#this song got me through church every year

[best-nun-tournament]

Finals

Sister Beatrice (Warrior Nun) vs Silque (Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia)

Sister Beatrice is a secret Demon-Fighting Warrior Nun of the Order of the Cruciform Sword.

Silque is a mendicant nun serving the goddess Mila

Sister Beatrice

Sister Beatrice is perfect in every way. She had to be. When you're taught to hate what you are, when what you love, whom you love, brings you nothing but pain, all you have left is to be perfect. To hope that, if you excel enough, in enough ways, then you might be found worthy. Instead, her wealthy, bigoted, British diplomat parents shipped her off to boarding school in Switzerland for the crime of being a lesbian. From there, she joined the Church, married God, and became part of a secret order of demon-fighting black ops nuns. Being married to Jesus wouldn't be so bad, except for the fact that she's fallen in love with a woman who rose from the dead, a beautiful bisexual savior with golden retriever energy and a heart of gold, and for whose training and protection Beatrice is responsible. Her best friend, no less. And roommate. Their apartment only has one bed. Maybe it is bad after all. But maybe Beatrice doesn't mind being bad anymore. Maybe she would rather worship her love, her Ava, than any God of any church. Maybe she would kill a dozen men who stood between her and her love while Ave Maria plays in the background. Maybe Beatrice would burn the world to save her. Maybe it wouldn't be enough, in the end. Maybe she would have to send Ava through a portal to Heaven, or Hell, to save Ava's life, moments after learning her love was returned. Maybe she would wait for her Ava to return too. Until, one day...

Silque

Beautiful woman... beautiful woman... Anyway she's the first cleric you get if I recall correctly in the game so you rely on her pretty early on and she's a good unit! She learns warp early which is a great spell for all kinds of strategies. But this isn't about her gameplay! She's just a fun character. She's far from your standard quiet nun type. She enjoys the Girl Talk (tm) and tries to have some with Faye (although Faye shuts it down because she hate gossip or something). She's so cool and girlboss. But even with all that she's still very devout! Because it was Mila's teachings that saved her as a child, she is extremely dedicated to serving the Mother Mila. Also she likes to eat raw bags of flour and hard stale bread. The justification for this was that she was raised humbly (first on a pilgrimage with her mother then by the Novis Priory) but I think it's just goofy as hell. Also she has a high luck growth which is also funny because she gets kidnapped like twice and I don't think that's very lucky.

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More stuff: this is just more stuff but I find it interesting how her mother served the god Duma while she serves the goddess Mila, opposing dieties. Even though she was raised for the first years of her life by her mother who was a Duma Faithful, she was raised the rest of her life in a Mila-dedicated Priory so she serves Mila although her mother served Duma.

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Since people are talking about music for quite a bit of these nuns, her VA sings the ending credits theme for her game! It's not necessarily in character, but it's from the perspective of the Goddess Mila which is really cool. It's a super hopeful song that got me through some really dark times so I'm biased but still.

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Silque propaganda: she is one of four people in Valentia who can kill a god. She also used to worship said god, making this even better. She also can teleport people an infinite distance. Please vote Silque.

[ghxstwrites]

Forgive Me Father

Pairing: Priest! Yunho x GN! Reader

Summary: It’d been forever since you stepped into a church, but after one too many life altering events, a friend suggested confessing as a last resort, and it turns out you got more than you prayed for. 

WC: 2.6k

AU: Religion! Au

Genre: smidgen of Angst, Smutty smut smut smut, porn with plot

Warning(s): Smut! MDNI! priest kink went brrrrr with this man, dacryphilia, impact play, lotttsss of degradation, lil bit of praise, discussion of religion and blasphemous acts, reader can be a bit of a smartass, unprotected sex (that's not very holy… wrap it up) - sorry if i'm missing anything!

A/N: Well, I wont ever see Heaven after this. Thank you to @bunnliix for the proofread and help on this one, also @skzdust for you Catholicism knowledge, big shout out to @kpop---scenarios for the title!

Nets: @mirohs-aurora-society

Tag List: @bethelighthalazia @a---shura @kpop---scenarios @autieofthevalley @wisejudgedragonhairdo (send me an ask if you'd like to be added!)

Kinktober & Flufftober Masterlist

It felt like one thing after another, your fiancé ran away with their co-worker and work had eliminated your position, and you’d lost what was supposed to be a lifelong friend in the process, it felt like something was out to get you. You’d tried everything to help clear any negative thoughts with every feasible solution you’d been recommended when searching the internet.

Journaling? Didn’t work - after you’d nearly jammed the pen through one of the books writing all the warning signs down after your fiancé left, and ruined another with tears talking about your friend.

Yoga and Meditation? Nope, after 3 sessions you decided being alone with your thoughts was definitely not the route you wanted to take.

Blasting your favorite songs? It worked… until the song you were going to use as your first dance at your wedding came on. Your speaker went through the open window right before you cried yourself to sleep that night. 

Which brings you to today, a group of your friends had decided to invite you out to lunch, the first time you’d really seen the world had set its sights on you. 

“Oh sweetheart…,” your friend cooed at you across the table, it sounded like she was mocking you at first, despite you knowing she wasn’t, you weren’t convinced she had an evil bone in her body. “Listen… I know it isn’t usually your thing, but.. Have you thought about church? Or even going to confessionals? They don’t really talk to you, the priest just listens…. Once you're done he offers solutions and if you use them, great. If not, no harm no foul?” she shrugs her shoulders unsure of her own words to you. 

You contemplated for a minute “You’re right it isn’t my thing, I don't really get how sitting next to a stranger who’s whole personality is religious context, talking to him like you’re talking to air…but if it works for you, that's great… for you,” You, admittedly a little harsh, reply back to her. 

Late one night you’d sat on your bed looking for jobs on your laptop, and with every passing one you’d grown more frustrated, you either didn’t have matching qualifications, they wanted a better degree or they weren’t even paying a livable wage. 

“Fuck this,” you huff out as you close your laptop, shoving it off your lap and fall back in bed. You’d pull your hoodie over your face as you listen to the sound of rainfall hit your apartment window and your friends' words ring back in your brain, what else did you really have to lose? Talking to a stranger who knows nothing about you and would likely never see you again, huffing you get dressed and head over to your local church.

