you stared at them. “I—what?”

A heavy silence enveloped the room, stretching into an awkward pause before you found your voice again, "What's the knife for?" the question sounding foolish even to your own ears. Had you learned nothing from the movies?

The figure before you laughed. "You’re gonna beg me not to use it?" they taunted, a playful menace in their tone.

You didn’t respond, only managing a plead in return."Please don’t kill me?" voice laced with mock desperation, an attempt to gauge how far they would take this game.

"Please! Oh, please!" you whined, the words slipping from your lips in a mix of humor and genuine anxiety, testing the limits of this bizarre encounter. Stopping as the blade suddenly pressed against your chest, its cold steel a stark reminder of the danger that lurked just beneath the surface of your playful banter.

“I would’ve killed you already if I wanted to. Just do what I say, yeah?” Their tone was almost casual, as if they were giving you simple instructions, not pressing a blade against your nerves.

You stepped back, misjudging the distance, your body stumbling into the bed. You grabbed at the frame for balance, but your limbs betrayed you, collapsing onto the mattress. They followed, kneeling down, their movements deliberate. The knife stayed in view, tracing the hem of your robe, drawing slow, delicate lines up and down your leg.

"Who are you?" you breathed, trying to make sense of the surreal. The costume. The mask. The knife.

“I’ve been looking for you,” they said, shrugging as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “I know you’ve been looking for me too.”

Confusion twisted in your gut, mixing with fear. The words, their voice—it all felt too close, too intimate. Like something out of a twisted game. They leaned in, their hands finding your knees, their touch unsettlingly calm, hovering just over the fabric of your robe.

“Phone,” they said again, their patience thinning. The knife skimmed lightly over your skin, not enough to hurt, but enough to send chills racing up your spine. “Turn it off, or give it to me.”

Your hand trembled as you reached for it, turning the screen off and placing it on the small table beside the bed. The distance felt too far, too close, all at once.

The glint of the knife wasn’t as sharp as it had been before. Their touch on your knees softened, becoming more deliberate than threatening. It was like they were waiting for you to push back—to take control of the situation—but you didn’t. Something about their voice, their presence, stopped the fear from settling too deeply.

Your eyes darted over their masked face, searching for a clue—anything to grasp onto. You wanted to pull the mask off, but something kept you in place, curious, almost intrigued.

A breath of a laugh escaped them, soft but unmistakable. The knife’s path stilled, hovering just above your skin, almost teasing. “You catch on quick.”

There was a dangerous allure in the anonymity, an irresistible pull that rooted you in place, daring you to stay, to see what they would do next. Maybe it was the haze of alcohol clouding your thoughts, or maybe it was the thrill of the unknown, but a part of you—buried deep—wanted this moment to linger.

The knife in their hand skimmed along your skin, grazing lightly, never breaking the surface. Each touch was calculated, teasing, as if they were testing how far you were willing to let them go.

“What do you want?” Your voice, barely more than a whisper, trembled with curiosity.

They leaned in closer, their voice lowering to a deep, almost intimate tone, vibrating through the mask. “I think you already know.”

The blade, which had been dancing across your skin moments before, now retreated. In its place, their hand slid onto your leg, warm and firm, sending a different kind of shiver through you. This wasn’t just fear anymore—it was a game, one you were both playing willingly.

“What if I don’t want to?” you challenged, but your body betrayed the words, your legs parting slightly.

The knife’s point pressed into your thigh, a small, sharp warning that made you freeze in place. It didn’t hurt, not really, but the message was clear: slow down. You met their gaze—or rather, the hollow eyeholes of the mask—trying to see past the shadows behind it.

“You would’ve done something already,” there was a brief pause, simply observing each other “You know how these things go in the movies, right?”

Whoever they were, they knew you, and in some strange, twisted way, you felt like you knew them too. It had to be someone from the party, someone playing along for the thrill of it.

“Take it off,” you demanded, your hands instinctively reaching for the edge of their mask.

But before your fingers could hook beneath the mask, they caught your wrist, their grip quick and firm. “Where’s the fun in that?” Their voice held you in place. “Mhm?”

The frustration and curiosity mounted, and before you could stop yourself, you blurted out, “Let me hear you then?”

They straightened, towering over you now, the knife still in hand but no longer a threat. With deliberate slowness, they trailed the tip of the blade upward, grazing the fabric of your robe, teasing a path along your stomach and between your breasts. The movement was agonizingly slow.

You only watched them rise to their full height. The sound of their boots echoed in the loud quiet between both.

They stopped just short of the bed, looming above. Their gloved hand slipped beneath the folds of their cloak, withdrawing a small handheld device, their fingers pressed down on its side. The mechanical hum that had filled the space between you was suddenly gone.

The silence that followed felt deafening, louder than any threat they could have made. It was just you and the masked figure.

There was a thrill in not knowing who they were, but now, with the voice changer off, the danger felt less like a game and more like something real, something you weren’t quite ready to step away from. You didn't want to.

Their voice, when it came, was soft, natural—more intimate than before. “Better?”

You didn't have enough time to process the situation—not that you truly cared anymore.

The cool steel of her knife pressed against your chin, tilting your head upward. "Yeah, better."

The blade traced a deliberate path down your body, as if slicing through the cheap fabric of your robe with ease.

Her legs nestled between your knees, forcing you back against the bed, the soft mattress giving way beneath you. Your weight settled on your elbows, propping yourself up as you struggled to catch your breath. The mask felt suffocating, the heat of your body trapped beneath it, but the cool air from the half-closed window rushed in, caressing your half exposed skin and providing a momentary reprieve .

You could feel the rush of arousal coursing through you, intensifying with each inch of skin that was bared by her free hand, or the small orifices caused by the sharpness of the knife. She loomed over you, an imposing figure cloaked in power, and the simple costume transformed her into something far more formidable.

You wondered if it was the alcohol clouding your judgment, making you feel this desperate—or maybe it wasn’t.

You were wearing not the most usual underwear beneath the robe, but it hadn’t been for this moment; it was merely a playful nod to tease, a way to show off a bit while trying to stave off the heat of the night. You had dressed for fun, yet here you were, caught in an unexpected turn of events. How had it all spiraled to this?

Her hands pushed the robe up your thighs, uncovering you and showing you full for her. The pads of her fingers trailing it's way over your stomach first, then down your thighs to caress over the robe. all the way up your clavicle and under your mask. her fingers coming to hover over your neck mocking the act of choking before she focused on your breasts again.

Your breath got caught under the mask, trapping you fully beneath her. The sight before you painted in a dark tone, it felt surreal. There was an itch at the tip of your fingers, wanting to feel her, pull her closer and take that mask off even if yours was still on, make it messy and provide her with your humiliation and the desperation of wanting her. So, you reached for her, playing with the little fabric that your fingers could touch- only that way you realized she was no longer interested in whatever was behind the mask, but under the robe.

Her knife was long forgotten, calloused hands holding you in place, dancing over the black fabric of your costume to feel the lace beneath, going down and getting a preview of your body as she slid herself down, making space for her with her legs, separating yours and guiding your thighs open with the cold of her hands. It wasn't until she was on her knees that you fully sinked into the matresss, staring blankly at the ceiling and it's spots, humidity. Proper of a horror film.

But it stopped. She took her mask off, covering now with the length of your robe. There was nothing you could see that wasn’t that characteristic braid, she was blonde.

Her hands came to hold yours in place, you would get to see her. Just not now, and she'll make sure of it. No peeking.

Your lips parted open at the sensation of her lips, a warm kiss over the thin of your lacy panties. Your stomach raised in response, a shaky breath that to her meant it all. You were everything she had been dreaming of. Maybe she was too.

It was slow, a chain of kisses displayed over the wet that was passing through the pretty patterns of your panties. You hold her hands, digging your nails in between her fingers, making small circles over her knuckles, anything that could make her understand this wasn't fair.

To her it was only annoying, growling at the sight of your pussy clenching around nothing, was it this easy for anyone to get you?

The supposed dream come true was far from what her mind had created.

To be fair, she barely knew you and you barely knew her, or that she thought. Either way, If you didn't provide her the enjoyment of the story her brain had worked on creating for the past few months, the knife was still an option.

Her hands guided yours over your lap, trapping them with only one of hers before the other one went under the robe.

With her digits she pushed your clothes aside, pressing her tongue over your clit, her fingers holding the panties in place.

You tasted better than what she'd pictured. Her moans- you couldn't hear but feel, sense- it wouldn't surprise you if your brain was imagining them even.

It didn't took her long before she slid her tongue between- up and down your slit, taking a break to scissor your folds with her fingers, rubbing the smallest circles above your arousal, admiring the sight her eyes could barely see with the little light coming from the room.

She licked your cunt, rolling her tongue in between your folds, sucking at your clit, kissing at your hole. You tasted ridiculously good. She spit over you, admiring your glistening pussy, all this for her. Your legs opened more if that was even possible, clenching at absolute nothing but the sensation of her drool and your slick mixing deliciously over your sensitive clit and down your hole.

It was quiet aside the loud music and voices coming through the window. Your whines were barely heard and so were her moans. Truth is, behind it all there were to faces and bodies as equally wet and desperate. Truly.

She slid her tongue in, savoring and feasting on your taste. You were wet and sticky and she was making a mess of it, sinking against your pussy in the sloopiest way possible. It was aggressive and dirty and it was turning your brain into absolute nothing.

Her fingers wrapped tighter around your hands, until they let go and she stopped mid ministrations. Both of her hands going to the hem of your panties, taking them off for you and getting to touch at the tender of your legs before she kept going.

What If you did something and the knife had to be used? she wouldn't want this to be how she'll get to savor you. You knew, if she was something, she was doing it properly.

Her hands left the flesh of your thighs to grip at your hands again, holding them in place. Even when you tightened around her face and barely let her breathe, she didn't care about anything that wasn't the obscene of your wet pussy and her tongue eating you out, anything that wasn't those quiet gasps for air and whines that left your pretty lips. Would they be as glossy as the sight before her?

You were suffocating, eyes closed and knotted eyebrows. Lips open to catch your breath and let the pleasure escape as loud as you felt like- who would hear anyway?

The warmth pooled on your stomach. Your legs finding comfort over her shoulders, pressing her closer, deeper. You didn't care about her either, you never did and this wasn't gonna change it, but for now your fuzzy brain could only think and go for the orgasm. Her tongue felt ridiculously good, her hands were heavy and you knew she wanted you, she needed you. It was turning you as desperate and intense as she was.

"Fuck- fuck, fuck..." you warned, only making her work harder for your pleasure. She did take her time with you, it was her fantasy, but the moment was making her weaker. At one point, after being squeezed between your thighs and pressed against your slick, could there be any better?

For one last time she sinked her face into your soaking cunt, her tongue delighting herself with the bundle of nevers she craved.

if she could she'll eat you alive, sense your blood, mix it in her tongue with your arousal. feel all the warmth withing you. "fuck" she whined, yes, whined. with it came the slurps, taking in all you had for her. She would not waste any of it.

You bucked your hips closer to her, lifting them- your body turning into a humiliating response, loud and stupid for her. Letting out a chain of blabbers, nonsense pleads for her.

It had you salivating, her touch. She didn't stop Inmediatelly, not even when savoring what was left for her to take. She kissed at your clit, sucking and playing with it while you still squirmed. It was just a last taste.

You're far too gone, feeling the warmth taking over you. You don't realize she's right there, on her knees for you and you only.

The scene is beyond obscene, with your slick running down her chin, her baby hairs dancing over her forehead and sides of her face, above her flushed freckled cheeks. It's delighting delightful, truly.

You turn your head up, the mask covering your face still an impediment for her to actually see how much of an effect she'd achieved on you. But God if she could only see your eyes.

"Abby?"

Her eyes flicker toward you, and you catch the faintest smirk playing at her lips. She wipes the corner of her mouth with her thumb, as if savoring the taste of what just happened. It makes your stomach twist—desire and dread, intertwined. You swallow hard, your breath uneven, and her nod is slow, deliberate.

"Come on... you didn’t know?" Her voice is honeyed, but it drips with something darker, something mocking. You've never heard her sound this soft, yet it wraps around your throat like a noose. You feel your chest rise and fall too quickly—she sees it, her eyes locked on the rise and fall of your breath.

Her hands rest lazily on your knees, the soft brush of her fingertips teasing. Her gaze flicks to the discarded panties on the floor—yours, taken by her, claimed like a trophy. The smirk deepens, and she stands, her presence looming over you.

"I mean... double A's are pretty common," you mutter, trying to sound indifferent, as if the heat between your legs wasn’t still pulsing, as if her touch didn’t set your body on fire. She doesn’t seem fazed by your lame attempt at deflection. If anything, it amuses her.

From behind her back, a flash of metal—she pulls out the knife, lazily letting it drop beside you on the bed. The weight of it bouncing against the mattress makes your pulse spike, but the tension in your body remains, a slow-burning ache. You want her, even now—maybe especially now.

She takes off her Ghostface robe, the identity game long over. You do the same, peeling the mask off, but it’s not like either of you were ever fooled. Not really. You’ve known from the beginning who was under the mask.

Her voice cuts through the quiet. "Oh, so I’m not special?" It’s teasing, but there’s an edge to it, a warning. She takes a step closer, her fingers tracing over her belt, dark eyes never leaving yours. "Who’s the other one?"

You let out a breathy laugh, your lips curling into a smile, playful yet sharp. "You're the only one, Abby. I just didn’t expect you to be such a psycho." The word rolls off your tongue, half a taunt, half admiration. You cross your legs, your posture casual, until she presses her hands on your knees, parting them with ease.

She leans in close, towering over you with that intoxicating blend of power and desire. "Oh, so you get to be a creep, but I can’t?" she breathes, her face hovering inches from yours, her knee wedged between your thighs, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. Her hands grip the mattress beside your head, caging you in.

"It was just a joke," you murmur, though the words sound hollow. You know the truth. You had been obsessed with her, watching her from the shadows, reveling in her weirdness.

"A joke, huh?" she tilts her head, her braid sliding over her shoulder as she studies you. "Then why did you call me in the middle of the night, moaning my name while you touched yourself?"

Before she can say more, you grab her braid, pulling her down for a kiss, tasting the remnants of yourself on her lips. It’s rough, desperate, filled with unspoken confessions. You pull back just enough to murmur against her mouth, "I didn’t stalk your house. I didn’t send you creepy gifts or follow your friends. That was all you, Abby."

Her eyes burn into yours, a silent challenge. She leans down, her body pressing into yours, the cold metal of her belt buckle digging into your stomach. The weight of her presses you further into the mattress, her presence consuming you. Your legs rub against hers, your body reacting instinctively to the tension, the anticipation.

One of her hands trails down your stomach, teasingly low, but just when you think she’ll give you what you crave, she slides her hand to cup the back of your thigh, pulling it against her. The pressure of her knee against you remains, enough to keep you on edge.

"Was I supposed to just let you have your fun and forget about it?" Her breath is warm against your neck, her lips hovering but not touching. "Call the police, maybe? I had proof, you know."

Her words send a shiver down your spine, the weight of her intentions hanging heavy in the air. You had thought you were in control—but maybe not.

"So? I didn’t ask you not to—"

You freeze mid-sentence, feeling a sharp sting, a cold bite against your thigh. You glance down, eyes widening as you see the tip of the knife pressed into your skin, just enough to draw the faintest bead of blood.

"No, no... go on," she taunts, her breath hot against your neck as she laughs, the sound low and mocking. The knife digs just a little deeper, enough to remind you who’s really in charge here.

"I love you... don’t you love me?" she whispers. Her lips brush your ear, her voice wrapping around you like a noose. "I know you read my letters," she mutters, the blade dragging slowly up the side of your ribs, a chilling contrast to the heat of her breath against your skin.

Her free hand moves from your awkwardly positioned leg, gliding up your arm, fingers tracing the strap of your bra before she slips it off your shoulder. Her touch is deliberate, almost tender, as if savoring each inch of your skin she claims. "I know you liked them too... the things I wrote," she murmurs, her lips growing wetter with each word, as if the memories of what she’d written—the sinful things you’d done with her words on paper—had soaked into her thoughts.

But then her voice drops to a whisper, barely audible over the sound of your own ragged breathing. "Though... you didn’t wear my gift tonight." Her fingers slide both bra straps down your arms, slow, methodical. She leans back just enough to study your face, watching for your reaction.

"What gift?" you murmur, confusion clouding your thoughts as you instinctively cup her face, her skin hot and slick with sweat beneath your palm. But the sensation of her thigh grinding between your legs clouds everything, making it hard to think straight, hard to focus on anything but the pulsing ache she’s causing.

"I knew she would be an issue..." Abby groans, her voice darkening as she stares up at you, her eyes flashing with something feral. Before you can even ask what she means, her mouth is on you again, kissing over your collarbone, her lips leaving dark marks in their wake. Each bruise blooms beneath her mouth, an unspoken claim on your skin.

"Did you hurt her?" The question stumbles from your lips, your voice shaky. You didn’t care that much about your roommate, not really—but the idea that Abby could do something... it chills you. Would she hurt you, too?

"No... but you’d like me to," she laughs, pulling back to meet your gaze with a look that makes your stomach flip. Her eyes—those hauntingly beautiful eyes—burn into yours, stripping away whatever facade she used to wear at school. She’s something else now, something untamed, something dangerous.

Your breath catches as her hand slips between your thighs again, fingers teasing, pressing just enough to make you squirm. Words choke in your throat, swallowed by the intensity of her touch. And the blade—still in her hand—hovers dangerously close, a constant reminder of the twisted game you’ve found yourself in.

She slids inside you with ease, humping against you with each thrust her fingers do. Curling inside you, rubbing your clit with her thumb.

You only close your eyes, mouth open for her to hear. She moans in exchange, knuckle deep inside that pretty pussy she's much dreamed about.

"Look at me" but you ignore her, too focused on that sensation in between your legs that feels like being on heaven.

Her eyes go down between your bodies, her pants now covered in your wet. "Fucking- look at me" She warns one last time, hips bucking against yours, against her own hand while you clench around her digits.

But as you do, her words get ignored once again. The weight chocking you suddenly fades, but the wet of your pussy keeps being filled- that's all you care about.

Or that's all you cared about. "Suck," just like that your eyes meet her again, a clear mad displayed on your face. You would use that knife on her- "Yeah... good girl."

There's a web of saliva connecting your lips, broken by her fingers resting on your tongue. You just do what she says, not a major hesitation- not a physical one, at least.

"You taste so good, don't you agree?" you feel the weight of her body sitting over your leg. The response she gets is a nod, lately followed by a gag- she went too far.

It feels good, her fingers filling your mouth, your flavor mixing with your drool. Her weight numbing your leg. You moan at it, giving her the full show. You know what she's here for.

Her other hand comes to her belt, undoing it while her gaze rests over yours. "Sit" the weight of her lap abandoned your leg, pressing a small slap against your thighs while her knees depened the fabric beneath her. Only there you got a proper sight of her body, her tight black shirt and the boxers peeking through while she got rid of her pants. Just like you'd imagined it to be- not really how you'd fantasized it'll happen.

The drool connected her fingers to the fat of your lips just a few seconds before her command, the sight as obscene as the wet between your legs at the mere loss of her fingers filling you, knowing what was ahead would end in a tragedy, worth it though.

There was no warning but her hands on your ass, forcing you to sink in and elicting the most delicious moan out of your mouth. The sensation, the alcohol, the music, the fantasy of it all- you were dying tonight.

Her pretty lips popped open, head against the matress while her nails dig in the fat of your lower back, tracing the flesh of your ass cheeks in a painful way- awkward, even. You couldn't care any less.

"This what you wanted?" Abby was already out of breath, her stomach twirling at the mere sensation of your hips riding over her cock- she could feel it. You nodded, leaning closer to her "This what you wanted?" the retort left your mouth with less shame, you knew she'd planned it to be perfect, you knew inside that mind of hers it all evolved around you.

Just seeing her, willing to hurt you yet please you in the most perfect detailed way, what was love if not that? And for you, what could be a greatest prove of your own devotion if not dying for her, allowing her to fulfill her creepiest fantasies for once in her pretty perfect life.

"Y-Yeah" her tone bellow a whisper while her hands gripped at your breasts. hardened nipples between her fingers while your own hands went to rub down the soft of her freckled skin. She was strong, just like you had fantasied about. Even better.

"Yeah?" Your voice came out higher than you wanted it to, it became mocking. Her hands didn't wait long before attaching to your neck, enveloping the soft tainted skin with her fingers. she was delicate still.

You rode at the beat, the breath passing through your agitated lips feeling warmer, fading. Eyebrows closed in hope of a sign, a warning- there would never be one.

You didn't stop, it was impossible to when it felt that good. Her dick inside you, hitting you as if it was meant for you- and how you clenched around it, how good it felt whenever you sank in again and again and again. The sight of her pretty fucked up face, the sensation of loosing your breath in between. It felt too good.

But the knife was close and the temptation too. It was your plan to begin with, not hers.

So, you picked it, placing it between her pretty tits, only covered by that shirt shed worn for you tonight. She looked deliciously inviting, with that fear on her eyes like the first time you ever followed her and she caught you, similar to that time you called her after her first failed exam, moaning and whining her name while your digits clinched at your pussy, hoping it was her.

"Breathe baby... come on, don't be like that" your ears caught that peculiar laugh, giggle-like. She was nervous, had she not thought about how bad this would end?

Her hands freed your neck, and you did what she asked "No, in..." Her hands picked at the knife, guiding you "out... yeah, good girl."

The warmth in your stomach grew in a ridiculous extent. "Again, come- fuck- come on." And you did, breathing in and out at the speed she pleased, it felt even more suffocating that way. "You close?"

You titled your head back, enjoying the freedom to move your hips as you wanted to. There was nothing to hold to, but the knife covered by her hands. You wished it was her tits.

"Please baby... come on" the blade fell over her stomach, ignored as her grip went to your hair, holding you in place for her to properly take in the scenery she'd so delicated planned for tonight.

Abby was whimpering for you, Abigail Anderson, whining, crying, pleading for you to use her cock, ride her until she had your arousal glistening over it, until she could heard those pretty calls for her name one last time.

"M' gonna- fuck" there you go, her pretty good girl. So sad she'd had enough for tonight.

It was messy. The arousal still between your legs, your back against the matress while you chocked and pressed your nails as deep and strong as human against her neck. Her hands fighting to to the same for you.

The kiss was sloppy and it had happened in the blink of an eye. You should've picked the knife when the chance was given, instead of focusing on how her throat would close whenever you whine her name, whenever the strap hit against her fucking desperate pussy, rubbing against her clit the right amount to make her stomach pain and her mouth drool.

There was blood by the end. Double A's craved in your thighs while you stared at the ceiling and she crawled at the end of the bed to simply sit and catch her breath. The fat of her fingers tracing over the scratches around her neck and over her stomach. "Fuck"

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misctf · 2 months ago

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Already in Costume

Happy start to October! Hoping to write a few stories to celebrate Halloween and spooky season. Enjoy!

“Bro, you’re seriously not going out tonight? It’s Halloween bro!”

Michael found it funny how offended his roommate sounds. Was it really so hard to believe that others might not want to dress up in stupid, slutty costumes and drink all night? He adjusts his glasses and looks over at his roommate.

“I much prefer to stay indoors.” He replies, “Besides, this lab report isn’t going to write itself.”

Joey looked perplexed, “Yeah, but...”

“And isn’t a bit too cold out for that.” He gestures at Joey’s getup, “I mean, what are you even supposed to be?” His nasally voice carries a condescending tone.

Joey looks down at himself. He’s topless, ensuring his muscles are on full display. Suspenders wrap around his broad shoulders, connecting to a pair of shorts that show off his bulge and bubble butt well. A pair of fake, thick rimmed glasses sit comfortably on his face.

“Dude, the alcohol will keep me warm.” He rubs the back of his head sheepishly, exposing his hairy pit, “And I’m a sexy nerd, dude! I mean, it’s obvious, right?”

Michael’s braying laughter fills the room. A sexy nerd? Really? For all intents and purposes, Michael knew what a nerd is. He prided himself on being one. Dressed in a pastel button down and high-waited khakis, thick-rimmed glasses, and hair neatly combed, Michael truly dressed and acted the part. Joey- not so much.

“A sexy nerd?” Michael laughs, “Oh Joey, that’s ridiculous.”

“But dude, this was your idea.”

Michael raises an eyebrow, “What?”

“Yeah, bro.” Joey smirks, “You’re the one who thought we’d look good like this.”

Michael chuckles, “You must be mistaken.” But he feels uneasy. Like something isn’t totally right, “I need to...” When he turns back to his computer, he doesn’t find his lab report. No, the college football game is on, “What?”

“What’s wrong, Mikey?” Joey is now uncomfortably close to Michael, standing over him with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“No-nothing.” His voice cracks and he tries to stand up, but Joey pushes him back into his chair, “What’re you...?”

“Don’t you remember how excited you were for this?” Joey asks, watching as Michael’s pants start to shorten, until settling about his knees, “People won’t stop staring, dude.” Michael watches as his shirt vanishes, exposing his slender figure.

“No... this isn’t...” Joey starts rubbing his thin chest, causing him to moan.

“Fuck, all those gym sessions really paid off, huh?” Joey whispers, feeling as his hand fills with Michael’s meaty pec muscles, “Fuck, and look at those.” Michael groans as his abs pop into existence, each perfectly sculpted.

“Joey... what’re you... oh god...” He moans as he feels his soft dick start to harden.

“Damn dude, fuck...” Joey whispers as he runs his hands along Michael’s growing arms. Perfectly toned biceps and triceps emerge form Michael’s once skinny arms, his shoulders rounding out with beautiful muscle, “God, you’re so fucking sexy.” Joey grinds up against Michael’s hardened cock, both of them moaning.

“Please... Joey... keep going...” Michael mumbles, lost in the moment. He can feel his ass fill out in his new shorts and watches as a pair of suspenders wraps around his broad shoulders, “Fuck...”

As the two continue to grind against one another, Michael’s glasses are knocked off. He gasps when he realizes he can see perfectly without them, but he’s distracted as Joey’s lips collide with his own. As the two kiss passionately, Michael’s thoughts are bombarded by new knowledge. Slow at first, but suddenly aggressive. Pushing out his nerdy interests.

“Wait, bro... no...” He breaks away from the kiss, his new dumb, yet sexy voice filling the air, “I’m not...”

But Joey’s lips collide with Michael’s again and the former nerd can barely think straight. He feels a calm wash over him as his stuck-up nature is replaced by that of a relaxed bro. He leans more into the kiss and more forcefully grinds up against Joey’s juicy ass. His interest in the hard sciences transitions to exercise science, while his passion for videogames becomes only focused on first-person shooters with his bros.

“What was that Mikey?” Joey breaks the kiss again and grins.

“I...I... fuck dude, keep going, please.” Mikey says, consumed in a horny lust.

“Fuck yeah, bro.” Joey grins, “But dude, we’re late to the party.”

Mikey whines, “Fuckin’ tease.” He curses.

“Don’t worry, dude.” Joey stands up, giving Mikey a nice view of his plump ass, “Patience is a virtue.”

Mikey smirked, and the two bros left for their night out. The cool air nice against their firm muscles, their egos satisfied by the lustful grins they got. But Mikey couldn’t care less. Instead, as he sipped on his beer, his only focus was on Joey’s firm ass. And the fun they were gonna have after their stupid night out.

#male tf #male transformation #personality tf #jock tf #jockification

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whoskimii · 4 months ago

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yuuji and no nut november please

honestly i think yuuji would def do the challenge lmaoo (or try to)

⋆౨ৎ˚ notes > yuuji x you. - character is aged up - smut at the end! nnn but he lost the first day lmao. soft sleepy sex with your bf <33 tell me if i missed anything!! ^^ ౨ৎ warning : you may have butterflies in your belly while reading this!! 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

yuuji looked around, observing people. he had brought choso to a coffee shop as he wanted to try different beverages.

as the waitress placed another drink in front of choso for the sixth time, yuuji couldn't help but chuckle. he watched his brother taste it as he tilted his head to the side. "so ? how's it taste ?" he asked, sipping on his own drink.

the pink-haired boy smiled as his brother nodded enthusiastically. "great !" he beamed happily. yuuji nodded in return. "good. what is it ?" choso frowned a little, trying to recall the name. after a few seconds, he perked up. "oh, it's a strawberry milkshake." the younger boy hummed. "m'kay."

their attention drifted to the door as the bell rang, announcing the entry of another client. multiple boys arrived and settled at an empty table right next to them. they seemed to be around yuuji's age or maybe a few years older. "so, how's it going with your girlfriend ?" one of them asked another boy. "still the same ?"

yuuji couldn't help but listen. he was curious, after all. choso talked to him, bragging about how good his milkshake was but the words drifted out of his brother's ears. "nah, we made up. finally." the friends laughed.

choso looked at the window, watching the wind blowing through the trees. the temperatures were starting to fall. just like his sibling, he began listening. "but i'm gonna do nnn, though. i gotta stop watching porn. if she catches me again, i'm sure she'll break up with me."

the initials instantly caught choso's attention. nnn ? "huh ?" he looked at yuuji. "what's nnn ?" he frowned a little as the words fell out of his lips. his brother chuckled. "it's no nut november." it didn't help choso and yuuji noticed. "basically you can't get off for a month. no sex, no jerking off sessions, nothing." his brother raised his eyebrows. the concept was foreign to him. "oh... and... you do it ?" yuuji shrugged. "yeah. jus' for fun, though."

the older man smiled. "really ? so... when does it start ?" yuuji looked at his phone. "tomorrow. today's october 31st."

as the pink-haired boy woke up the next morning, he remembered the conversion he had with choso the previous day. he was persuaded he could last for at least half of the month. he looked to his side and noticed you, still sleeping peacefully. you looked so so pretty. the prettiest girl he's ever seen. even jennifer lawrence was second on the pyramid.

he gently patted your velvety hair, which prompted you to stir awake. "yuuji...?" you breathed, still in the daze. he hummed quietly. "yeah. s'me, baby..." he mumbled before burying his nose in your neck. he inhaled your comforting, feminine scent. he sighed softly. "y'smell so damn good, angel... y'know that ?" you giggled quietly, nodding a little. "s'my lotion... smells like vanilla."

he smiled softly. how was he supposed to do no nut november when you were right here, in his bed, looking all soft and cute ? he couldn't.

that's eventually why he shifted a little, placing himself between your legs. you instantly reacted to him, parting your thighs a little to grant him access. as he slowly slid down your panties, only leaving them mid-thighs, he placed a kiss to your shoulder.

as he untied his sweatpants, he pushed his boxers at the same time and left them around his knees. the tip of his needy cock was already leaky. he sighed softly and pumped himself a few times, enough to get himself hard. to get yourself wet, you circled your clit with the tip of your middle finger, breathy little whines escaping your parted lips.

at the sight, he groaned softly. he placed a hand on the headboard, the other beside your head to support his own weight. he leaned down to kiss you and when your lips met his, he slowly pushed in. he broke the kiss and a look of pure relaxation washed over his face.

his eyes fluttered shut and his lips parted slightly. he was relieved. being inside you was like coming home. he was home. whenever he would bury himself in your tight little heat, his shoulders slumped.

he let out a quiet little moan, still unmoving before he tucked his head in your neck. "mhm..." he hummed, all breathy, almost approvingly. he began rolling his hips against yours lazily. the pace was slow, unhurried. you were both young and in love, you had all the time in the world.