Walking in, you take note of the admittedly beautiful surroundings, stained glass windows, marble statues, all of it was cloaked in darkness as night had fallen, but the moon light cascaded through the windows beautifully. 

You took a moment to look around, familiarizing yourself with your surroundings as it had been years since you’d entered a church. Wooden pews, rich velvet red floors, as dated as it may look, it was beautiful. 

It wasn’t long before your eyes fell on the confessional, a wooden box in the far corner of the room, sighing to yourself, you walked toward it. You slowly reach for the handle and open the door, you sit down in the booth as the silence is suddenly so loud. 

“What brings you here, Child?” A male voice spoke from the otherside of the grate.

Startled, you respond as calmly as you can. “I-I’m down on my luck and a friend suggested this… I’m hoping you can listen or help?”

The man spoke up once again “Very well, you may proceed.”

With a heavy sigh you proceed to recount the last few months of troubles to the man, feeling yourself getting angry and the tone shift slightly. You feel like you can dig your nails into the laminated wood you sat on, that same grit showing up in the way you speak.

“Easy child...” the man lulls out at you “There's no need to speak with such venom.”

The tone of his voice admittedly going straight to your core, but why? You don’t know anything about the young priest on the other side, other than exactly that, a young man who has devoted his life to the church, are you really that insane?

“Sorry sir -” 

“Please, refer to me as father, Father Yunho,” He cuts you off.

“Sorry Father…” you manage to say back, a calmness washing over your voice as you try to push those thoughts  to the back of your mind.

“Father, please help.” you whine out, feeling frustrated “I am at the end of my rope and nothing seems to be working,” you admit.

“I see… is that all you’d like to confess, child? I have a feeling there is more,” he all but whispers. 

The way his words fall from his mouth has you pushing your thighs together, his voice was as velvety as the floors of his church, delicate yet demanding.

“N-no father,” you say, barely above a whisper, when you hear a small chuckle on the other side.

“Very well, I sense that you need to reflect on yourself and perhaps your relationship with our savior, putting your faith in him may guide you to the path you are seeking,” he retorts back at you.

“Thank you Father.. For listening and.. Helping,” you sound pitiful, you felt as if you were about to cry

“If you feel the need to come back to confess anything further, I’m always here child.” he said back to you, his tone calm but with a hidden undertone to it that you couldn’t quite discern.

It had been a few weeks since you’d gone to visit Yunho, and out of everything you confessed that night, the one thing that stuck with you was the sound of his voice. 

The way it flowed like warm honey wouldn’t leave your head, what would your name sound like falling from those lips, the noises he’d make, maybe even… No, stop, he's a priest, he was there to listen and guide you and now all you can think about is the noises you could make him elicit.

You’d laid there, it’d been a rough day as several more rejection emails clogged your inbox, you think back to the young priest's words, full of encouragement - but the more they replayed the more you stirred, your hand guiding its way down your body, “Father please…” you’d softly moaned out as your hand dips into your shorts.

It had felt like the universe had given you a break, you’d been given a job offer, and a nice one at that, could this have been the divine intervention the young priest was talking about?

Despite the feeling of gratitude, and things looking up - there was still one thing in the back of your head. 

Father Yunho.

You found yourself back in the walls of the church late one evening, you’d just come from your first day of work and since the church was on the way home you wanted to stop in, if nothing else to pay your respects and close this chapter of your life. 

You’d sat down on the cold bench in the confessional. “Father Yunho? Are you there?”

“Oh it’s you again,” he speaks softly. He remembered me? “Is everything okay?”

That damn voice, the way it seeps out of his mouth, the way it makes you think the unholiest thoughts in the holiest of places.

“Y-yes… well yes and no,” you say to him “I was able to find a job, Today was my first day actually, I wanted to stop in and say  thank you…’ you trailed off

“And?” the young priest smirks to himself, he knows something else has brought you back - no one comes to confess a warm hearted thank you. “I feel as if there is still something you are withholding, child.”

“Please, call me Y/N…” you muster, trying to change the subject.

“Very well, Y/n,” he says, “Please, I will not force you but how can I help you if you do not confess what is plaguing you?”

Damn it. He has you cornered, you can’t back out of this now. 

“F-Father, please forgive me, but I.. I have sinned,” you whimper out. “Since the last time we spoke I.. I can’t stop thinking of you.” you confess to the young man sitting across the partition from you.

“Thinking of me? Thinking of me, how?” he asked you.

“I-” you choke on your own words, “Late at night.. When I replay your words, they start as encouragement and then I can’t help but think of what other sounds you can make.. I..” you look at the floor, embarrassed by your own confession, across the partition Yunho's face is getting hotter, and embarrassingly enough to him, his pants are getting tighter. 

When Yunho took the oath to be a faithful leader for Christ on the altar in this very church he made many vows, including celibacy, which never affected him until now. You, a seemingly innocent individual, came to him for advice, advice he was happy to offer to you, and now sitting across from you as you recount the blasphemous things you’d done while thinking about him, had made him feel things he’d never felt before.  

“Y/n, Pl-Please,” Yunho whined out

“I’m so sorry Father… I feel so ashamed at the amount of times I've gotten off to just the mere thought of your voice…” you feel the tears well up in your eyes.

Yunho is sat across from you and with every whimper and sob he feels it go straight to his dick, painfully aware of just how bad he’s affected you, as it’s now affecting him.

“Y-Y/n.. Please.. I…” he breathes out as his head tilts back against the confessional as he tries to push the thoughts out of his head, but now all he can think about is your tear stained face begging for forgiveness and he lets out a low moan. 

“Father are you… are you okay,” you lift your head to look at the mesh partition as if it were him. “I’m sorry if I…If i said too much.”

“Such- ah- filth should be reprimanded,” Yunho says through gritted teeth.

The sound goes straight to your core, causing you to press your thighs together in response.

“Father I -” Your words were cut short by the confessional door swinging open, leaving you face to face with the young priest. 

“You come into the house of Christ with such a perverted mouth and expect me to let you walk away?” He spat at you.”You are beyond saving Child,” as he pulls you out of the confessional and pushes you onto a nearby pew, leaving you shocked.

“The likes of you should be punished” he sits next to you and pulls you over his lap eliciting a yelp from you. His large hand comes down on your ass, the sound echoing through the church, causing you to cry out. 

“Quiet, you’ll take the punishment as penance for your sins, understood?” You let out a muffled sob “Now, Count.”

“One..” spank “T-Two,”  spank  “Th-Three,” you cry out as Yunho's broad hand comes down on your ass, tears rolling down your face.

“Such a waste of obedience in such a disobedient slut,” he says to you, gently massaging your asscheek from the smacks. 

“On your Knees,” you quickly move to place yourself on the ground. “Years ago, I vowed to Christ I would serve him in all his glory, I vowed obedience, poverty and celibacy.. And then my only thanks is to be sent a filthy slut to break me of those vows.” he spits as he removes his robe, and makes quick work of his belt. You sat back watching his every move, eyes eventually finding the tent that had been forming in his slacks.

“Father.. Please… please forgive me,” you sob up at him. “Quiet, you’ll speak when spoken too, understand?” he looks down at you. “Yes, Father” you squeak out as he smirks. “That’s better…” he reaches out to cup your face, wiping the stray tear away. ‘Now, why don’t you put this pretty mouth to good use?” he coos at you, tracing your lower lip with his thumb. 

Leaning back, he pulls out his aching cock, you lean forward and give him and give him a couple experimental pumps, which draws a beautiful noise out of the taller man before taking him completely in your mouth. 

The warm wet feeling has him in shambles, he’s putting all of his focus into not cumming down your throat immediately as you expertly work his length, his hand finding your hair as he attempts to take control of the situation. 

“There you go…” He lulls out, as his mouth drops open, as an unfamiliar pit starts forming in the pit of his stomach. He can feel it building as you bob your head up and down his cock, his grip on your hair tightening as he feels himself getting close, he pulls you away from him, using the hand in your hair to make you look up at him. Drool trailing out of your mouth as you look at him with slightly glassy eyes.

Looking at you, a switch flips in his mind, “So pretty, so obedient for me,” he says barely above a whisper as a smirk forms on his face. “Up, I’m not finished with you,” he pulls you to your feet as he stands up, leading you up to the altar, he forces you over it as he kicks your feet apart, he reaches for your hair, pulling it forcing it to look up. In front of you is a large marble statue of Christ. 

“To make sure you know just what you’ve done, I want you to see him,” he says sternly as tears well in your eyes again, before you can form a reply you feel Yunho’s cock slide into you, bottoming out rather quickly. The young priest throws his head back as his fingertips dig into your hip, causing you both to moan. Yunho pulls out slowly before ramming himself back into you, setting a rough pace. 

 “Father.. P-Please” you beg as his grip on your hair tightens. “F-uck please.. I can’t last much longer like this, Father please,” tears stream down your face as you stare at the marble statue in front of you.

“Not my favorite sinner begging for forgiveness now” he quips at you, his pace slowing down “Tell me exactly why I should forgive you for the sin you’ve brought into this church? Before our Lord and savior?” He punctuated each word with a sharp thrust. “How pathetic, now you’re crying?” he smirks as he pulls you back, body flush with his “Go on, let go.. Show me how much you really are sorry,” He coos in your ear. 

“Father - I.. I” your mind goes blank, your orgasm hits you like a ton of bricks with one final thrust from Yunho, his name falling from your lips like hymns on a Sunday morning, he lets go of your hair, causing you to fall forward onto the altar as he pulls out of you, painting your back in his seed. The feeling of his seed on your back makes you shudder, the aftershocks of your orgasm pulling the energy out of you as you lay on the altar. Catching his breath, Yunho looks down at you, covered in his release and smirks.

”Whoever conceals their sins, does not prosper,” He breathes out  “but one who confesses it finds mercy.”

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Ava Gardner (The Killers, The Barefoot Contessa)— She's so goddamn hot. Her and Frank Sinatra could've sandwiched me and I would've thanked them for the privilege

Dorothy Dandridge (Carmen Jones, Porgy and Bess, Island in the Sun)— The first Black actress to ever be nominated for best actress, Dorothy Dandridge was a groundbreaking actress who deserved better. She started her career as a singer, being put in a song-and-dance duo with her sister by their stage mother, and singing in soundies (I highly recommend cow cow boogie, it's adorable), proto-music videos. She started appearing as a featured singer in films. Her star was on the rise and she soon became a star solo performer. She continued acting, but had limited options because she refused to do stereotypical roles. She finally landed a starring role in Bright Road in 1953, but it was the movie Carmen Jones that truly cemented her as a star and sex symbol. Not to sound cheesy, but she literally sizzles on screen. You can't help but understand how poor Harry Belafonte gets caught in her trap, just look at her. This is the role that got her that Oscar nom. She didn't win cause I mean #OscarsSoWhite, but she was a sensation and continued starring in films, despite troubles in her life (including a shitty director bf who fucked with her career and a traumatizing pregnancy/delivery). Outside of her filmwork, she was also an activist, fighting against racism. She left behind an amazing legacy, and continues to inspire many actresses to this day (including also very hot first (and only) black woman to win best actress, Halle Berry).

This is round 4 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Ava Gardner:

Ava Gardner is one of my favorite actresses of all time. Although a lot of her roles in movies are about her being beautiful and nothing else, there are some films where her acting truly shines.

Gifset: https://www.tumblr.com/pelopides/721438308726603776/ava-gardner-as-pandora-reynolds-pandora-and-the

Gifset 2: https://www.tumblr.com/portraitoflestatonfire/731899355804598272/if-the-loustat-reunion-doesnt-look-like-this-then

HER FACE. LOOK AT IT. Also was a life long supporter of civil rights and a member of the NAACP, had lots of fun love affairs with other stars, bullfighters, married several times but was also happy in between to just have lovers and was unapologetically herself.

I literally gasp every time I see her.

Between 1942 and 1964, Ava Gardner was credited in no less 50 films, and is still considered by some to be the most beautiful actresses that ever graced the silver screen. Despite life-long insecurities regarding her talent as an actress, she weathered public scandal, industry hostility, and outright condemnation by the Catholic Church with fearless grace. She would later in life talk candidly about the reality and pain of living through two (studio approved!!) abortions during her short marriage to Frank Sinatra, and while the two of them could not make their relationship work, they remained in each other’s lives for nearly 30 years. She would forever describe herself as a small-town girl who just got lucky, but always felt like a beautiful outsider.

Really genuinely one of the most beautiful human beings I have ever seen. An autodidact. Had amazing chemistry with Gregory Peck to the point where I do think about watching On The Beach again sometimes because they're so good together even though that movie did destroy me. Was a great femme fatale in many movies.