"y'feel so good, baby..." he sighed and placed his forehead on yours. as you both made eye contact, he twitched inside you. "already that wet, mhm...? shiiit..." the sounds of your squelching pussy filled his ears and he took a deep breath. "m'never gonna get tired of her..." he whispered and circled your throbbing little clit. "yuuji..." you breathed. "i know, baby, i know... m'here..." he intertwined his fingers with yours. "m'close, honey..."

as you clenched around him, he chuckled breathlessly. "yeah, seems like you are too..." your back arched off the comfy mattress a little. "yuu', m'gonna cum... oh... gonna cum..." you muttered. "yeah... me too. come with me, baby. jus'... let's come together, alright ?" you nodded vigorously and he hummed. "c'mon, m'right there... right behind you..."

it only took you a few other lazy thrusts to come around him. as your pretty little pussy pulsated around him, squeezing him tight, he huffed quietly and spilled himself inside you. "theeere we go... fuck..." he took a deep, sharp breath.

he stayed inside you for a few seconds before rolling off you. "m'gonna clean you up, 'kay ?" as he stood up, his eyes settled on his phone. he internally laughed.

november 1st, 8:07. the challenge was already over.

that's so sweet aughhh :((

⋆˚࿔ kimi 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

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martian-astro10 · 9 months ago

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Solar Return Observations- Part 1

Having a sagittarius ascendant is a strong sign of starting college. (I had this the year I started my bachelor's and all of my friends had this as well the year they went to college. My sister had it when she started her bachelor's)

If you are not in an already well established relationship then don't have sex when neptune is in 8th.

The year in which you have a 1st house stellium and vertex in 7th will be when you meet a lot of people that are going to be important for self development. You will finally learn to put yourself before others. I personally think that it's a great combination to have. (you will meet both good and bad people)

You will study a lot when vertex is in 9th house. (my sister and her friends, in their last year of college, bachelor's, they ALL had this placement, it was so fascinating to see. They had to look for jobs after that, so they were putting in extra effort)

Jupiter in 11th in cancer is THE BEST, you will feel so loved by your friends, you guys are gonna have so much fun. (I loved my life that year)

Uranus in 9th means unexpected but also SUDDEN travel. (the year that my sister went to Canada for her bachelor's, her session was starting on 7th September and her student visa got approved on 29th October, we had literally lost all hope. Everything was so chaotic)

Moon conjunct neptune indicates an emotionally heavy year. The house that it's in will tell the area where you'll be feeling sad. (I would like to put an example but it's too personal, and I don't wanna share)

Moon conjunct mercury in 4th house can be SOOOOO healing, especially if you do not have a good relationship with your parents. You will finally talk about your feelings with your parents. If the relationship is good then you will become even closer to them. (when I had this, I had so many discussions with my mom, and she told me so much about herself that I didn't know before, it really brought us closer)

Jupiter in 3rd house can help you become more social. As an introvert, this was the year when I finally started feeling more comfortable talking to strangers.

7th house stellium in pisces... Bro, I was OBSESSED with soulmate meditations during the year. If neptune is there as well, then forget about getting anything done, you will be too busy daydreaming about your Mr/Mrs right.

(all pictures are taken from Pinterest)

#astrology content #astrology #astroblr #astrology community #solar return observations #solar return chart #solar return #astrology observations

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farfromstrange · 1 month ago

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Fictober Day 22: Aftercare

Fictober Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Prompt: Aftercare (🌼✨)

Summary: Matt takes care of you after a particularly rough session.

Warnings: Heavy allusions to smut (18+), mentions of unprotected p in v, mentions of oral sex, aftercare, fluff, light subspace

Word Count: 604

A/n: The next few prompts will come over the next couple of days. I thought I'd get them all done during October, but unfortunately, life got in the way. I'll also start cross-posting on AO3 again once all Fictober fics are out there. So, don't worry, you'll get them, but it will be a few days into November until we're done.

Read Me On AO3! (Coming soon)

You lie bonelessly tangled in silk sheets.

Hours he spent worshipping at the altar between your legs. Hours he spent pounding into you with his cock from behind until he could no longer hold himself up, fucking you deeper into the mattress. At some point, you must have even lost your voice from how the countless orgasms he gave you tore a scream of his name deep from your throat.

“Here,” Matt murmurs, holding the bottle of cold water to your chapped lips. “Hey. Sweetie, look at me. Stay with me.”

You can barely make out his silhouette in the dark, but even drenched in sweat and with his hair disheveled, he looks like a dream.

“There you go. Hi.” He smiles. “Can you take a sip for me?” Shaky fingers reach for the bottle, and you try to swallow some of the liquid without making a mess. You feel like a child, unable to do anything by herself, but his patience remains unwavering.

Matt waits until you’ve sufficiently hydrated yourself before gently rolling you back onto your back. He grabs a towel, warm and wet, and starts to wipe the remnants of his cum from your quivering thighs. He’s gentle when he reaches your swollen folds, making sure not to cause you any more discomfort.

You don’t want to talk—you can’t—and that is fine with him.

“C’mere.” He wraps a blanket around you. “Do you want me to hold you or would you like to be alone?”

Sometimes, you ask for privacy. Just a few minutes to find back to yourself. Sometimes, you get so overstimulated that even being close to him physically hurts. The things he does to your body are nothing short of unreal, and you don’t always have time to catch up with all the new sensations he manages to pull from you time and time again.

Tonight thought, you crave him. You crave to be held by him. The words die on your tongue, so you reach out for him instead.

Matt senses your grabby hands, he could do so from miles away. You’re reaching for him, and it does something to his heart. He slides under the blanket with you, carefully pulling you against his bare chest. “Okay, I’ve got you,” he whispers. “You’re okay.”

You deserve to be taken care of.

Seconds turn into minutes. His fingers trace invisible patterns on your back. Slowly but steadily, your heartbeat aligns with his.

“Too much?”

You blink, tilting your head to meet his unfocused hazel eyes; there is always so much guilt, so much uncertainty in them when he can’t quite read you. When he’s scared he might have hurt you. It is a fine line he walks every time he fucks you senseless.

You manage to weakly shake your head. “It was perfect,” you whisper.

“Yeah?” He brushes the tip of his thumb along the vein on your temple.

You smile. “Yeah.”

He loves the way your pulse jumps. The way your heart starts beating faster when he’s around. He loves the sound of your laugh. The smell of your shampoo and perfume. And he loves how you look at him like he’s the only man in the world to you, and he doesn’t have to see to know.

“I love you,” Matt breathes into the darkness.

“I love you too,” you say.

Though even without those beautiful three words, he can feel your love in everything you do. In his own way, he sees you, and he could never get tired of the picture his mind has painted of you.

He could never get tired of you.

@ebathory997 @the-b33skn33s @scoliobean @drmeghanjones @lanae111 @steve-chandler @lucienofthelakes @xnatyx @gpenguin666 @linamarr @mcugeekposts @itwasthereaminuteago @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @ravenclaw617 @pigeonmama @bohemianrhapsody86 @a-gir1-has-n0-name @callsign-ember @chittaphonstar @buckyyyismahhlife @trublu2u @zomtart @ethereal-blaze

#matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fluff #daredevil #daredevil x reader #lizzi's fictober 2024 #charlie cox

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lesservillain · 10 months ago

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inmate!eddie munson x teacher!reader

cw: drinking, explicit fantasies

September 16th,1994

The idea to you was asinine from the moment Principal Williams brought you into her office to explain the program details to you. How no one else thought that the idea of thirteen-year-olds becoming “pen pals” with prisoners wasn’t insane baffled you. It was dangerous at worst and inappropriate at best, but, despite your best efforts to reason with her, your opinion as a “newer” teacher was dismissed.

Now here you are listening to the speech of the prison rep, Mr. Bridges, as he explained the program to your 7th grade class. Not like you had a lesson planned for them today.

Mr. Bridges stands a whole 5 feet and 6 inches with a short stack military fade and the most unsettling sunny disposition. He reads as incredibly fake, like a snake oil salesman, and his shiny, white, slightly too big for his mouth veneers not doing him any favors. It doesn’t surprise you that your newly divorced principal was able to be persuaded by this guy's charms, but thankfully you’re used to his kind of tactics from your own previous relationship.

Before leaving, Mr.Bridges approaches you at your desk. “I’m sorry to bother you,” he starts, leaning too far into your space. One of his thick fingers points at a paper he had given you before he started his speech, “but is a student absent today? We have an unassigned inmate—”

“We had a student move,” you say shortly, keeping your voice monotone and not bothering to glance at his paper, “so I’m short one student in this class.”

Bridges nodded, clearly deep in thought. His brows furrowed for a moment before perking up.

“Maybe you’d like to take on a pen pal?’” He proposes, his chipper disposition coxing on the migraine that wants to break through behind your eye.

The look on your face must have said it all as he tried to convince you further. “The inmates that signed up are all trying to better themselves before being re-released into society, ya’know?” His eye’s shift, landing on the floor with a solemn look. “We thought talking to kids that grew up while they were incarcerated would help them get in touch with the times, be able to cope with time they’ve lost. Give them something to look forward to when they get out.”

The pads of your fingers dig into your temples, eyes rolling to the back of your head before finally giving him the eye contact he so desperately craved from you.

“Fine, I’ll take whoever you have left, I guess. What’s his name?”

“Perfect!” Bridges hands clap together next to your ear, “The leftover inmate wants to go by The Banished One and he—”

“Banished what?” You ask, confused.

“Oh, The Banished One! It’s his nickname for the project. We have all the inmates disguise their names just in case the kids may be related to one of them.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, resting your head in your hand, “Okay, fine, sure I guess that makes sense.”

Bridges continued to assure you that all the letters are anonymous and would be vetted both ways, adding that only ‘good behavior’ inmates were allowed to take part in the program as a last push for your participation, you reluctantly agreed. Mostly just to get him to leave your classroom before your head explodes, but not without the stipulation that if you thought it was too much for your kids that you would pull them out. That seemed to be enough to satisfy him.

October 7th, 1994

The first writing session took place on a Friday, the soft sound of music from your mixtape playing for the kids to help them relax. It had been a long week of testing and you felt like an easy day was in order for both you and the kids, most of your other classes would just be doing free work.

You grabbed the stack of letters from your desk, Pictures of You by The Cure filling the air as you hand each student their respective letter.

“Don’t forget to keep personal information like names and where you live out of your letters. Once you’re done, bring them to my desk.”

Once the kids were settled, you returned to your desk and grabbed your own letter. The envelope before you had “Teach” written across the front, the pen name you chose to go by. The handwriting was like chicken scratch. Not much different from the 13 year old boys whose papers you grade, though, so you were confident in your ability to decipher the rest of the letter. But still had a roughness, an edge to it.

As you opened your letter, unfolding the paper to it’s full state, the first thing to catch your attention was the graffiti like drawings along the margins of the paper. It reminded you of a flash sheet at the tattoo shop your friends took you to for your 21st birthday, a permanent reminder of that day on your inner ankle in the form of a small butterfly that was already starting to fade. There was nothing too offensive; a rose, a sailor ship, a dove with an olive branch, all impressively done for just being pen on paper.

Once you got past the artwork, you began to take in the letter's contents. The single page was filled from front to back, barely any room for the signature at the bottom.

“Hey there, “Teach”... if that is your real name…” the letter starts. The lame opener makes you crack a small smile that you quickly cover with your hand. You read on, taking in each sentence, and you start to get the idea that your pen pal doesn’t take this pen pal assignment too seriously.

The letter is casual, a few puns here and there, with some Tolkien references that would have been missed if one wasn’t familiar with his work. It’s clear that this person is young, or at least young at heart, which saddens you to think about, but you try not to dwell on it.

Getting into the meat of the letter, your pal explains that went to prison in 1989 for drug related charges, but is set to get out in about a year if he keeps up his good behavior.

“I’m ready to get out of this place and get back to my hometown in Hawkins.”

A shiver goes down your spine for a moment when you read that he’s from Hawkins. Bridges assured you that the inmates wouldn’t know what school the kids would be from, but you weren’t expecting to be talking to someone from this small town. You wonder if Bridges knows more than he’s letting on with his comment about the kids being related to the inmates.

Once the creepy feeling dissipates you continue to read on. The details your pal gives about himself tell you that he’s very different from the people you usually hang out with. His favorite genre of music is metal and he used to play guitar and do vocals for a band every week before he started working as a mechanic full time. They’d have a crowd of 20 or so some nights, but it was usually just the regulars at the place they would play at.

The final paragraph of the letter consists of a seemingly scripted warning about the dangers of drugs and that no one should make the same mistake he did. You wondered if this was obligatory for the project. At the bottom of the page your pal signs with his chosen moniker “The Banished One.” When thinking about it, you find that it’s very fitting for an inmate.

After taking a moment to check in on your class, Morrissey’s somber voice serenading them as “I Know It’s Over” plays from the small radio’s speakers, you pull out your own pen and paper to start your response.

As you ponder on where to start, a thought that crosses your mind; does your pen pal even know they’re talking to an adult? The pen name you chose might be on the nose but you didn’t want to assume. Granted, your handwriting itself may be a dead giveaway if you were to compare it to a teens.

It took you a couple of tries to start your letter. Instinctively, you wanted to be formal, but the longer you thought about it the more you didn’t want to come off as a boring writing companion. You tried and failed to come up with something witty to match the vibe of your pal, but comedy wasn’t your strong point, though you’d argue that it wasn’t his either. Instead, you approached it as if you were writing to a friend.

“Hello! Nice to meet you “Banished One." Though, it sounds like you won't be banished much longer.”

Erring on the side of caution you chose to only respond directly to things he wrote, slipping in that you also enjoyed the works of Tolkien with your own reference. You mention that you listen to metal from time to time, more into radio rock at the moment, but you’d really listen to anything.

It took you a minute to calculate how to respond to the reveal of his dealings in drugs, ultimately deciding to lightly say that you hoped he learned his lesson unless he saw himself returning to prison in the future. You shared that you were familiar with Hawkins, noting that you loved the milkshakes from the old diner in town, but left it at that. As you closed the letter you complimented his artwork, informing him that the rose was your favorite and that you looked forward to seeing his artwork on future letters.

You’d manage to write enough to cover the majority of the back of your lined paper, signing your pen name a few lines away from the bottom. Going over your letter again, you can't help feeling like it’s a bit dull. Safe, but that’s what it's supposed to be.

October 24th,1994

It only took two weeks for Mr. Bridges to return with new letters for your class. Truthfully, you had almost forgotten about the letters entirely while trying to keep your students on track as the holiday season approaches. The emotional whiplash of seeing your ex out with his new, younger girlfriend while you were out looking for Halloween decor for your apartment wasn't helping either. It felt like no matter what you did, how much your friends tried to help, you just couldn’t catch a break. At least the manager of the local liquor store was nice to you.

When your students seemed too preoccupied with the stack of letters on your desk to pay attention to your lecture, you decided to call it a day and give all of you a break. You click on your small stereo and let the tune of Jeff Buckley’s Hallelujah take over the room while you pass out letters.

Once the letters were distributed, you settled at your desk where your eyes met with the same chicken scratch handwriting as before. It was tempting to reach for it… until you glanced at the pile of ungraded papers that sat next to it, taunting you. You desperately needed to go over them, the deadline to turn in grades fast approaching.

You deliberated on what to do. You had to admit you were curious about the letter. Part of you wondered if you’d even get one back. You didn’t want to give any personal information away, so you couldn’t blame the random man in prison for not responding if he thought he was talking to an old lady teacher.

But the stack of papers is practically glaring at you.

A thought; you could always finish your papers later at home. But you did tell yourself you would be better at bringing so much work home with you this year…Your friends had an influence on that decision, making sure you took at least every other weekend to go out and do something — anything to keep you from shutting yourself in again.

With a sigh, you tuck the letter into your work bag, grabbing your pen to start grading.

“Damn it, why can’t I find one stupid pen!”

Slamming drawers and stomping around, the red liquid of your cup sloshing around in your glass as you grew more and more frustrated in your search for a pen to write out the checks for the coming month’s bills.

After searching the kitchen, you make your way to the living room and spot your school bag on the coffee table. In your rage, you slam the glass on the table and begin haphazardly pulling the contents out of the bag, praying you still had a pen that hadn’t been “borrowed” to never be returned by one of your students.

The feeling of plastic on the tips of your finger almost brought you to tears of joy. Pulling out a purple ink pen you decided that it would have to be good enough if your landlord wanted your rent on time.