Dorothy Dandridge propaganda:

Beautiful actress and hand-working and talented singer, she's especially notable for the number of firsts she accomplished such as the first African-American woman to receive a nomination for the Academy Award for Best Actress and the first African-American woman to appear on the cover of Life magazine.

Dorothy Dandridge was a classic Hollywood triple threat, singing, dancing, and acting with the best of them. She was the first African American nominated for an academy award for Best Actress for her role in Carmen Jones and she was just jaw-droppingly beautiful.

this og of black film needs no introduction (star on the hollywood walk of fame anyone?), voice of an angel, heavenly features, just an overall stunning lady :)

Look at her!!! She is so unbelievably charismatic in Carmen, it’s insane. Her chemistry with Harry Belafonte is off the charts, and every time she puts another outdoor [sic] on it’s like ‘oh god this is a whole new level of stunning’ 🥵. She was so so talented, when she’s on screen I genuinely dare you to tear your eyes away from her. Deserves to be known so much better but due to Hollywood racism and a tough personal life she didn’t make it as big as she should have done. She’s incredible.

First Black actress to be nominated for the Oscar for Best Actress! Was the first choice for the role of Cleopatra that went to Elizabeth Taylor (we were ROBBED).

[sunshine-daisies-library]

Speak Now | Steve Harrington x Fem!Ex!Reader

Summary: You were called in as a last ditch effort by Dustin to convince Steve to back out of an arranged marriage with Kimberly Astor, the heiress of a multi-million dollar company. Only issue is that you were uninvited to the affair, but the kids you used to babysit have another plan. 

Warnings: Mentions of infidelity, drug abuse, exes to lovers

Based on Taylor Swift's song, Speak Now <3

You shouldn’t be here. You’re being serious, you really shouldn’t be here. But when Dustin called you and pleaded for you to drive over two hours from Chicago to your hometown, you knew this wasn’t a call to ignore. You weren’t the type of girl to barge in on a wedding.

But then again, you knew Steve wasn’t the type of boy to marry the wrong girl. 

“Thank God you came,” Dustin runs over to throw his arms around you. He lets out a sigh of relief as he tosses his entire weight onto you. You stagger back as you try to keep him standing, but it had been far too long since you had seen the boy, he had grown faster than you expected. Three years was enough for him to shoot up and tower over you. No longer was he the short curly haired boy you watched over on weekdays to get some pocket money to go on dates with Steve. Now, he’s nearly an adult, packing his things for college and using his free time to call his favorite people: you and Steve. Separately, of course, because you two were no longer a thing. 

“You called,” you respond, pulling away. “Besides, it gives me a reason to see you munchkins again.” 

“I think we hardly classify as munchkins now,” you hear a voice from behind you. In comes the gang of kids you used to spend nearly every waking day with, all visibly older and dressed fancily for the occasion. Mike, the voice you recognized, leads the group and comes to hug you first. 

You can barely reach up to hug him. “Mike!” you exclaim. “Jesus, you’ve gotten so big.” 

Max steps forward and gives you a small smile, never the one for physical contact after everything that happened. Her glasses frame her face beautifully, and her matured features cause your eyes to water. “Enough of the waterworks,” she tells you firmly. Max cocks her head at the bride’s family, all dressed in tacky pastels. The mom swats at her youngest son’s hand as she pushes his blond hair back. “We have more shit to deal with now.” 

“Is she that bad?” you ask your friends. 

Will grimaces along with Lucas and his far from little sister. Erica was never one for hiding her emotions on her face, and that habit seemed to have stuck as she aged. “She was just yelling at some bridesmaid,” Will replies with a sigh. “Pretty sure it was Steve’s cousin, too.” 

“She looks like a pastry,” Eleven deadpans, causing Max to elbow her. 

You pinch the bridge of your nose and sigh at Eleven’s directness. Things never change, you suppose. “Where is he?” 

Everyone knew who he was. It was the very reason why you drove all this way. 

“No clue,” Dustin answers, hands shoved in his pockets. “Kimberly has been bothering him about everything needing to be perfect,” Dustin’s voice went high-pitched and unbearable to imitate the rich heiress Steve called his fiance. 

You never knew why Steve got himself into this. Pleasing his parents was the last thing he ever wanted to do while you were dating. What happened in the three years of leaving Hawkins that made him switch up? This wasn’t the Steve you knew, and you knew from the moment Dustin called that you had to stop Steve from ruining his life. 

Music starts to play, ringing through the halls of the gothic church you were standing in the middle of. The wedding was starting soon. The bells and gonging sound eerily similar to the sounds of the grandfather clock Max vividly described when she was in the hospital after Vecna’s attack. It sends shivers down your spine but you quickly regain your composure. 

“We gotta go,” Max informs you. “Steve made sure to get us seats in the front. You’ll be okay from here?” 

“Yeah,” you reassure them. “I’ll be fine, promise.” Parting ways, you spend the last few minutes looking around for that familiar mop of brown hair. In the distance, you see him and he instantly takes your breath away. 

He’s wearing a pressed suit that shows no sign of wrinkles or age. It’s definitely new and tailored for him, no doubt thanks to his mother. In his suit pocket is a neatly folded white pocket square, and beside it was a freshly picked rose pinned to his breast. He looks like a daydream, but deep down, you knew he was living his worst nightmare. 

This was all wrong. He hates stiff suits and having his hair slicked back. He never wanted a fancy and lavish affair for a wedding; he always wanted it to be intimate and surrounded by his loved ones and definitely not his snotty relatives. And Steve hated roses. It reminded him too much of his parents’ materialistic relationship. The one where his mom thought it was perfectly suitable to drink her problems away with wine and the occasional scotch. It was also the one where his dad would just shower his mom with designer purses and roses whenever she found out he was sleeping with yet another unreasonably young secretary. 

A pained expression rests on Steve’s face as he trails behind the minister. You call out to him through the sea of people. After the third call, he finally perks his ears at your voice and turns to face your direction. A look of surprise replaces his sullen expression. It’s been three years since he’s last seen you. Three years since you broke things off to move to Chicago. How did you end up back in Hawkins? 

‘What are you doing here?’ he mouths to you.

You’re weaving through the crowd, trying to get to him. ‘Saving you,’ you mouth back. 

His eyebrows furrow in confusion, but before he can do anything about it, he’s nudged forward by a groomsman. Reluctantly, Steve moves forward and walks down the aisle. 

You don’t lose sight of Steve, hiding expertly behind the curtains as the procession continues. He walks down the aisle to the organ’s music that reminds you of a death march. You closely watch the rest of the members of the family follow behind Steve. You were so concentrated on the procession that you didn’t realize Will’s older brother standing behind you. 

“L/N what are you doing here?” Jonathan whispers. 

You jump in shock, gripping the dusty white curtain close to your chest. “Jonathan!” you whisper-shouted. “Nearly scared the shit out of me. I’m here to stop a wedding.” 

“Where do you need me?” Jonathan instantly asks. You cock an eyebrow at his eagerness. “Listen, I’ve met Kimberly. Steve and I were never best buds, but I’m not going to let him toss his life away for a nasty person like her. Especially not when you’ve loved him all this time.” 

You open your mouth to correct him but Jonathan is quick to cut you off. “Cut the bull, N/N, we both know the truth. You never stopped loving Harrington, but what I can’t wrap my head around is why you left him?” 

“I wasn’t going to string Steve along for a hopeless long distance relationship,” you shoot back. “I had to move to Chicago for my job. I knew Steve would come with me no matter what I said, so I cut things off.” 

Jonathan presses his lips together in a thin line but doesn’t say anything else about the topic. “Why are you hiding, anyway?” 

You roll your eyes, peering over the curtains to see the flower girls tossing petals along the pathway. “Seems like I was uninvited by his lovely bride-to-be.” 

The music instantly changes as Kimberly walks out in her enormous dress. Her face exudes class and elegance as she takes calculated steps down the aisle. “Fucking pageant queen,” Jonathan mutters under his breath. 

“She looks beautiful,” you compliment shortly. That’s all you’re willing to say about her. From a distance Steve is looking through his bride, eyes only on you. He wishes the one walking down this aisle was you. 

The rest of the ceremony is a blur to you. Words go in your ear and out the other, and you almost didn’t realize the most important part of the wedding has started. 

“Should anyone present know of any reason that this couple should not be joined in holy matrimony,” the minister read aloud from his book. “speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Taking a deep breath, you emerge from the curtains and raise your hand. 

Horrified looks from everyone in the room but you only look at Steve. Relief floods his face and his shoulders finally relax. 

“You don’t want this,” you speak directly to him. “I know you, Steve. You don’t want any of this.” 

“She doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Kimberly cuts in, facing the minister. “Steven wants this. Right, Steven?” 

“For the last time, my name is Steve,” Steve huffs at his now-ex-fiance. “And I don’t want this. I just want you.” His chocolate brown eyes peer over at you, and a small smile reaches his lips. “I’ll meet you out the back door.” 

Following his instructions, you run out of the church, dodging angry relatives and their shouts. Keys in hand, you hop into your car and start the engine. Pulling out of your spot, you drive down to the back door where Steve is. You quickly unlock the door as Steve practically jumps in, avoiding the yells of the bridesmaids and dodging the bouquets tossed at his head.

Steve lets out an exhausted huff as he loosens his tie. A giddy smile is on his face as he looks back at you. You can’t help but share a similar expression as you step on the gas. 

“Thanks for saving my neck out there,” Steve tells you gratefully. 

“Anything for you,” you respond, glancing over at him. He still looks the same as ever, if not more handsome. Your heart honestly never stopped beating for him. “If I didn’t make it clear earlier,” you clear your throat awkwardly. “I’m still in love with you, Harrington.” 

Silence follows and you can feel your heart beating out of your chest. Soon enough, your worries are calmed when Steve takes one of your hands off the wheel and covers it with his. 

“I got that, dummy,” he chuckles softly. 

You sigh in relief, laughing quietly along, too. “So, where to?” 

You couldn’t get the glint in his eye off your mind when he smiles at you.

“Where’s the nearest chapel?” 

[xjaylyn]

*EDITED* PART 1 - Bad Boys: Second Chances

Pairing: Armando x Black! OC (Rya)

Warnings: blood, graphic, guns, death, mature, language (use of the n word), and some other stuff I probably forgot about sorry

Summary: Its been two years since Captain Conrad was framed. Another mission brings the team back together and new relationships are formed. It's said everyone deserves second chances and room to grow. So maybe this is that second chance.

…3 DAYS EARLIER…

"Pl-please-please…i-i-i promise I'll fix it! I'll fix it ju-just please."

The helpless man begged on his knees in the center of the church foyer. The dim light shone through the broken painted glass, grazing the man's bruised and beaten face. Begging for mercy to the devil himself.

"Just give me a day I'll fix it I promise…please."

A loud bang echoed through the foyer, causing the people watching to flinch. Said devil looked down on the unfortunate man, shaking his head.

"A DAY-I fucking-" another loud bang could be heard followed by the sounds of glass shattering as they hit the floor.

"Look at me-" grabbing the helpless man by his neck. "I gave you a fucking month to do this one simple job and you fuck it up," watching the drool spill from the man's mouth and land on his suit jacket. Taking a deep sigh, quickly dropping the man to his knees, listening to him struggle to catch his breath. Slowly walking back to the podium where a selection of items laid.

The faint sound of metal being picked up caused the helpless man to panic.

"N-no-no-no PLEASE PLEASE LORD HAVE MERCY ON ME PLE-" the helpless man's body dropped to the floor. His blood splattered everywhere, forming a thick puddle beneath him.

"Clean it up," watching as no one moved to the request. Irritation filled the man's veins.

"CLEAN THE FUCKING MESS UP," running a hand through his long hair in frustration.

"And not just the body…fix what the fuck he couldn't…NOW."

--------------------------------------------------------

…MIAMI…PRESENT DAY, 2026…

"Happy birthday to you."

The soft giggles of a baby could be heard in the singing crowd. The Stevie Wonder version of the birthday song played lightly in the background. Megan, Marcus's daughter, walked into the dim dining room where the crowd was with a gleaming smile on her face. Gently, sitting the birthday cake with the big number 1 on it in front of the small family sitting at the table. Mike holding the chubby baby girl in his lap and Christine, Mike's wife, next to them recording.

"Baby girl, don't get your baby drool all on the cake. Uncle Marcus wants to enjoy a slice or two, okay."