After finishing with the checks, you return to your bag to put the envelopes inside to drop off tomorrow at the post office. As you lift the bag, your eyes meet with chicken scratch again away. A burst of buzzed excitement runs through you at the sight, even if for just a moment before you shook it off. It was just an envelope from some random man sitting in a jail cell, why are you getting so excited? Is it because you’re at home and not feeling the pressure to be uptight and rigid?

Or maybe it’s because you can’t remember the last time you received a letter that wasn’t a bill. It sort of gave you a feeling of nostalgia, taking you back to a time when you wrote letters to your mom when you were at camp, or when you would write to your grandparents around the holidays. It even reminded you a bit of writing in your diary, if your diary could write back that is. It’s not like he would have room to judge you from his jail cell, right?

You snatch the letter from the bag and walk back into the kitchen, grabbing the dark bottle of wine to refill your glass and plopping down at the table. Ripping open the envelope, you pull out the letter and immediately notice that it is covered in artwork just as the last one was.

This time you notice a 20-sided dice with a banner that read “critical hit”, a very detailed dragon head, and a stylized version of the skeleton guy that you’ve seen on the cover of Iron Maiden albums. The biggest piece was of another rose, but in the fully bloomed center was an eye. It was…interesting. Well done, but not what you were expecting. Not that you were expecting anything anyway.

Getting the artwork out of the way, you take a large sip of your drink and begin reading.

“Hello again, Teach,” the letter starts, “I think we need to discuss the elephant in the room before I can write anything else.” Your brow quirks up, a slight nervousness begins to creep in your mind.

“I was already suspicious when I was told the person I was writing to wanted to go by Teach. And no seventh grader I’ve ever known can write as nicely as you. Not that I know a lot of seventh graders...Anyway, can I ask how I ended up being pen pals with the class teacher? I know I could ask Bridges, but I think it would be more fun to hear it from you.”

Your lips tug into a smile, but this time you don’t feel the need to cover it. Why did it feel like a game he won or a riddle he solved? It wasn’t exactly like you were hiding it. But something about him figuring out something about you was…exciting.

As you get into the meat of the letter itself he goes on to ask you what subject you teach and how long you have been teaching. He asks if you like working with kids and if they ever made you want to pull your hair out. The phrasing of his words make you giggle.

“I was never good in school,” he states. “It took me three tries of my senior year to graduate. I used to blame my teachers saying that they didn’t like the way I dressed or my taste in music. I guess now I have to admit that it was probably because I didn’t bother to show up to class or do any of my homework…”

A full laugh shook you in your chair. Was he actually funnier in this letter? And why did it come off feeling so personal? The air about it was different, like you were talking to a long-distance friend rather than a felon, your cheeks starting to ache from smiling as you continue read his sketchy handwriting.

He went on to ask more about you, like what your favorite band was since you “liked rock so much more than metal,” with a little frowny face to punctuate his disagreement. He says the prison lets them watch MTV sometimes, which has been his main exposure to new music. Sometimes he gets a hold of new music every once and a while, but usually just listens to his old cassettes on his Walkman that his uncle gave him when he first entered the system.

“Some people have tried to steal it from me, but they learned pretty quickly that I have my ways to get things back, and that I'm not one to be messed with.”

That left you curious. A small glimpse into the inner workings of prison. You never really thought about what a person in prison could or couldn’t have. It was nice that he could have at least a small luxury, an item of value if it was under constant threat of being taken. You also couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by not being messed with.

Before you know it you’ve hit the end of the letter. You can’t help but feel a little disappointed. It felt like there could have been so much more to say, but his pen name barely fit at the bottom of the paper as it is. You take a piece of paper out of your notebook, pulling the frayed pieces off the edge and replacing the one in front of you with it. Hopefully your pal won't mind the purple pen or the probable lack of coherence compared to your first letter as you feel the wine really start to kick in.

Referring back to the paper like a student answering a question in class, you make sure to answer all of his questions to the best of your ability.

“Hello again, Mr. Banished. I see you have uncovered my secret that I am, in fact, a grown woman and not a 13-year-old. I hope that doesn’t bother you. I have been teaching English since I graduated college, coincidentally in 1989. It's like we traded places; I got to leave the prison of being a student in college and you went to prison for whatever drug related charges you acquired.” You laughed at your own joke as you continued.

“As for why you are stuck with writing a late 20’s school teacher rather than one of my students, that would be because of the aforementioned Mr.Bridges. We had a student move a few weeks into the school year and Bridges practically got on his knees and begged me to take on a pen pal.” You left out the detail of not being totally comfortable with the program. Not that you weren’t still hesitant, but the last thing you wanted to do was offend him by insinuating anything about the type of person he was for being in jail. The wine had rationalized with you that sometimes good people do bad things when they’re in dark places.

Continuing on, you wrote that he was probably right in both his opinions on why his teachers failed him. The older teachers at your school were stuck in their ways and judged students before really trying to help them. You did your best not to be the same way, hoping to be a teacher that your students could trust and come to if they needed help. It was a passion of yours since you were small, wanting to help people learn and grow, so what better way to do that than to teach?

“I am interested in what you wore that would call for such harsh judgment. I try to be as unbiased as I can with all my kids. If you asked them, they would say that I’m stuffy or rigid most of the time, but it’s mostly because I care about their education. And partly because being a new teacher is…really freaking tough if I’m being honest. These older teachers don’t take half of the things I say seriously because their own kids are older than me. It’s kind of bullshit, actually, but I just deal with it until I can get more experience under my belt.”

A sigh slips through your lips, pen tapping against the kitchen table as you feel the frustration bubbling. It’s not fair to dump these feelings on him, but the anonymity made it so easy to just put everything out there. He doesn’t know anything about you, and if you were to weird him out by getting a little real, then he could just not write back, right?

After taking a moment to collect yourself, you decided to just move on to a different topic.

“Sorry, that was a lot of feelings on my part. Is it too personal to ask what you do in prison? You mentioned getting to listen to music, but what else do you do? I’ve seen in movies that inmates work out a lot and play basketball outside. Is that real or made up for the audience? If it is real, does that mean you are super buff from working out all the time? Do you beat people up if they try and take your Walkman, or do you stab them? I’ve seen people do that in movies, too. I hope you don’t stab them, that would be scary.”

You can feel yourself getting a bit rambley in your tired state, so you decide it’s time to call it a night. You wrap up the letter by telling him that you’re going to go to sleep and that you were looking forward to his next letter. You sign your name and draw a small doodle of a flower next to it.

November 18th,1994

It was 3 am when you woke up the first time. A nightmare had you shooting up from your pillow, cold sweat drenched the collar of your sleep shirt, chest heaving as you caught your breath.

He had been knocking at your door, your pen pal. You never saw his face, but heard the anger in his voice as he yelled for you to let him in. You remember sitting in front of the door begging for him to leave you alone, telling him it was too soon. That you weren’t ready.

The nightmare became reoccurring, waking you at least 2 or 3 times a week. Sometimes it’s your ex, but most of the time it’s your pen pal. Even though you have no inkling of what he looks like, you just know it’s him on the other side.

The disturbance in your sleep was starting to affect your daily life, one of your coworkers asking if you were okay after over pouring a cup of coffee in the teacher’s lounge.

“Are you okay?” Mr.Clarke asks, helping you mop up the spilled coffee with some paper towels.

“Yes, I’m sorry, yeah,” you say, trying and failing to reassure him.

“Hey, I know that midterms can be rough with the holidays coming up. But, try not to stress out about it too much. I’ve heard good things about you from the kids in my classes that have you this year. You’re doing a good job, so don't kill yourself, okay?”

It was damn near impossible not to burst into tears at your coworkers words, but you held it together until you could hide in the faculty restroom.

The dreams didn’t stop though. Even Mr.Bridges felt the need to comment.

“Holidays stressing you out?” he asked with an energy that seemed inhuman to you, his sunny disposition could make the snow outside melt.

“No.” You stated shortly as you looked through your lesson plan for the day.

“Well, that’s good to hear,” he said with a nod, “This is the most wonderful time of the year after all. We try to stay busy at the prison, keep the morale high and what not.”

He placed the stack of letters on your desk, along with a small box that read “Greeting Cards” with a wintery scene displayed on the front.

“These are for the students to give to the inmates.” You look at him with “no shit” written on your face. He cleared his throat, “But, uh, I’m sure you could figure that out. I know this time of year can be hectic for everyone, but we all deserve some holiday cheer, right?” Your expression remains unchanged as he continues on.

“Right, well, I’ll be giving the inmates their own cards to send to the kids with their letters. It might be a bit difficult for me to come back before Christmas, family affairs to attend to and all that. So, I went ahead and wrote the address and stamped the envelopes for the cards. If I don’t come back by, oh, let's say the 15th? Just go ahead and stick those in the mail and I’ll make sure the inmates get them!”

Before you could protest having to go out of your way to do his job, Mr.Bridges quickly made his exit as the warning bell rang, wishing you a happy holiday as he disappeared.

With the lack of free class time as you all crammed for test week, you decided to let the kids take their letters and cards home for the weekend to work on. As you passed them out, keeping the addressed envelopes in the box, you told the kids to write something nice in their cards.

“This may be the only card some of these men get, so think about that when you’re writing them this weekend.”

Getting to the last letter, you feel your stomach twist as you read your actual government first name in the familiar chicken scratch handwriting instead of your pen name. You hadn’t even realized that you had stopped dead in your tracks until the sound of the bell brought you back to your body.

“U-uh, ge--get your letters done by the end of class Tuesday!” You yell over your class as they begin migrating out of the room.

Quickly, you return to your desk and rip open the letter. Unsurprisingly, it’s once again covered in artwork. The pumpkins and bats and other Halloween inspired art felt out of place, putting in perspective how long it had been since your last letter. But before you could look much further into the writing your next class began to file in, forcing you to set the letter aside for later.

You’d felt nauseous the rest of your morning classes, You wracked your brain about how the hell your pen pal could have figured out your actual name. You may have been...a little tipsy when you wrote that letter a month ago, but you’re sure you didn’t say anything personal enough that he would know who you were. Could he have asked someone on the outside to look into you? No, Mr.Bridges assured you that the inmates don’t know what school they are writing to. Maybe Bridges said your name to someone at the jail and the inmate overheard?

As soon as the bell rang for your lunch period, you practically rushed your students out the door and closed it. Throwing yourself into your chair, you grab the letter and begin reading.

“Well, well, I wasn’t expecting to be getting more lore in your newest letter! You have a very cute name by the way…Sorry I hope that wasn’t weird. Anyway! I guess I can tell you my name, too. Call me Eddie.”

Eddie.

So you had included your own name in your letter somewhere. You sigh with relief, though it still makes you a little uncomfortable that this stranger knows something personal about you. Sure he’s been nice, but he was still a felon. Though knowing his name made you feel a little better. Made him feel a tad more human to not use silly nicknames.

“Can I start by saying I loved reading your last letter?” Your eyebrows raised in surprise.“The purple pen was a nice touch. Something about a teacher complaining about other teachers is really funny to me, too. Nice to know the torment of some teachers isn’t just limited to students! And I doubt your kids think you’re stiff or whatever. You seem pretty cool to me. Even if I’ve only gotten to talk to you through a couple letters, you talk to me a lot nicer than I probably deserve.”

The smile that had made its home on your lips from his sentiments dropped into a frown. You felt yourself wanting to get defensive, wanting to tell him that he shouldn’t think that way about himself. That even if he was a felon, he still deserves respect.

“Being a younger teacher must be hard. You did all the college stuff to be a teacher so that should be enough to get their respect in my opinion. I don’t think I had a teacher who wasn’t at least in their 50s so they probably can’t see anyone under 30 as anything other than a kid I guess.”

“Hit the nail on the head,” you say to yourself with an airy chuckle.

As you keep reading, he changes the subject to something you don’t remember asking in your previous letter.

“So you wanna know what I look like, huh? Well back before I was in here I would wear my band shirts, Metallica and Judas Priest and all the bands that make the old ladies cringe. My jeans had holes in them, too. And I have this battle vest that I’ve put together with some patches of my favorite bands on it. My uncle Wayne says he’s keeping it safe for me at home. It’s not much, but I learned how to stitch patches on by myself, so it means something to me. Gives me something to look forward to when I get out.”

Your mind paints an image of a gangely teen trying to look cool to impress his friends or scare off the old ladies at the mall. Sounds like the kind of guy you had crushes on in high school. There may have been a picture or 2 of Kirk Hammit or Vince Neil or Eddie Van Halen tapped to the inside of your locker door in high school, but you’d never admit that now.

“I also had long hair when I was younger. Can’t call yourself a metal head without having long hair ya know. But I’ve had to cut it since I’ve been in here. I’ve got pretty curly hair and it was getting hard to keep up with it. It’s short enough to keep out of my face most of the time. I’m actually due for a haircut, so thanks for reminding me! Hair cuts are free in prison so I get it done way more than I ever did on the outside. You gotta tip your barber though or else they might “accidentally” shave all your hair off next time. Learned that one the hard way.”

He goes on to answer some of your questions about the inner workings of the jail. They do get to work out a lot, but says he’s not a “big meat head” like some of the other inmates. He doesn’t like basketball for “personal reasons” so he prefers to run laps. “When you’re trying to get out of a big fight it’s better to be faster than stronger.”

“I am also proud to admit that I have never stabbed someone. Almost been stabbed myself, but I used to get my shit rocked in high school so I’ve learned to dodge over the years.” Your hand comes to your face, almost forgetting that you asked such a stupid question. Of course he hasn’t stabbed anyone. You could excuse it if it was out of self defense maybe. But then you recall him saying before that he doesn’t get “messed with”, so what is he doing that people aren’t bothering him if not stabbing them? Your head spins with possibilities as you think about it more.

As you are about to read on, you are interrupted by a knock on your door, the sound causing you to jump in your seat. Quickly closing the letter and shoving it into your bag, you rush to the door to find a student from your 3rd period class, a shy one at that, needing clarification on the newest assignment. You let her in, forgetting the letter for the rest of the period.

The rest of the period then turns into the rest of the day. It goes by like a blur as everyone seems to be getting last minute things turned in for the week. Grades for the upcoming report cards would be due by the end of next Tuesday, so you told your classes to get any missing work in by today and you would give them partial credit. It was setting yourself up for a busy weekend, but anything to keep your mind off the upcoming holiday was welcomed.

It would be your first Thanksgiving single in almost 10 years, and your 4th since your mom passed. Your soon to be ex-husband, Henry, had convinced you to move to his hometown of Hawkins after your mother died to be closer to his family and to help his dad’s business as his accountant. It wasn’t your first choice of places to live, and after looking back on the situation, you realized that he had used your vulnerability to get a lot of what he wanted.

Things seemed fine at first. His parents bought your house and he had a good paying job. All you had to do was cling to his arm and keep quiet. You were kept well manicured, your appearance catered to his liking as he paraded you around at office parties.

The not so hushed whispers from the women in his office always talking about how lucky you were to bag an older man reached your ears. But you kept your tongue against your cheek. They could be jealous all they want, because if they knew what happened behind closed doors they wouldn’t be singing the same tune.

Waking up early in the morning, way before he ever did, just to put on your face. God forbid you weren’t presentable to him always. Afterwards you’d iron his white button ups and khaki slacks, make him a huge breakfast, present his clothes to him, and be waiting by the door on your knees for him to use your mouth before he walked out the door.

At the time, you felt like you had a purpose. That being a housewife was what you were meant to be. But the degree you had worked so hard on stared at you as you cleaned the house everyday. Your passion was just in reach, boring you every day.

That is, until fate, and the well timed retirement of your predecessor, gave you the opportunity to start teaching that year. When you got the call, you were over the moon. Henry even said he was proud of you.

Until you forgot to iron his clothes. It was just a stern talking to the first time, an anger in his eyes like you’d never seen before had you on edge the entire first day of class. You made it up to him by waking up extra early, using your mouth to start his day since you couldn’t be at the door for him anymore.

But, then you started falling behind on chores during the week as grading papers took up most of your free time when you weren’t tending to his needs. It’s not that you didn’t clean, it just wasn't the only thing you had to do every day anymore. Passive comments about becoming lazy were brushed to the side until they collectively spilled over into your first big argument. You told him he could help, too. He smacked you across the face.

Too busy juggling work and cleaning the house full time caused you to miss the signs that things were declining. It started when Henry had to start staying late for work, claiming that they had a “big project” that was going to require him to stay over longer. He made it seem like a temporary arrangement that ended up becoming a pattern for months. But, he assured you that a raise could come from his hard work. So you continued to sit at home, a cold, untouched plate sitting across from you as you finished another bottle of wine. At least he wasn’t there to put his hands on you.

Then it was the pair of panties that you didn’t recognize when you did his laundry. When you confronted him, he told you that it must be a pair you owned back in high school that was mixed in with his clothes somehow when you moved. When you pressed on, he gave you a black eye.

Then it was the perfume you didn’t recognize on your pillow case when you came home from a weekend trip to see your new nephew. He told you it smelled like your perfume, you just hadn’t been home all weekend to smell it. You didn’t argue this time.

Then it was his father’s secretary, Missy, calling your home and telling you that she was sleeping with your husband. She had been nice at last year's Christmas party when you first met her. Nineteen, dumb as a box of rocks.

“Are you and Henry still married?” she had asked with her valley girl accent, “Because when I stayed over I saw that he still had pictures of you two at his house.”

Now you’re stuck in this tiny town, your closest relative being your brother who has his own family out in Chicago. Thankfully, you had made friends with the ever charming Steve Harrington, who’s father also worked with Henry. He came as a package deal with his roommate Robin Buckley, and the two of them quickly became your best friends. They were as blindsided as you about Henry’s affair and helped you move into your new apartment. Steve offered to let you live with him and Robin, but you didn’t want to live in the same house as your ex’s coworker, even if he was never there.

“We should make a grocery list for next week.” Robin called from the kitchen to where you and Steve were sat in the living room. “Do we want to bother making a turkey or should we do something easier?”

“Do you know how to make a turkey?” you asked looking over the top of your wine glass as she taps a pen to paper scowling.

“She can barely make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, d’ya really think she can make a turkey?” You watch as a roll of paper towels is launched from the kitchen into the side of Steve’s head and your laugh erupts.

“Well, then were fucked,” you say between giggles, “because I can’t make a turkey, and I know Steve “grabs a pan without a mitt” Harrington also can’t cook one.”

“Oh, that was ONE TIME!”

Steve goes to throw the paper towel roll at you, but you dodge, “One time is enough to never let you live it down, Steven. Maybe we should get some chicken instead.”

“Oh, I can make us some potato salad!”

After some back and forth about what to make for your “Friendsgiving” as Robin had been calling it, claiming inspiration from a new episode of Friends, Steve was begging to talk about anything else.

“School seems to be better this year,” he looks at you carefully, “You haven’t been talking about it as much lately. Not negatively at least.”

“Yeah the only thing you’ve complained about is that prison thing your class was supposed to be doing.” She looked at you with a look of curiosity, “How’s that going?”

You blink and suddenly remember the letter that you had gotten earlier. It was sitting in your bag back home where you had left it on your coffee table again. You were so busy getting ready to go to Steve’s that you had forgotten to finish it.

“It’s going okay. Hey, did you guys go to high school here?”

They both look at each other, then back to you. “Yep, graduated a year after dingus, though. Class of ‘86.”

Steve gave Robin an annoyed look at the nickname before returning his attention to you, “Why do you ask?”

You pondered for a moment if it would be okay to tell them about Eddie. The program was supposed to be anonymous, but that was just to protect the kids. If he wasn’t allowed to give you his name they would have confiscated the letter, right? Bridges said the letters were vetted both ways, so if it was a problem he would have told you. But this seemed like a breach of privacy. You only had a first name to go off of and a vague description. He never said his age, so could be older than even you, or younger than Robin.

“Um, do you guys know anyone that goes by Eddie?”

They both perked up at the name, giving each other a look that you couldn’t read. You swore they could communicate telepathically.

Steve was the first to speak after a moment of silence. “Yeah, we know an Eddie. Why?” His tone was curious as he side eyed you.

“Oh, well my pen pal from the, uh, the prison thing. See his name is Eddie, and he told me that he’s from Hawkins. I don’t know much about him, but I think he may be close to my age and maybe he was in school with you guys-”

Robins laugh caught you off guard. “If it’s the same Eddie we know, then yes he was in school with us. Way longer than he was supposed to be, and we didn’t really get close until the end of my senior year.”

The look on your face prompted Steve to elaborate, “Eddie was -- is, a friend of ours that we got to know better through a mutual friend. He did go to prison a few years ago, but it was because he was scapegoated by a guy he bought weed from. We thought he was gonna go to jail for, like, the rest of his life or something. I had to convince my dad to get our lawyer that he keeps on retainer to represent him in court. The guy owed my dad a favor and he did it, Eddie only got five years.”

“There’s no way,” you said incredulously. Your jaw had to be on the floor. You knew this town was small, but was it really this small? Robin and Steve would be the type to forget to mention they had a friend in prison, too.

“What’s his last name?”

“Munson. Eddie Munson. We still talk to him on the phone every once in a while. Usually his uncle gets a hold of us, tells us that he’s going to call at a certain time so we can stay by the phone. Oh!” Steve stands up from his spot on the couch, clapping his hands, “I have my senior year book up stairs. He should be in it as long as he showed up to picture day.”

As Steve walks away, you turn to Robin, who has an amused look on her face.

“What?” You laugh, still in disbelief at the information that has been given to you. She shrugs, lips turned in a downward smile, “Nothing. So what do you and Eddie talk about?”

“What do we talk about? Not much really. We’ve only sent maybe two letters to each other. He always covers the letters in artwork though. They look like little tattoos.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely our Eddie,” She shakes her head, “His notebooks that he would carry around with him are covered in art. He told us he’s given himself some tattoos while he’s been there. We keep telling him he’s going to look like a felon when he comes out.”

“Isn’t he a felon, though?”

“Yeah, but he doesn’t have to look like it!”

“Found it!” Steve yells as he comes back into the living room, blowing the dust off the book. He plops down on the couch between you and Robin and starts to look through the pages. “See, the funny thing about Eddie, he was supposed to graduate in ‘84, but he kept fucking around and ended up repeating his senior year -- three times.”

“Holy shit,” you were in absolute disbelief, “he told me that in one of his letters. He said he was because the teachers didn’t like him, too.”

“Yeah, that sounds like something he would say,” Robin chuckles.

“Ah-ha, He did show up! Here he is right here!”

Your eyes snapped to where Steve’s fingers pointed to the tiny black and white square. Eddie wasn’t kidding when he said his hair was super curly. The close up of his face makes his hair almost completely take the background out of the picture. You can barely see it but it looks like he’s wearing a Judas Priest shirt under a leather jacket and what you suspect to be the leather jacket he seems to treasure so much. When you finally let yourself focus on his face you’re met with a bright smile and dimples on either side. Dark eyes scrunched up from how high his cheeks were. You definitely would have had a crush on him if you had gone to the same school.

“Soooo…what do you think?” Robin sing-songs with an expectant look on her face.

You can feel yourself smiling and try to reign it in, “Well, he’s not a 40 year old biker looking guy with a beard so that makes me feel better. He looks nice, actually.”

“He’s a good guy,” Steve starts flipping through the pages of the book, “but everyone gave him shit because…of…this.” Stopping on another page in the book, you see a picture of a group of students leaning up against a wall, all of them wearing matching shirts.

“Hellfire Club?” You look between Steve and Robin.

“He hasn’t mentioned Hellfire Club?” Robin was baffled. “That’s like, his whole thing!”

You shake your head, brows furrowed,“What is it?”

“His D&D club? He’s seriously never brought it up?”

“No, not yet at least.” Taking the book from Steve, you get a better look at the picture. “Like I said, we've only sent a few letters back and forth. I wouldn’t say we’ve exhausted all of our topics for discussion yet.”

“You’ll never run out of things to talk about with Eddie,” Steve states sarcastically, “You’d think prison would have had an effect on his social skills, but that guy could talk for an hour about a crack he saw in the sidewalk.”

Hearing that made you wonder if he ever held back when writing to you. His letters were usually front and back all the way to the bottom of the pages. You wonder if they only allow him one page or if has to pay for the paper. Hopefully he wasn’t wasting his money to talk to you.

“When was the last time you guys talked to him?”

“Uh-“ Robin starts.

“It was still hot outside I think,” Steve interjects, “Like early September?”

“Yeah,” Robin nods, eyes wide, “September sounds about right.”

“Hmm, that’s around when we started writing to each other. I guess he wouldn’t have mentioned it if he didn’t know about me yet.”

“If it’s been that long we’re definitely due for a call from him.” Robin looks to Steve, you miss the mischief in her eyes, nor do you see the look he gives her back. “Maybe you could talk to him next time he calls us?”

Your head snaps up, eyes wide meeting Robin’s gaze. You saw the look now and immediately started shaking your head in protest.

“No, no, Robin I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You stand up from your spot on the couch, handing the yearbook back to Steve. Taking a few steps back to look at them, you bite one of your nails, thinking about the situation you’ve gotten yourself into. “Actually, if he does call, I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t tell him you knew me either. I’m sure he’s a nice guy but…”

“Hey,” Steve stood up and placed a hand on your arm, “It’s cool. You didn’t know Eddie before, and you barely know him now. I think Robin just meant that you could get to know him more since he is our friend. He’s gonna get out of prison eventually and we promised him that we’d just continue on like how things were before.”

“But,” you look at Steve with worry in your expression, “being in prison that long can change a person.”

“Eddie is too stubborn to let anything break him of being himself. He didn’t repeat his senior year twice because he’s dumb. He did it because he was too busy with what he wanted to do to bother with his schoolwork.”

“Actually,” Robin says, “he said prison is easier because he gets three meals a day and doesn’t have to do math, so…”

“But,” Steve gets your attention again, “My point is that you don’t have to go out of your comfort zone to be his friend for our sake if you don’t want to. Just keep talking to him on your own and see how you feel.”

You swear these two really were the only good people in Hawkins.

“Yeah, okay,” you nodded,” I’ll keep writing him, but I won’t mention that I know you two. Not yet at least.”

November 27th, 1994

Ever since your talk with Robin and Steve, your nightmares have changed. Now that you have a face to the name they’re not really nightmares anymore. Instead of a nameless, faceless voice at your door, you can see him through the peephole. He’s not knocking on your door with rage, but out of desperation. Still begging to be let in, but the lock is on his side. You hold the key in your hand, you just have to slide it under the door…

A sharp, grating ring wakes you from your sleep, eyes shooting open and taking in the room around you. The sun peaks from behind your bedroom curtains, the light just bright enough to pester the hangover migraine that’s already in full effect. You have to strain to get your eyes to focus on the numbers on your alarm clock that read just past noon.

The continuous ringing of the phone finally throttles you out of bed and into your kitchen. When you pick up the phone you hear Steve on the other end.

“Oh, good, you lived,” he exclaims, “Robin, she’s still alive!”

A muffled, “oh thank god” comes from the background in the receiver. You hadn’t anticipated being so emotional the night before, thinking you were past feeling sorry for yourself that you were alone on a holiday while your bastard ex had someone keeping your side of the bed warm every night.

All the emotions came up at Steve’s during dinner. It was just the three of you there, all with broken families. They had other friends who were home for the holidays, but they were doing their own thing this weekend. Robin and Steve insisted that you join in on the festivities but you declined, using not knowing them as an excuse.

Really you just wanted some alone time. Time to yourself, to let yourself feel whatever you need to feel without having to mask in front of strangers, brush off any awkwardness if the topic of your failed marriage were to arise.

You think Robin and Steve could tell that you were in your own head. They suggested taking you out to the only dive bar in town still open on the holiday, and assuming the place would be pretty dead, you said fuck it and all piled into Steve’s car. Sharing drinks and playing pool while metal music that made you think of your pen pal. You wondered what he was doing as you stepped outside to smoke a cigarette you bummed off an older, balding guy sitting at the bar.

After drinking so much that Robin had to drive your car home for you, their phone call really didn’t come as a surprise to you.

“Yes, god, I’m alive. Don’t yell into the phone, please.” You pinch the bridge of your nose to try and relieve some of the tension. The phone call is brief, Steve just wanting to check in on you and confirm that you didn’t want to participate in their outing.

“We’re going ice skating! And if you can’t skate, our friend Max would enjoy having someone sit on the sidelines with her.”

“Sorry, Steve,” you press your forehead against the cool wood of the door frame, “I’m sure everyone is very nice, but I’m just not feeling up to it.”

After a few cups of coffee and a long shower, you settle on your couch, flipping through the channels on the tv for something to watch and settling on a Beverly Hills: 90210 rerun marathon. It didn’t take you long to lose interest and you began fidgeting for something else to keep your mind from wandering into dangerous territory.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see your work bag on the floor at the end of your couch. The memory of tripping and knocking the bag over last night comes back to you, making you internally cringe at yourself. You grab the bag and see that the contents were an unorganized mess compared to how you normally keep it. The longer you looked the crazier it made you feel, so you carefully took the papers and folders out, laying them in front of you.

When you picked up your first period folder, the familiar envelope that you had forgotten a week ago fell out, landing in your lap. You quickly pick it up and open it, remembering that you hadn't even had the chance to properly finish reading it.

Something about seeing the letter again made you feel good. As you look at the artwork, you see the picture of the shirts his club members wore and smile as you realize he made the shirts himself.

You reread the description of himself and can laugh because he must have worn the same thing every day, recalling the holes in his jeans and his battle vest from his pictures. It was hard to imagine the wild mane of hair he had being cut short. Do they get conditioner in prison? Because his hair must be a mess without it.

Finally, you get to the part of the letter you hadn’t read. You felt your heart beating in your chest, an anxiousness building that you couldn’t explain.

“I’m running low on space to write and I don’t know when I’ll hear from you again, but I just wanted to ask-“

You’re thrown off when you see two lines of the letter have been blacked out with a black marker or sharpie. There’s no way to make out what was written, and the last line is just him wishing you a “happy whatever holiday you celebrate,” his real signature greeting you at the very bottom of the page. “What the hell?” You asked the empty apartment. The first assumption that comes to mind is that Eddie must have messed up what he was going to write and decided to black it out since he wrote in pen. Or maybe he wanted to write more, but realized he was running out of space? That would go with your theory that they are limited in the paper they can get.

There’s also the possibility he said something inappropriate and whoever checks the letters made him redact it. That was probably the least likely, but it makes you laugh to think about. Robin and Steve brought him up a few times while you were drinking and gave him the highest praises. But, you never know what someone would be willing to say or do when they’ve been touch starved for almost 5 years.

Butterflies invade your stomach when you think about it more. He’s probably had to take care of himself quite a bit while he’s been locked up. Where does one even do that in prison without prying eyes?

Your thighs clench together at the image you’ve conjured in your head. Steve had shown you some pictures of Eddie that he found from not too long before he went to prison. Sure, he resembled his yearbook picture, thin and lanky he once was. But the picture of him and Steve at a lake, both of them shirtless and clearly soaking wet, displayed muscles that he had likely gained from the mechanic job Robin mentioned he had. The tattoos that he had on his body were taking over, almost covering one of his arms completely.

The image of soaked curly hairs clinging to his face as he’s leaning into a shower wall comes to the forefront of your mind. Toned arms flexing as he holds himself against the wall with one hand, stroking himself with the other. You imagined his hands were rough and calloused from playing guitar and working on cars. He was long and hard as he pumped himself, water dripping off the tip with each down stroke. God, you can only imagine his face as he cums, a loud groan falling from his lips as he spills onto the shower floor, calling your name…

You throw yourself into the couch cushion next to you and physically cringe. Where the hell did that come from? Was this the result of your dry spell since you left Henry? A guy that you’ve never even met before gives you a little attention and your brain automatically goes into the gutter. Sitting up, you rub your face in your hands in an attempt to keep the scenario from replaying in your mind. At least you had successfully distracted yourself from the self pity you were wallowing in.