"Marcus, you're not getting no cake. Back up," Mike looked up at his best friend cooing at the little baby staring down at the cake, causing the man to stop smiling.

"Mike, it's a special occasion. I can't just not eat the cake. That's rude, ain't that right, baby girl?"

Both men watched as the little girl squeezed her little hands and jumped towards the cake. Big little eyes targeting the pink frosting.

"Woah, calm down girl," Mike stood up, wiping the frosting on her chubby cheeks. "Acting like your uncle when he sees Skittles."

Almost two years had passed since the two were on a mission to clear Conrad's name. Not long after its success, things went back to normal. Christine fell pregnant and gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, Amara Marie Lowrey. Mike was ecstatic to become a father. Feeling blessed to have been given the opportunity to raise his child. Something he had missed with his first son, Armando, whom he had not heard from or had contact with since his farewell when he got on the boat.

"You wish he was here, huh?"

So deep in his thoughts, he didn't notice everyone had left and Christine took their daughter out of his arms. It was only him and Marcus in the dining room. "What?"

"You do that every time you think about him. You know he can take care of himself…hell, he has better survival skills than us, making fires and shit," patting the taller man's shoulder.

Shaking his head, he sat back down in his chair. "I know, but it's been 2 years and nothing. As fucked up as it sounds, at least I knew where he was when he was in jail."

Sighing, Mike looked out the window and watched as everyone was outside laughing. His wife holding his precious daughter with the biggest smiles on their faces. Love was seen all over. He couldn't help but wish to experience that with his son or at least have his son experience what it's like to be around the people you love to celebrate you.

The sudden sound of a cell phone going off disturbed the silence between the two partners. Quickly looking at the phone and seeing that it was Rita, their Captain, calling. Knowing it must be urgent because she knows today is his daughter's birthday and strictly a family day, he answered the phone.

Marcus watched as his partner's face scrunched up in confusion. "Woah, slow down, what happened��yeah…yeah…okay, we'll be there, bye."

"We gotta go," grabbing his keys and heading to the back to inform the family of their dismissal. Marcus followed behind, "Yeah, I got that before you hung up. What happened?"

"I don't know. Rita just said she needs us in the office now. Something about a murder," walking back towards the front to head to the car.

"But Mike, hold on, let me get my slice of cake," Marcus says turning towards the kitchen.

"Nigg-" stopping in his tracks to look back at the man.

"Come onnn. it'll be gone before we get back!" Marcus pleads with his eyes wide.

Mike rolls his eyes and grabs the man. "Man, carry yo grown ass to this car…too damn grown to be acting like a little-ass kid over some cake."

"Aye, now I'm a grown-ass man, Mike. Don't talk like I'm not one. I just wanted a piece of cake, okay? That a crime?"

"Marcus, let's go."

Whining before getting into the car. "Fine, damn."

a/n: Sorry y'all, I suck at descriptions. But yayyy, I decided to write a Bad Boys fic for the first time. Just please excuse the poor writing, I did not edit AT ALL, and it's been a minute since I wrote anything (literally back when Wattpad had no ads😭). So, we're just a lot rusty. I hope y'all enjoy because I have no direction in which this is going; we just gon go wherever the wind takes us. Feel free to comment! I love feedback, and active readers make the experience fun! And to my silent readers, hey pookies🫶🏼.

[bandgie]

Father, Forgive Me | Armageddon Event

Request: Serpent | Choi Yeonjun (TXT) by @biteyoubiteme song!

warnings: MDNI18+, blasphemy, fem!reader, nun!reader, demon!yeonjun, boob play, nipple play, v slight coercion, piv implications

1.1k words

It was the last time. You swore to yourself it was the last time you’d allow a demon in your chambers. Even as Yeonjun taps on your window, his sharp nail making a gentle ding sound on the glass, you ignore him.

You told yourself it was a moment of weakness. You spent years dedicating yourself to the word, to your savior. One night of…sin doesn’t erase what you’ve sacrificed walking a holy life. You need to close your eyes, pray, and repent. A simple three-step task you must complete if you don't want to burn for eternity, but that damn snake. That damned, rotten soul that wants nothing but your pure one.

He’s persistent, you’ll give him that. The constant ring gently echoing throughout your room blurs any prayer in your head. Focusing is impossible. Everything is impossible with those slit pupils and sharp teeth. Each tap makes you remember how he held you. How his lips sucked and licked on the parts of you that you vowed no one else would ever touch. You unraveled on his tongue one too many times that night. He coaxed you through more and more pleasure with his mouth, his fingers, and his god-forsaken co-

You march to the window, ignoring how his beautiful lips twist into a smile like you’re the best thing he’s seen all day.

You will tell him to go away, that he is not welcome in the house of God.

When you unlatch the lock and open the windows, it’s Yeonjun who speaks first. “I must admit, you playing hard to get only entices me more.”

The warmth in your stomach is from anger, not flustering. You manage to collect yourself saying, “There is nothing to entice. You are not supposed to be here.”

Yeonjun fakes confusion, tilting his head to one side and furrowing his eyebrows. “Not here? Then where shall we go? The sanctuary? The hall?” He smiles annoyingly attractive. “Tell me, nun, where do you wish to be defiled?”

Now you flush with heat, recalling the memories you tried to push away. “Hush! It was a mistake! I may have fallen for your tricks and lust, but it won’t happen again. Your presence only brings me misfortune. There’s a reason your kind is hated.”

Yeonjin’s pupils grow thinner. His smile turns dark. Limb by limb, he crawls his way into your room.

You take steps back, tilting your head to gaze at his monstrous height. It should be fear running through your veins, but the close proximity makes your knees weak in every wretched way. 

“Isn’t there a saying spoken amongst the church?” He stalks closer. One step of his is 2 steps of yours. Yeonjun backs you up until your back hits the wall and you have no choice but to endure the pooling in your panties. As if he knows, Yeonjun bends down, his neck straining to be eye level. “To hate the sin and not the sinner? If I recall correctly, oh holy nun, you loved me quite thoroughly that night.”

Long, smooth fingers play with your hair. He curls the end around his digit until it threatens to cut off blood circulation. 

“It-it was a mistake.”

“Was it?” Yeonjun goes past your cheek to your ear. His teeth bite down, tugging on the skin until you tremble. 

“I was tempted.” You’re whispering now. As if you’d break this trance he’s got you in by speaking any louder. He hums against your ear, licking a soft stripe up.

“Were you?” His lips barely touch you as he speaks. “Or did you finally give in to what you always wanted? What you were meant to worship?”

You should shove him off. Find an escape from between his hands and run into the halls, altering the other nuns and priests about what dwells in their sacred home. About what dwelled in your room, underneath your sheets, and inside the deepest parts of you.

But as Yeonjun’s hands find your breasts on top of your sleeping gown, all you can do is contently sigh and puff your chest.

He smiles. You can feel his lips curve against you, that tainted mouth placing kisses along your neck before he finds the top of your chest. You hate how you tilt the side so he can travel down - hate that he giggles when you do.

The gropes and love bites only make you mewl, fisting your hands to the side in an attempt to control yourself. You fear that if you grab onto him, you may never let go.

Yeonjun leans further down to catch a pebbled nipple in his mouth, tugging at the bud through the gown and drooling over the material. A wet patch soon forms from his ministrations. You can’t tell if you’re relieved or frustrated to not feel his tongue on you. That barrier only makes you yearn more - makes those little fists you coiled up unravel and find his hair.

He chuckles with your nipple in his mouth. “You’re fighting it so passionately. It almost makes me feel bad.”

A rough tug on his hair earns a rougher pull on your chest. You whine, cunt throbbing from the painful pleasure you’re growing to hunger for. 

“Tell me.” Yeonjun switches to your other boob. His words catch your attention and you make the mistake of looking down. There’s nothing but sin in his slit eyes, a wicked smile on those swollen lips and it all makes you gush in your underwear. “Tell me what you want.”

It feels impossible to speak at all, let alone confess your darkest desires, but Yeonjun’s tongue draws an answer as it circles your peak. He latches his lips around your areola and sucks. 

He yanks his head back as he keeps the bud between his lips, making your grip tighten in his black hair and tremble in his hold. “I want…I want you t-”

To stop. To leave. To return to the hell that he crawled out of. Anything but stay. Yet, when his hand trails down to cup your mound. To feel how much you’ve soiled your underwear just from suckling on your tits, you break. 

Again.

“I want you.” It’s firmer now, even if your voice shakes from pleasure. “I want you.”

That ungodly smile he gives you should make you regretful. There should be immeasurable amounts of fear upon seeing his pupils thin like he’s found his prey. Yet, it’s an insatiable craving you’re filled with.

His black heart has poisoned yours. His corrupted soul has wrapped your once pure one with a devil’s thread. Forgiveness is far from you. Salvation would never be tasted upon your tongue. And terrifyingly, it’s not redemption you find yourself wishing to consume.

[rentumblsstuff]

Random Hatchetfield Headcanons

The first time Alice Woodward ever smoked weed was when (after much inner turmoil) she asked Deb to shotgun it with her.

Max has two snaggletoothed incisors which is why people swear to god he has fangs.

Deb also has a snaggletooth which is what inspired the vampire part of Alice’s vampiric sapphic play. Alice also thinks it’s ironic she made a vampire character when Deb is a vegan.

Ruth as a Sophmore hit on Senior Alice a lot. Alice thought it was funny and she and Deb “adopted” her. Max and Steph also put the PANIC in bi panic for Ruth.

Max would find it weirdly hot that Grace wears bathing suits under her clothes because of the idea that he gets to see what her body looks like before even she does.

The hospital is downtown, so Becky Barnes definitely got infected in TGWDLM. Despite never wanting to do it again, Becky climbs the tree as someone calls the HFPD to save Kathy’s cat because she’s still infinitely compassionate even under Pokey’s control. Plus, Pokey knows she wants to get over the trauma associated with climbing trees, so he makes her do it to give her a big number about finally overcoming her past. She accidentally flings the cat as soon as the song starts, which is why in Show Me Your Hands, the cat dies so quickly even though it JUST got called in.

Peter infected Steph who infected Deb who infected Alice in TGWDLM. Pete and Steph would have been Sophomores and Deb and Alice were Seniors, but I always imagine Steph and Deb knowing eachother because MRFC said Steph is in the Smoke Club on Twitter at some point. Assuming Steph’s been a little punk for a while, she’s been in the smoke club since at least Sophomore year, and probably a new inductee the same year as TGWDLM (2018).

Alice and one of her parents (maybe Bill) were also raised in purity culture because we know the Woodwards and the Chastitys go to the same church. The Woodwards probably take it with a grain of salt though (Alice has expressed dislike over Grace’s prudishness)- either that or one of her parents (probably her mom) wasn’t originally from said church and also raised Alice with “this is what you’re learning here, but here’s also what I learned at my church at your age.” Bill was likely the one raised in purity culture because he does NOT LIKE DEB and thinks that if she HAS TO date a girl, she should date someone like Grace Chastity, implying she’s an exemplary teen girl. Ms. Woodward lets Deb sleep over and probably knows she smokes and likes her anyways; three points for Alice’s mom not being the puritanical one.

Ted reads romance novels. He’s a former geek turned sleazeball- you know he reads the smuttiest novels ever and calls them “his research”. He refuses to read any book with the friends to lovers trope because it’s too upsetting to think about. (Side note Time Bastard gave us a definite date that timelines don’t branch/reset before depending on whichever theory you believe because the homeless man is in every timeline, meaning that Jenny’s death is fixed in time and never changes: October 7th 2004, so the timelines change anywhere between October 8th 2004 and 2018.)

In whatever timeline Emma finally gets to have her weed farm, she meets Paul when he tells her he was prescribed that marajamij for his anxiety and he was too scared to try Xanax. She thinks he’s kind of cute for a wet cat of a corporate slave. “Fuck the patriarchy? Yes please.” (Side note Paul seems so uptight and unfuckable like bro gotta be blank down there like a Ken doll and has no discernible kinks from what I remember while Emma is laid back and chill asf and like… normal in comparison so yeah sure Paulkins canonically fucks but does Emma enjoy it?? Like dude even Pete’s more fuckable than him come on.)

Pete and Steph don’t kiss when they admit their feelings for eachother even though one of them would die before ever getting to kiss each other because they both think it’ll only make it that much harder to go through with sacrificing the other. One of the reasons Pete also chooses to be the one to take the bullet because he doesn’t think he even COULD pull the trigger on her. Like it’d be physically impossible for him, in his mind.