You roll onto your back, holding up the letter in your hand. You admire the artwork, the sloppy handwriting. A person wrote this letter. Someone who did something illegal and paid the price for it. Someone who is very loved and has an uncle waiting for him somewhere in this town, and friends who would do anything for him. And now, he’s writing you letters, and you wonder if he is feeling the same way that you are starting to feel…what are you feeling, exactly?

Sitting up from the couch, you grab a pen and paper from your bag.

“Hello Eddie” no.

“Hey, stranger” no.

“What’s up!” definitely not.

Another balled up paper tossed to the ground.

“Dear Eddie,” sure why not, “I hope you are having a wonderful holiday season yourself. Hopefully your uncle can come and see you for whatever you celebrate. If not, at least a phone call would be nice. Does the prison give you anything special for the holidays? Like a turkey for Thanksgiving, ham for Christmas, the traditional stuff. I spent the holiday with-”

Steve and Robin. You know them! I know who you are, too. Totally not weird, right?

“-my friends. They called it “Friendsgiving,” I think it had something to do with a TV show. None of us like to cook, so we ended up just picking up stuff at the store and then going out to a local bar. I’m writing this letter the next day, a little hungover I have to admit. But, writing this letter has helped distract me from the migraine I’m trying to stave off. It’s been very busy at school lately with projects, exams, a choir…thing? All that means for me is that I have mountains of paperwork to grade, and I spent the last month trying to get kids to turn in anything missing. It’s like trying to get squirrels to stay in a basket.

Winter break is just around the corner, though. Which means two weeks of getting to sleep in late, watching terrible TV reruns, and using the cold weather as an excuse to stay inside. Although, I think my friends will manage to get me out of my apartment one way or another. I feel like a cat who was adopted by two dogs who share the same brain cell. But, they have helped me a lot over the last couple of months so I owe it to them to be their voice of reason sometimes.”

You pause and have a laugh to yourself. You think about all the ridiculous adventures the two of them have taken you on in the last few months, doing things that you would never have done before Henry. They’ve taken the hard metal bones out of your binding and started loosening the strings. You wonder if you would have even said yes to doing this letter thing if you hadn’t already had your boundaries pushed a little.

“I hope this isn’t too much to ask, but do you have any big plans for when you get out? Places you want to go? Food you want to try? People you want to see?”

You smile when you dot the last question mark. It feels sneaky to ask when you know that your meeting is inevitable, and there is a small voice in your ear telling you that he wouldn’t want to meet you. You’re boring. Simple. Dull. Only shades of grey fill your wardrobe, your heart, where there was once colour. Broken.

The new bottle of wine you got at the gas station stares at you from the kitchen.

Anyway.

“Hopefully you’re able to get out in time for the summer. Wouldn’t it be nice to walk outside as a free man and get to feel the sun on your skin? I think Hawkins is having a Rose festival again next year. There could be some inspiration there for you for your art, and if not, the funnel cakes are worth the admission price. Everything else is overpriced, but what isn’t nowadays?”

Filling the last bit of the back of the page, you felt it only fair to give a few details about yourself. Just a general description, nothing too revealing. Not that there was much to give away since becoming a professional educator has taken any creative freedom from your sense of style. You did tell him that on the weekends you treated yourself by wearing comfy clothes all day. You didn’t tell him that you only felt okay to do that recently, since your ex husband always expected you to look your best.

As you reached the bottom, you remembered the redacted section of his last letter. Do should you ask about it? Would he even be able to tell you? You went ahead and brought it up.

“Before I close this letter, I am curious to know why the last bit of your letter had been marked out. I can only imagine what you could have asked that it had to be taken out. I hope it wasn’t inappropriate, Mr.Banished.” You added a little “ha ha” in parentheses so he knew you were just joking, careful once again not to offend.

“Looking forward to your next letter,”

You signed your name, fighting the urge to draw a heart next to it like the girls in your class writing notes to their crush. There was no way that feeling like this for someone that you’ve only had correspondence through letters and the bit of hype from your mutual friends can be healthy. Grabbing the box of greeting cards that you had sat on the coffee table, you wrote some well wishes and folded your letter to fit within the confines of the red envelope. You took a look at it for the first time since Bridges had handed them over and your heart dropped.

In one of the ethics classes you took in college a classmate did a presentation on Pendleton Prison. It had just come out the year before that there had been an abuse of power and prisoners were basically being tortured. It was hard to observe but informative. You couldn’t even imagine something like that happening to Eddie. You wondered if the reason they were participating in this program to begin with was to help with their reputation. We’ll let them talk to some kids and it will seem like we’re not abusing our inmates.

You look at the wine bottle again.

It’s fine. If Eddie was going through something like that, surely he would have told Steve and Robin, his uncle. But you wanted to be sure. You walk into your kitchen.

December 25th, 1994

“…You can say hello when you see me. You don't have to be afraid. There's a lot of things going around about me, but none of it's true. Okay?”

Your eyes flutter open, and you quickly close them when the harsh light of your tv playing Home Alone was too bright. Another dream about Eddie had taken over your mind in your sleep. You sit back to the door, the key in your hand. He doesn’t push you anymore, says to only give the key if you want to. That he enjoys your company no matter what.

Sigh.

As you sit up from the couch where you had dozed off the night before, you decide to make a cup of coffee and ring your brother.

“I could have come to get you. And brought you back. You know I don’t mind-“

“No, no, it’s okay, really. You have your own family now, I don’t want to dampen the mood,” you say as if you mean it. Coffee swishes around in your mug as you talk. It was true that your brother had a family of his own and was living the American dream. You liked that he invited you to be part of that, but you just couldn’t get past the notion that everyone would just look at you with pity. You’d rather be alone

Steve and Robin also invited you to Colorado with them. Steve’s parents had a house in Aspen where they were hosting Christmas this year. Steve insisted his parents wouldn’t care if you tagged along since they started to become fond of Robin. As much as seeing the beautiful snow covered mountains of Colorado sounds like a great reprieve for your mind, you still lied and told them you were going to your brothers. What they didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them.

The sound of Kevin McCallister’s hijinks in New York got your attention. The movie distracted you for a while, until it didn’t. You watched the tv -- well, rather you looked at it for until you stood up, deciding to get out of the house, even if just to drive around.

The movie-esque scenery of small town Hawkins covered in snow was quiet and still, say for the few cars that you passed likely on the way to see family, traveling between houses. Something you and Henry did to make things fair for both of you. Your mom’s house first, then his parents.

Cars sat outside the Hideout, piquing your interest as you watched a man get out of a pick up truck and walk inside. It was close enough to five o'clock that you decided to pull into the lot, pulling into a spot by the door. Inside you were surprised to see it fairly occupied, mostly by men who looked like they worked at the factory in town or drove the big rig that was parked on the side of the building. The patrons seemed to talk amongst themselves, some semblance of holiday cheer keeping their spirits alive as their glasses clanked and boisterous laughs filled the air.

Sliding into an empty bar stool, you grabbed your purse to get your ID and some cash.

“Ain’t ya little young to be sittin’ alone at a bar on Christmas?”

You looked up from your purse at the man sitting next to you at the bar. He sipped from his glass, cigarette smoke seeping from his lips, attention set on nothing in particular. He was an older man, bald on top and plenty of aging on his face, but you had the feeling he was younger than he looked. Some of his features felt familiar to you but you weren’t sure why.

“Um, well, I guess so,” you stutter as you set your purse down between your feet. “But, uh, I really didn’t want to spend Christmas alone.”

A hum and a nod, “I guess loneliness knows no age.” He huffed a laugh before getting the bartender's attention. “What are you drinking?”

“Oh, no, please, you don’t-” you begin to protest, but he puts his hand up and waves you off.

“Trust me,” he takes a long drag from his cigarette, “I would be buying it for someone else if they could be here.”

Ah. You tell the bartender your order and the man tells him to put it on his tab.

“Thank you,” you give him a genuine smile, turning towards him to speak as the bar patrons become louder. You paused for a beat before speaking again, “I’m sorry you’re alone today.”

“Makes no difference to me really, just another day to me,” he takes a sip of his beer. You almost miss it, but you see the flash of a smile on his face.

“Just another day, huh,” you say smugly, dipping your head into his line of vision. He must have realized he was smiling because he covered his hand with his mouth shyly, the motion a contradiction to his hard exterior. Clearing his throat, he sat up in his seat, opening from his hunched position to talk with you properly.

“It’s just another day, always been to me, but,” He looks at you for a moment, then back down into his beer, “I used to celebrate, for my boy. Haven’t gotten to do that properly in a while. I’m hopin’ this year will be the last, that next year will be different.”

His endearment made your eyes misty. “That’s so sweet,” you coo, putting a hand on coat covered arm, “I’m sure things will work out.” You pull back when your drink is dropped off, quickly taking a few sips.

The man watches you, his head shaking in your peripherals. “So, what’s really got ya out here celebrating with Hawkins finest? Besides the, uh,” he gestures vaguely, “cheerful atmosphere.”

You stay quiet for a moment, eyes focused on the straw floating in your drink. Deep breath in, and out. “Do you want the half truth or the full truth?”

His body bounces from a chuckle, “I got a little time.”

Pouring your heart out to a stranger over drinks felt therapeutic, and not in the same way as talking to Robin and Steve. He just listened, nodded his head, grunted in what you assume to be agreement. This man, who looks like he hasn’t taken a day off in his life, made you feel more valid with no words at all than anyone else has in your entire life besides your own mother.

“And now I’m, like, kinda into this guy, but he doesn’t know I exist,” your words are a little slurred as you take down another drink. “Sorry, no, he knows I exist, but he knows nothing about me. Like, he knows some things, but he doesn’t really know me, ya know?”

His head bobs up and down, takes another drag of his cigarette.

“I feel weird feeling this way, because I would never have even considered a guy like him before. Henry, I told you about Henry, he was super uppity, snotty. A real tight ass. But, this guy is funny. Genuine, and his friends talk him up. Who wouldn’t fall for a guy like that? Even if he is rough around the edges.”

“Well, if it doesn’t work out with you and this guy, I outta introduce you to my nephew. He was always picked on in school for being different, but he’s a good kid. Just got into the wrong stuff,” the mans face sunk a bit, “My fault really.”

You tilt your head in confusion, “How so?”

“Heart attack. Had one while at work. Stayed in the hospital for a few, got the bill and almost had another one,” he chuckles at that. “I wasn’t even gonna tell ‘em, but he came over to visit and I forgot about it. Saw it sittin’ on the counter. Next thing I know he’s callin’ me sayin’ he’s booked on ‘possession with intent to distribute’. Buncha bull for some grass.” He put his cigarette out with a harsh stab. “But, he’ll be good soon. My deadbeat brother’s been keepin’ an eye on him in there and he’s been keeping his good behavior streak.”

“He sounds like a good kid,” you rest your cheek against the cool counter as you smile up at him.

“Yeah, he is.” His smile reaches his eyes, and so does yours.

“Well, gotta go, darlin’,” he slaps a couple bills on the counter and nods to the bartender, “Excpectin’ a call here soon. Get you some pretzels or somethin’ before ya take off.”

“Thank you,” your brows come together, “sorry, I don’t think I ever caught your name?”

“Names Wayne.”

“Nice to meet you, Wayne.”

thanks for reading.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x teacher!reader #eddie munson x yn #inmate!eddie munson #inmate!eddie munson x reader #inmate!eddie munson x teacher!reader #oto!eddie #eddie munson series #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson st

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dollishbabess · 2 months ago

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your writing is literally so underrated, I love how you write reader as a actual person and not babyish ilyy, ALSOO when are you gonna write for tim and Damian and Bruce you only write for Jason mostly 😭, but write them maybe like a tim fic or hcs? <3!

TIM DRAKE DATING HCS! - dollish

A/n: actually, stay tuned for October for my romtober series which each batboy (except Bruce) has a week and fic prompts!! And also tysm I try, I don’t like personally how y/n is written either too badass or either too soft either so I understand🩷

1. Midnight Research Sessions Tim loves to pull all-nighters, and when dating, he often invites you to join him. These sessions aren't just about crime-solving; he includes random deep dives into shared interests or new topics. It's his way of showing that he wants to connect with you on multiple levels, valuing the bond that comes from exploring knowledge together.

2. Organizational Obsession Tim's meticulous organization skills extend into the relationship. He keeps a digital archive of your favorite things music, books, random facts you've mentioned so he never forgets even the smallest details. It's his way of making you feel seen and valued, ensuring that no part of you is ever overlooked.

3.Themed Date Nights Tim is surprisingly creative when it comes to planning dates. He organizes intricate, themed adventures that often tie back to his detective skills like treasure hunts or escape room-style challenges. He loves putting in the effort to make every moment special because he believes that shared experiences create the best memories.

4. Incorporating Tech into Romance As someone who's always around technology, Tim uses it to his advantage in romantic gestures. He might design a personalized app just for the two of you, where you can leave secret messages or keep track of your favorite moments together. It’s his way of expressing love through what he's naturally skilled at.

5. Sudden “You’re Safe” Hugs Whenever he’s been busy with a mission or stressed, Tim has a habit of hugging you out of nowhere. It’s his silent reassurance to himself that you’re okay, and he didn’t miss out on spending another moment with you. Given how much he’s lost in his life, these hugs are his way of grounding himself in the present with someone he loves.

6. Comfort in Chaos Tim can be a bit of a workaholic, but when you’re around, he always makes room for you in his chaotic schedule, whether it’s inviting you to hang out while he’s deep in case files or finding time to text you between missions. To him, having you nearby in the midst of his chaos is a reminder that there’s something good waiting for him outside of work.

7. Endearing Rambling Tim tends to go off on passionate tangents about things he loves, and it often ends up being one of the ways he shows affection. He wants you to understand his world, and he feels safe enough to share every little thought with you, even if he knows he might be rambling.

8. The Hoodie Collector As someone who wears hoodies often, Tim always lets you borrow his, and he secretly loves seeing you in them. Over time, he starts leaving his hoodies at your place on purpose, subtly marking his presence in your life. It’s a simple but intimate way for him to feel connected to you, even when he’s not around.

9. Late-Night Coffee Runs Tim has an odd sleep schedule, and sometimes he’ll take you out for spontaneous coffee runs in the middle of the night. These trips aren’t just about caffeine it’s his way of escaping the pressures of being a hero, finding solace in mundane moments with you, even though he prefers energy drinks but it’s more “aesthetic” for coffee dates yk?

10. Gentle Wake-Up Calls Knowing that he often wakes up early or has inconsistent sleep patterns, Tim takes pride in waking you up gently with a kiss on the forehead or by playing your favorite song. It’s his small way of making your mornings brighter and ensuring that he’s the first one to greet you at the start of each day because he knows how hard it is to wake up (himself personally for Mr. Doesn’t sleep)

11. Intellectual Challenges Tim loves a good intellectual debate, and he often initiates them with you to see things from your perspective. He doesn’t just want someone who agrees with him; he wants someone who can challenge him, and it’s his way of showing that he respects and admires your intelligence.

12. Hidden Love Notes Even though he’s not overly sentimental, Tim is known to leave little post-it notes or encrypted messages for you to find. They range from sweet nothings to random jokes or clues for a mini-puzzle he’s set up for you, showing that he’s thinking about you even in his busiest moments, he personally used to write fake love notes and throw them around school so people would find it and just create drama PROBLEMATIC KING!💜

13. Training Partner Tim appreciates someone who can keep up with him, so he loves having you as his training partner. It’s not just about staying fit it’s his way of ensuring that you can take care of yourself and that he can trust you to handle danger if it ever comes your way.

14. Silent Staring Sometimes, Tim just stares at you without saying a word, especially when he’s exhausted. It’s not that he’s spacing out; he’s just soaking in your presence, finding comfort in the fact that you’re there, and it reminds him that there’s more to life than constant problem-solving, but Bruce will just stare at you with no shame and will just STARE at you directly which is a bit uncomfortable sometimes.

15. Endearing Awkwardness Tim can be awkward with expressing emotions, but he tries so hard when he’s with you. He might stumble over words or make awkward jokes, but it’s his genuine effort to be vulnerable that makes these moments special. He believes that you deserve all of him, even the parts that aren’t as polished or perfect.

Second divider @cafekitsune, DO NOT TRANSLATE OR PUT ON A DIFFERENT PLATFORM, this is @dollishbabess work!

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corduroyinstitute · 2 months ago

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October 15, 2020: Four years ago today, Corduroy Institute recorded an instrumental that would become "They Don't Even Know." Our first in-person collaboration since February of that year, the occasion signaled the start of the Lost October Sessions.

When S.A. Morin arrived at the O' Higgins Laboratory of Recorded Sound, W. Ruiz had a complex array of drum machines—Elektron Digitakt, Roland MC-707, Korg Volca Beats—synchronized via MIDI and plugged into the Tascam DP-24SD Digital Portastudio. The first musical layer involved the drum machines playing in tandem as S.A. Morin added a circular bassline on the Bass VI.

For the song's melodic content, S.A. Morin relied on EHX Superego Plus pedal to guide his Bass VI into tremolo-rich tones reminiscent of a synth. W. Ruiz used the MC-707's pads to play a choir sound he crafted by layering built-in ROM tones from the unit atop his own custom samples.

After completing this cathartic improvisation, we knew we hadn't lost our ability to craft instant compositions. New musical work followed in the ensuing days and months, and over the years this piece faded from memory.

As we took stock of the material we had on hand in the summer of 2023, this instrumental emerged from obscurity to become a contender for the album we were devising. We returned to the multitracks to make subtractive edits which yielded more dynamic and spacious drums.

"They Don't Even Know" can now be found on the second half of our latest album, Take the Train to Manchester. Nestled in between two other abstract pieces, it adds a counterpoint to the album's many lyric-driven experimental pop songs.

https://corduroyinstitute.bandcamp.com/track/they-dont-even-know

https://music.apple.com/us/album/they-dont-even-know/1723644317?i=1723644325

https://open.spotify.com/track/1LGhO5uIix01ZQUtLjJ2At?si=ST65cK7RRtOH3NAY7BrPzA

#corduroy institute #experimental pop #experimental music #superego plus #mc-707 #digitakt #volca beats #drum machine #they don't even know #take the train to manchester #the lost october sessions

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chronicles-of-kats-dnd-game · 1 year ago

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Lost Mine & Abyss Session 12 - Oh Worm?

-As Zoream looks over the strange new gem (and argues with Sen over rights to the hoard), Vierna continues upstairs to inspect the old wizard study, Dakwert's gem in hand. The place is in ruin, one decoration remaining- a framed child's drawing of two orcs, Zoream and his master.

-Zoream continues up the stairs to his rival looking at his childhood drawing- and the remains of the spellbooks pages pressed into the floor. He takes the drawing from her into his pocket, and inspects the ruined pages. He tells Vierna to investigate them, to see the spell. She recognizes it as a minor summoning spell- nothing more. But the drow still considers an accomplice to a mistake guilty. She uses Dakwert's necklace as a stress ball with her mechanical arm, Dakwert's world creaking and shaking.

-The druid tells the party to give him some space while he attempts to work a spell upon the land. The group takes a short rest in the ruins upstairs, Zoream speaking with the gem of the trapped angel some more as it asks for his help, Sid working on his armor and incorporating the scattered scales of Venomfang (to the side eye of Sen), Vierna continuing to squeeze the necklace as she processes, Sen admiring his new hoard, and Dakwert eventually emerging from the necklace to fix the scratches caused by Vierna's arm. Valark and Vierna conspire together for their return to Menzoberranzan- learning they have a common enemy back home.

-Checking back in on the druid, they find him struggling with the spell, having made seemingly little progress. He says a great evil has resided here, and it will take some time to purify- but he should have made enough progress to step away temporarily.

-The party returns to the Neverwinter Wood, Reidoth magically speeding their travel along. Sid watches the forest nervously with the axe's enchantments intruding on his mind, while Sen watches the sky, relieved for the forest's cover from searching eyes. Sid passes around the axe to give a hit of tree anxiety to everyone. How bad could it possibly be?

The druid agrees to lead them to the castle, but not come with them. As the ruined stone structure finally comes into sight, Reidoth stays to watch over the cart while the party steps off. He tells them when they return, he will lead them to Wave Echo Cave.

-Creak begs them them to charge saying she could take them, while Zoream discusses a plan of disguise, as others continue to discuss sending the original party in as prisoners. Looking around the castle, they discover a crumbling wall to enter through. Zoream and Sen cast spells to disguise themselves as a bugbear and hobgoblin. Vierna puts on the purple Tiamat cultist cloak, Dakwert hiding under it. Sid passes as Bearbug, Zoream's deformed brother. A plan half formed, they enter the castle.

-They pass through the goblin barracks, Sen swiping some of their few belongings for his collection. They find a concerning bag of bones and scales, labeled as belonging to "Ek." Sen takes all of these. Continuing on, they pass through the side tower to enter the main entrance.

-Zoream notices a wire shimmering through the light before the door ahead, warning the party back. Backing up to check the door before it, Sid opens the door to a pitch black room with a goblin's reflective eyes staring out at them from a shrine, holding a knife and warning them back from his pet as something slithers above. Sid quickly closes the door.

-Sen throws a rock towards the trapped floor, the stone quickly crumbling beneath it. The slithering from the shrine room rapidly approaches from below, the party hearing a hiss of frustration as it finds nothing. The party makes their way carefully around it to the other side. Valark glances at it while passing, backing away and commenting that its something from his home.

-Zoream: "must be comforting, then" Valark: "not particularly." Zoream: "is there anything that comforts you guys?" Vierna: "Justice."

-Opening the next door, the party walks in on seven hobgoblins feasting in a dining hall, wielding swords and armor. "Bugbear the Wise" speaks up, saying he's new and here about the bounty. When asked who let him in, he gives Ek's name- prompting an immediate negative reaction. Vierna steps forward showing the bounty and the dragonborn- while the hobgoblins decide to simply take the credit instead. Roll initiative!

-Sid's Spirit Guardians leap forward at the attacking hobgoblins, Vierna slashes at the ones in front of her ending one on her halberd, Valark throws an excited Creak towards a hobgoblin as it meets its demise via delighted goblin, and Zoream and Dakwert wear them down with spells.

-The hobgoblins defeated, Sen starts dragging their bodies over to the hole. "Glory to Ek," Bugbear the Wise shouts, as a voice from the shrine room thanks him. They shout through the walls as the creature hisses in delight from beneath, the goblin eventually inviting them in for tea. Everyone becomes much less enthusiastic.

-Sen and Zoream enter the shrine room, still disgusied as a bugbear and hobgoblin, Ek inviting them to take a seat and introduce themselves. They get along, then speak of their plan to overthrow the king- irritating Ek as the King has been accepting of him, and he doesn't really want the place improved. He likes it dark and crumbling, and works for him willingly for free. He suggests they drink some tea and relax.

-Ek continues to pressure the two to drink his tea as they talk, tapping his fingers in an unheard signal to the distracted grick. Sen takes a cautious drink, resisting its affects through his heritage, while Zoream downs it as a power move and is immediately knocked unconscious. Oops.

-The grick finally finishes feasting and slithers overhead, going for a strike at the still-standing Sen from the ceiling as Ek apologizes and speaks of his loyalty to his king. The worm creature circles Sen but finds no hold on him. As it hisses at him, the half-dragon turns and spits a Poison Spray down its beak.

-Hearing the sounds of combat, Sid opens the door to the shrine room with the rest of the party behind him, Spirit Guardians at the ready. The spectral dwarves charge forward and swiftly annihilate the combatants, the grick's body falling on top of Sen.

-Inspecting the grick, Sid removes the clawed ends of its tentacles to forge into daggers, while Sen and the now-awakened Zoream split open the creature and attempt to eat it. Its bad.

The door to the next room opens to a towering bugbear flanked by two hobgoblin guards looking down at the party in disappointment. He tells the party that if they are done tearing apart his castle, that he would like to have a talk with them- in the throne room. Met with the King of Cragmaw Castle, this session comes to a close!

#October 23 2023 #session recaps #Lost Mine and Abyss #lost mine of phandelver #lmop #dnd

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zvaigzdelasas · 1 year ago

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The emergency session is expected to vote on a Jordanian-backed draft resolution on the crisis, which among others calls for an “immediate, durable and sustained humanitarian truce”, all parties comply with international law, and continuous and unhindered aid into the Gaza Strip.[...]

Canada’s Ambassador Bob Rae said the Assembly is meeting to show Israelis and Palestinians that any life lost is a tragedy. Yet, the critical reason for being here has been forgotten. On 7 October, Hamas wreaked terror on Israel. Since then, more that 7,000 Palestinians have been killed. “We can see the need for a rapid response,” he said. Unfortunately, Canada cannot support the current text, he said, adding that the Assembly cannot act without recognizing the 7 October terrorist attacks and the hostage taking. If the proposed amendment is not adopted, the Assembly will not have recognized one of the world’s worst terrorist attacks and “we will all have to live with that failure as the tragedy continues to unfold,” he said. If the proposed amendment is not adopted, the Assembly will not have recognized one of the world’s worst terrorist attacks and “we will all have to live with that failure as the tragedy continues to unfold,” he said.[...]

In a powerful speech rebutting Canada's explanation, Pakistan’s ambassador Munir Akram said that if Canada was being fair in its amendment it would agree to name Israel as well as Hamas

[Pictured: Voting Results for Canadian Amendment]

The votes on the amendment were 85 for, 55 against, with 23 abstentions, so it failed to get the required two-thirds majority.[...]

The United Nations General Assembly on Friday adopted a resolution calling for an “immediate, durable and sustained humanitarian truce” between Israeli forces and Hamas militants in Gaza. It also demands “continuous, sufficient and unhindered” provision of lifesaving supplies and services for civilians trapped inside the enclave, as news reports suggest Israel has expanded ground operations and intensified it bombing campaign.[...]

[Pictured: Voting Results for unmodified Jordanian Resolution]

The Jordanian resolution has been adopted by the General Assembly, with 120 votes in favour, 14 against and 45 abstentions.

27 Oct 23

#other statements made included in original article #quite obvious where the actual international community stands here

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jistagrams · 1 year ago

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who lasted the longest during nnn (no nut november) riize edition

bf!riize x afab!reader

warnings: suggestive, slight smut, pet names, soft dom! / hard!dom type shit for them all🤭🤭, eunseok calls u whore & slut, oral (both r receiving) , degradation if u squint, praising, fluff, lmk if I missed any

shotaro: 26 days

shotaro def tried to last longer than anyone in riize, only cus he has control and him being so busy with his schedule he didn’t have much time to see you or even get off by himself 😭, but once he saw you he literally went batshit crazy. like YOU in THAT outfit? he couldn’t take it anymore, had to have you right in that second.

“taro calm down..” you whined underneath him, “cant, fuck” one hand gripping onto your waist as the other rubbed your clit deliciously, throwing out compliments. “you take me so good you know that? shit, baby stop clenching, m’ gon-“ he moaned loudly as he came, falling down onto you. twitching slightly.

eunseok: 23 days

he was doing so good, keeping himself busy with his schedule like shotaro and hanging out with friends, shit he even made fun of his friends who lost during the first few weeks, he was excited to see you on thanksgiving since it’s been so long, thinking it would be a cute and adorable reunion. but oh was he so wrong. He didn’t expect to have his dick down your throat in his childhood room.

“such a fucking slut, just wants my dick in you at all times.” he grunted out as he held you down on it, gripping onto your hair with both hands to fuck your throat, tears fell down as he laughed slightly. “whore.” He grumbled while throwing his head back and letting go of your hair to let you do the rest of the work.

sungchan: 10 days

yeah, ten days, during those 10 days he was acting all cocky and laughing at his friends who lost before him, saying how they can’t keep it in their pants, meanwhile the whole time he was fighting DEMONS to keep his in his pants. kinda hard to when he lives with his wonderful partner, who just so happened to not be participating in nnn, (And who also didn’t want him to participate..)

“sungieeee~” you cooed while getting in his lap, he looked at you confused, “what’s up baby?” He held your hips almost immediately when you plopped down onto him, just great, just exactly what he needed. you started to grind on him softly, his eyes went wide as you placed your arms around his neck. “yn.. did you forget?” he sighed softly, the feeling was too good to stop you, “you don’t even win anything out of this” you whined quietly. he threw his head back, perfect to kiss his neck. “maybe I could lose just this once”

wonbin: 3 days

reason he only lasted 3 days was cause of you and the way you were acting, he was getting too cocky during October saying “oh ima win nnn for sure, bet u won’t even last a minute” and so on and so on, so you decided to test him, see if he could really pass nnn. It started off with small touches, small pecks that weren’t really small pecks instead they were long makeout sessions leaving him after touching him like you were deprived. This kept going till he couldn’t handle it anymore,

“think it’s cute to tease me?” he laughed softly as he slid two fingers in, setting a fast pace already. “bin, need you” you begged him as you held onto the hand that was between your thighs, he scoffs at your begging and goes faster than the original pace, “think im gonna reward you with my dick after all your teasing? your funny”

seunghan: 0 days

bro didn’t even get to start it, was already fucking on Halloween, definitely was the member in riize that was getting bullied for not even lasting a day.

“slow down fuck seung” you gasped, gripping onto his hair, “gon fuck you into the next day, yeah? you would like that wouldn’t you?” he laughed while putting your legs up to your chest, “your gunna fail nnn already” you let a breathy chuckle out whole pointing to clock next to the bed, “don’t care, at least I can do this everyday”

sohee: 4 days

idk I feel like he wouldn’t even try to participate, his sex drive isn’t just isn’t as crazy as most people, he could probably go like 5 days max without sex but you on the other hand? you always want him, any type of way. so obviously you were the one to break his “streak”

“your so needy baby” he cooed while kissing your face, holding your hand as he slid in, “can’t help it” you whined softly, tightening your grip on his hand. “your too handsome, makes me want you” he blushed and giggled at your word, he gets so geeked when you call him handsome <3

anton: 30 days

he took this sersiously guys, told you and himself that if he lost he was gonna leave riize. Said he didn’t wanna be teased for losing so he took the long measures to win, this means he literally avoided you like the bubonic plague. Oh you wanted to kiss him? Sure but nothing more than a peck, You wanted a hug? a small side hug will do, you were needy? Well…he could make some arrangements, can’t let his baby suffer like him <3

“you sure you don’t want anything in return?” you asked him, holding the hand in between your legs, softly rubbing his head with your other hand. “cant lose baby” he replied. “not even getting anything out of it” you mumbled, “uh yeah, satisfaction of winning” he spoke like it was obvious.

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theleotarot · 1 year ago

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Future Spouse - Your Meeting ❤️

Choose the image you are most drawn to or resonate most with… pile 1, pile 2, pile 3, & pile 4 ✨

Personal readings available here 💕

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Pile 1

(Tarot cards: 8 of Cups, 10 of Pentacles, Four of Cups, Justice, & at the back of the deck 2 of Wands)

Pile 1, you are meeting your future spouse when you are leaving a hurtful situation behind in your life. Perhaps, it is leaving a relationship that no longer serves you, a job that you leave behind due to more opportunity, or removing yourself from a toxic environment of certain family members or friends. While you may be in this circumstance of leaving behind negativity, you may also be leaving your situation behind physically by traveling or moving somewhere else. You may do this because you are burdened with distress, and you are giving yourself the time and space to heal.

During this traveling or moving, you will meet your future spouse in a place that is astonishingly beautiful. I am seeing that you will meet them outside in a beautiful natured landscape that is surrounded by a body of water, or you will meet them in a very tall and elegant building that takes place in a beautiful landscape. I am also seeing that animals might surround the area, and the environment may look rich in green. Before getting to talk with your future spouse, you will be in your own mind thinking about how unsatisfied and bored your life is in that moment, but that will change once they come through. The meeting between you and your future spouse will ultimately restore the balance in your life. That part of you that felt like your life was unfulfilled will vanish because this person will open your eyes to see that there is hope at the end of the tunnel. There is hope that excitement and emotional fulfillment will be restored. The attraction between you and your future spouse will also be reciprocal. While meeting them, you might think to yourself "oh wow, they are too good for me" but guess what? They are thinking that about you too! The more masculine figure in your relationship will also be the one who approaches first and is straightforward about their attraction to the other.

Ultimately, the meeting between you and your future spouse will lead you to do a lot of planning for your future. After the two of you meet, you will be looking forward to seeing them much more, seeking to get to know them more, and hoping to progress your relationship with them. Your mind of negativity will begin to shift into hope and optimism for your relationship.

Extras to look out for/keep in mind: Number 19, September, October, 3 to 4 years, nature, animals, ocean, body of water, number 8, 8 months, large building, green land

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Pile 2

(Tarot cards: 5 of Pentacles, 9 of Swords, 6 of Cups, 3 of Swords, & at the back of the deck 4 of Wands)

Pile 2, you are meeting your future spouse during a time when you are financially struggling, feeling out of place, or when you have lost something valuable in your life. During this stressful period, you will be overthinking a lot and maybe not getting enough amount of sleep, but I still see that you are persevering through your life. Maybe you might go to therapy to seek some help or you are continuing to work hard for school and your job. Your perseverance will lead you to meeting your future spouse.

I see that you and your future spouse will meet in a group setting or a gathering of some sort. Whether it be during a school, work, or therapy session, you both will meet through a friend, coworker, or someone you have known for some time. For some of you, it may also be that your future spouse is someone from your past, and you will reconcile with them. For instance, if you attend group therapy, you may unexpectedly see that person there as well, and that is where you will meet and reconcile. Again, that is for some of you only. When you and your future spouse meet, I believe that the both of you will bond over your unhappy lives. You are heartbroken, and your future spouse may be heartbroken with their life as well. You both will talk to one another about your situations, give advice to one another, and this is what brings you both together. I can also see that while there may be attraction, you or they may have their guards up when you two meet. This is transparent, since both of you will be going through a dark time, and it may be difficult to open up freely because you are both worried and focused on your lives only.

In the long run, you and your future spouse will slowly develop your relationship together. You both will realize that in order to have met your person, you needed to go through that devastating period, and the darkest times are a blessing in disguise that have led you to a wonderful partner to create beautiful memories with.

Extras to look out for/keep in mind: 10-12 months, snow, cold weather, number 12, number 13, number 22, number 24, number 30, black birds, dried trees, sleepless nights

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Pile 3

(Tarot cards: 9 of Pentacles, 6 of Pentacles, 4 of Swords, Death, & at the back of the deck 4 of Wands)

Pile 3, you are meeting your future spouse when you have finally mastered your self-love and are financially abundant! You will be in a situation where you are very stable, happy while being alone, and all your hard work has payed off. Because you are meeting your future spouse during a time of happiness and abundance, I feel as if it may take awhile before you meet them. As of right now, I believe you are still in the process of building yourself up, so please keep going and eventually things will turn out to be in your favor! If being happy and abundant represents you right now, know that your future spouse is right around the corner!

You will be meeting your future spouse either at a charity event, volunteering event, or a festival of some sort. I am seeing that during the day you meet them, you will be working or walking a lot physically. Then, after getting tired, you will be taking a break to relax, and that is where your future spouse comes in to talk to you, or this is when you notice them from where you are at. Your meeting with your future spouse will catch you off guard in a way. I do not believe that you will be ready for this person to talk with you, and when they do talk to you, you will feel like it is the right time to let someone in to your love life. You will be thinking that you have achieved a lot in the different areas of your life pertaining to money, career, and education, and you will also think that you deserve to achieve the romance part of your life.

When you and your future spouse meet, you will allow them to come in to your life smoothly. Meeting them will be a new chapter for you. This chapter is a new beginning of not only you accepting and loving yourself, but also accepting of a passionate and committing love that has great potential in building a life of wonderful children and a beautiful home.

Extras to look out for/keep in mind: Number 12, 10-12 months, 9-10 years, number 28, rain, park, fruits, animal shelter, wood baskets, butterflies, hummingbirds

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Pile 4

(Tarot cards: 8 of Pentacles, Knight of Swords, 9 of Cups, The Unknown Card, & at the back of the deck 8 of Cups)

Pile 4, you are meeting your future spouse when you are working extremely hard on a task or a goal. Perhaps, you are trying to build a business, developing a presentation for a group of professionals, or you are just doing the usual of every day tasks at work. You might also be trying to establish an online business of your own. You will meet your future spouse in a time in which you are solely focused on your work and goals.

You and your future spouse will most definitely meet at work, or for some of you, through online work. I am seeing that you will meet them once you have accomplished your work goal, gained recognition, or obtained great emotional fulfillment. Maybe after establishing your dream business or performing your momentous presentation, your future spouse will recognize you, and that is when they will start a conversation with you. For some of you, meeting online through your online business is also a way you will meet them. Maybe they reach out to you because they are interested in your work only and you become business partners, but later on, the both of you unintendedly begin to form a relationship that is more romantic. For the rest of you, you will meet them after you have finished with a simple task at work. For instance, after you have finished reorganizing some items, they will see that you are done; hence, they will come up to talk to you. There is uncertainty on what will happen between the two of you though. In the end, they will be your future spouse; however, you need to work on your accomplishments first before you can come across them and build your relationship.

When you meet your future spouse, you must walk away from your old life of longing for success. While receiving an opportunity of a new love, you will also be surrounded by lots of achievements. Now is the time to continue on with your journey to success, and soon enough, your future spouse will meet you at the end where you are celebrating all of your accomplishments.

Extras to look out for/keep in mind: Fog, number 25, presentations, wheels, online chatting, business partners, colleagues, number 2

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#tarot reading #free tarot reading #love reading #future spouse reading #pac #pick a card #pick a pile #daily tarot #tarot #love pac #relationship tarot #pinterest pictures #fs reading <3 #pac <3

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theresattrpgforthat · 17 days ago

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Mint Plays Games: Changelings, Trauma & Gaming

Over the course of October and November, I returned to one of my favourite ttrpgs of all time with @thydungeongal and my girlfriend: Changeling the Lost. About once or twice a year, I get the itch to run the 1st edition of this lovely, lore-heavy game, and every year I come away from it thinking about its potential. This is meant to be a quick break-down of my latest Changeling session, as well as a reflection on the parts of Changeling that really touch my heart.

The Game.

This game happened over three sessions, involving a character creation session, and two sessions of play. We had one character who was a Darkling Gravewright - folks who dealt with the dead in their time in Faerie (and can also see ghosts), and another who was a Fairest Flamesiren, whose entire deal is about burning bright, but also burning out quickly.

I decided to give these girls a murder mystery, with a mortal body found just outside a gate to a Goblin Market, and a missing changeling to track down. We’d talked about themes of grief and addiction prior to my planning stage, so I figured dealing with both a death and a place that offers your wildest dreams (for a price) might be a good place to start.

I don’t like planning out specific plot beats in my games, so instead I tried designing the Market like an adventure location, with various vendors to tempt the players with their wares, while dotting the landscape with NPCs in various states of distress. I figured the Changelings would pick something that resonated with them, and we could go from there. This process also generated a few different villainous characters who could be responsible for the murder, which I’m glad I did, because as usual, what the players decide to do always falls outside the bounds of what the GM plans for.

The story ended up being about saving a kidnapped changeling from a hungry Fae, and bluffing through a group of Privateers (read: mercenaries) and bringing the victim to safety. However, they didn't escape completely unscathed - coming face to face with a True Fae caused a cascade of terrible memories coming back to visit one of our characters right after she thought she'd made it to safety.

Our session was an introduction to the world and lore of Changeling, and I feel like I did a pretty good job on that front. On the other hand, I felt like it was just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to the things I think Changeling can be about.

The Potential

When it comes to the World of Darkness in general, I think Changeling: the Lost has a relatively sleek amount of lore regarding the various Courts, Seemings, and faerie characters. Each Changeling’s durance can be typified, but ultimately what they went through can be up to the player who designs them, and the Hedge is limitless in its weird and strange creatures, which gives the GM license to create all kinds of goblins and monsters to fit what they want their game to be about - and the players aren’t really expected to know what’s going on in there anyways. Most Freehold history exists in rumour, because talking too openly about it feels like you’re inviting the Fae to your front doorstep, and in the same way, the true nature of the Fae is left up to rumour and superstition, allowing your group to decide what they really are, or leave their nature forever a mystery.

That being said, the toys that you can play with are still more numerous than anything that you can fit into any one campaign, even if you’re playing that campaign for 4+ years. You can very easily play Changeling as a magical urban fantasy game (and I’ve done this fairly regularly with my group), but C:tL also has a lot of poignant themes that can delve into themes about trauma, addiction, and mental health.

Disclaimer: CtL is not always graceful in the way it represents mental health. There are antagonists presented in the books that come across as “madmen”, some pretty gross Merits you can take that can feel bad to play at most tables, and characters that have lost what makes them human, becoming threats to the players. However, I think that the Clarity system does have some interesting ideas in it that, if treated with care, can still provide some interesting depth to the game.

Clarity

Clarity is meant to be a measure of how well your character can tell truth from Fiction - a high enough Clarity score, and you can sniff out a Fae even if they’re trying to hide themselves; a low enough Clarity Score, and you have a hard time differentiating colour and smell, and might even start seeing an overlay of your Durance infiltrating your weekly grocery trip.

Your Changeling moves up in Clarity if they’re able to keep a stable life with elements that help you ground yourself and give you a sense of identity - and mechanically, once you spend Experience points. Your Changeling moves down in Clarity when they suffer “sins” - moments that disrupt that hard-won stability. This sins could be something we’d consider morally fraught, such as stealing, assaulting someone, or murder - but they could also be significant life changes, like losing your job, buying a house, losing a friend or getting married. You also always suffer a Clarity sin when you come in contact with a reminder of your durance - particularly a True Fae.

The higher your Clarity score is, the harder it is to keep yourself there. Smaller and smaller things can trigger a Breaking point, like going a day without human contact, starting a new college course, or using a Faerie token. Furthermore, the lower your Clarity score, the more difficult it is for you to tell truth from fiction - think of the scenes in Mockingjay where Peeta has to ask Katniss “real or not real” and try to trust her answers.

It doesn’t help that so many pieces of the Changeling experience after getting out of the Hedge seems designed to Fuck You Up - like the doppelgänger that’s been living your life ever since you left, or the fact that mortals can’t seem to notice the ways that Faerie has changed you: you can feel the horns on your head, but all they touch is a well-coiffed hairstyle. In many ways it feels like your whole experience with Faerie is invisible - and you’re fairly certain that even if you told a mortal the truth, they’d never believe you. If they did believe you, they would never treat you the same again.

I like this system because it doesn't really measure how "good" or "bad" your character is - instead it's a representation of how your lived experiences can often trigger symptoms even if others get lucky enough to survive those events with their mental health intact. I'm not a bit fan of derangements - but I think dropping in Clarity is an excellent time to ask characters about pieces of their time in Faerie that haunt them, and perhaps saddle them with Frailties instead - what personal rules do you have to follow in order to navigate the world when you have a hard time telling friend from foe?

Other Themes & Metaphors

The Fae themselves are also exquisite boogeymen, mercurial abusers without the familiar human emotions that we might feel more equipped to understand. They act on their whims and follow their appetites - and while real-life abusers often have very human reasons for being that way, we need not feel such compunctions from the Fae.

We might have to feel some compunctions about their right-hand Loyalists however, changelings who have agreed to work for their Fae Masters in exchange for some semblance of freedom. These are enablers: giving the Fae a step into the mortal realm and throwing mortals and other Lost under the bus, just so the True Fae won't turn their abuses back onto them.

Much of the ethos of the seasonal courts in the first edition has to do with different strategies for preventing a day where you find yourself back under your abuser’s control. Do you pretend that everything is fine, because they won’t recognize their victims if they’re happy? Make yourself physically stronger so you can tell yourself that you’ll win next time? Amass magic rituals in the hopes that learning just the right order of steps will keep you safe? Or do you make yourself as un-interesting as possible in the hopes that they give up on you for other prey? (Yes, I think the Winter Court could totally be all about grey-rocking).

On top of that, the Changelings that your characters embody (and interact with) are far from perfect. They have vices, fears and trauma responses that pull and push them into a dance of backstabbing, power-grabbing politics, full of seeking the upper hand and possibly even selling out their fellows in a gambit meant to keep the Fae focused on someone other than them. (A political game or LARP with these themes in mind feels so juicy to me.)

Next is the metaphors of power and/or addiction. The higher your Wyrd is, the more Glamour you can hold, and the more powerful your magic is. At the same time, the more Glamour you can hold, the more you need to hold it: what starts as a fun magical resource can grow into an addiction, if you lean into it hard enough. Sure, your Contracts become easier to activate and you can Incite Bedlam if you get powerful enough, but are you willing to chance withdrawal if you can’t get your daily fix of goblin fruit? How much are you willing to play with human emotions in order to get that sweet sweet taste of anger or grief?

Then there’s the seeming-specific traumas. Beasts struggle with wondering whether they can be human after giving in to animal instinct; Darklings fell into Faerie because they crossed an invisible or moral line and have had to make morally questionable decisions in order to survive. Elementals are used to being treated as part of the scenery, moulded to fit the whims of their captors; Fairest are constantly pressured to be the prettiest or the best with the threat of terrible terrible things should they fail. Ogres have undergone terrible physical hardships, including physical mistreatment and deprivation, while Wizened have been told time and time again that they are only worth something if they are useful. Stepping out of Faerie doesn’t magically “fix” any of these complexes, and as a result each Seeming has to wrestle with stereotypes even amongst their own: if you need someone murdered, go to a Darkling, If you need something made, go to a Wizened. If you need a hot piece of ass, a Fairest is sure to oblige - right?

Lastly, there's the Fetch: a copy of yourself that was made to replace you when the Fae took you away. This other-you is often so much better or so much worse than the person they used to be - they can act as a foil to your character, haunting you or making your life difficult, reminding you of who you used to be, or never letting others forget how badly you may have screwed up. In Changeling society, killing your Fetch is at the very least a regrettably convenient way of tying up loose ends, and at the most, a rite of passage. But it's also a surefire way to risk losing Clarity. Kind of a catch-22 situation, isn't it?

My Experience So Far

Past Changeling sessions I’ve run have included NPCs getting kidnapped by misguided friends, stumbling across characters who were at an all-time Clarity low, trying to save other Changelings from their Faerie kidnappers, cannibals, Fetches, and antagonists who are set out to betray one or more factions of the Freehold that is supposed to protect them. It’s always bits and pieces of what feels like a bigger picture.

On the one hand, I think that's to be expected. There's so much in this game, and I doubt that any campaign can really dig in to all of its systems and complexities. On the other hand, I’m not sure if I’ve been able to really dig into the themes of Changeling: the Lost in the way that I’d really love to be able to do.

The subject matter can be so close to real struggles, that I’m nervous about making those struggles too bare-faced at my local table. Gas-lighting, torture, hallucinations, drug abuse and cannibalism are so very easy to drop into a Changeling game, but are also so very easy to hit uncomfortable moments for someone who's unprepared.

At the same time, I think that playing a game like Changeling with a high-trust table that uses robust safety features has so many interesting stories that can give power to players, even if the setting is technically a horror one. I’ve been having conversations with @psychhound about a lot of the themes that folks try to explore in ttrpgs, especially in response to this post he commented on back in April. To summarize that conversation: TTRPGs are a great way for folks to tackle personal struggles and traumas from a safe place, in ways that can give them a cathartic experience or that can give them a fresh sense of identity. Changeling has been a significant part of those discussions.

I came to Changeling: the Lost as a fairly new GM the first time I picked it up, and the more I learn about Safety Tools and a culture of care, the closer I feel to getting to that game that lives in my head that lured me into TTRPGS in the first place. Every time I come back to It, I think I'm closer to pulling together a Changeling game that sinks its teeth into the themes I’m interested in and hit some of the grime beneath all that glitter. So every time I come back to it, I’m going to create funky little goblins and design weird Fae bars and take the characters’ memories and ask them why they hurt - figuring out how I can twist the knife just enough to peel back the glamour, without opening any wounds that we’re trying to keep closed.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #changeling the lost #mint plays games #mint speaks #world of darkness

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