TGWDLM was originally meant to be an allegory for the institution brainwashing us. Show Me Your Hands and America’s Great Again: examples of people in power working for and fulfilling the evil wishes of some almighty, otherworldly, inhuman THING (be it aliens, be it those in power). It’s clearly meant to satirize the way that power corrupts and tries to convince you its way is better. Even Hidgens, THE FUCKING TEACHER, tries to teach his student that it will be better for everyone to join in that corruption and give in to the hive mind. This reminds me of how the school system in America tries to paint our history as something glamorous; manifest destiny instead of genocide of the indigenous populations. The people in power convincing those under them that the deaths of countless lives is a good thing and it will pave the way to a better future. Cool motive, still murder. Which is why Emma “Fuck the Patriarchy” Perkins is the last one to be infected. She was incapable of being brainwashed , and even when she was the last one left, she saw that the people watching didn’t care, and the all-consuming threat of corrupted power closes in on her until the very last moment.

The Lords in Black were going to try to convince whoever sacrificed their most treasured something to do more work for them, but Grace required very little convincing. Like Wiggly spoke into her mind like “Gracy-Wace! You forgot my booky-wook! Look in it, see any thing you like? Wanna kill all the pervy-wervys?” And she’s like “holy cow I can kill all the pervy-wervys with this book?” Pete would have needed the most convincing because he’s just lost the only girl who will ever love him (in his mind) and so he’d think these things took away his one chance at true love and NEVER want to deal with them again. Even if they offered him a way to get her back, he’s too smart to know that won’t come without an even bigger price AND too paranoid to think she won’t come back wrong like Max did.

If the Green-Foster family ever did get to move to California and Lex got to be an actress, her interview attitude would be a lot like Reneé Rapp and if she ever got asked about why she’ll openly shit talk people in an interview, she’s like “I used to work retail I learned pretty fast that nothing gets done if you keep your mouth shut.”

[howlingday]

When I was a boy, I only had one dream. I wanted to grow up to be just like my dad. You see, my father wasn't just an adventurer. He was a LEGENDARY adventurer.

Papa Arc: And then I kissed the beast so fair~

Papa Arc: And kissed her beastly bits down there~

When he would come back from his trips, I would sit in the tavern an listen to his songs, and I'd imagine myself traveling with him.

Papa Arc: HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA~!

Lady: Kyaaah~!

That's right! My father is the one and only NICHOLAS ARC, the greatest Bard in the whole Kingdom! And I was going to be a Bard just like him!

Or, at least, that's what I thought at the time.

I guess part of growing up is realizing that your heroes aren't perfect. They're flawed people, and sometimes those flaws get really, REALLY messy.

Jaune: Dad, I'm home~!

Papa Arc: NOT THE PROSTATE! NOT THE PROSTATE~!

It was the day when I walked in on my father getting his butt plowed in the middle of an interspecies foursome. Again.

At that moment, I decided that I didn't want to be like my father.

Jaune: Dad...

Papa Arc: WHOA?! You're home early! Wait, let me explain! I'm practicing wrestling!

Jaune: Dad...

Papa Arc: Remember the basics of CQC!

Jaune: Dad, I know what sex is...

Jaune: Dad... I said I wanted to be a Bard like you when I grow up... But I've changed my mind. I'm going to become a PALADIN.

Papa Arc: ...

Papa Arc: Heh... That's a great idea, son! Chicks dig Paladins!

Jaune: No, Dad... A REAL Paladin, not the Fallen kind.

Grimm Lady: Ooh~! Your son is really cute~!

--------------------------------------------------

Years later...

Jaune: Ambrosius, Spirit of Creation and Control, please give me the strength to continue living a healthy and disciplined lifestyle, monogamous and uncorrupted by lust....

Yup, that's me. My name is Jaune Arc, and I'm a "Paladin of Order" now. I try my best every day to be a Lawful and Good citizen.

Nora: HEY! Are you STILL praying, church boy?! Get your ass in gear! It's dungeoning time! We don't got all day if we're gonna loot B3 and get back before happy hour!

Pyrrha: Hello, Jaune~!

This is Nora. She's a real dwarfy Dwarf, and a really good person.

Nora: Hmph!

Pyrrha: Nora's anxious because she's run out of lien again. (Giggles)

And this is Pyrrha, she's a Fighter of Jinn, and has been my best friend since I was a kid.

Nora: So, when did your dad say he was gonna be back?

Jaune: Around sundown, but I'm not exactly excited to be back before then. Really not looking forward to spending time with him.

Pyrrha: Oh, come now, Jaune! He's going to be off on a new adventure soon! Who knows when you'll see him again?

Nora: Yeah! Nicholas Arc is a legend! You should be glad he's your dad!

Jaune: Easy for you guys to say. Every time he goes on an adventure, he comes back with a new WIFE. I heard he was in the Kingdom of Mistral, so he's probably impregnated another Dwarf noble.

Nora: Damn... What an alpha...

Jaune: Do you know how awkward it is to deal with a new stepmom every year? You should see the drawings I did as a kid.

In hindsight, I had a weird family structure growing up.

Jaune: Anyways, it's not like I hate him or anything. I'm just sick of introducing myself to another new "mom".

Nora: Mm... I get that you have daddy issues.

Jaune: Gee, thanks.

Nora: But you don't have to be the opposite of him! You're living with a stick up your ass!

Jaune: I'm living with discipline, Nora. That's what it means to be a Paladin of Order.

Paladins of Ambrosius, the Spirit of Creation and Control, are champions of their own personal laws.

Ironwood: I only poop standing up! THIS is my solemn vow!

By living within the confines of a strict individual code, they seek to free themselves of animalistic desires and act through reason.

Nora: BAH! Order, schnorder! You need to get LAID! That'll fix ya!

Pyrrha: Yeah, Jaune! You do need to get laid! As your best friend, I'll take responsibility! That way we can lose our virginities together~!

Jaune: PYRRHA, YOU SHOULDN'T MAKE JOKES LIKE THAT. YOU SHOULD ONLY HAVE SEX WITH SOMEONE YOU HAVE DEEP, ROMANTIC FEELINGS FOR. I KNOW WE'RE CLOSE, BUT YOU WOULD REGRET LOSING YOUR VIRGINITY TO A GUY WHO IS ONLY YOUR FRIEND.

Pyrrha: Yeah... You're right... Ha ha...

Nora: You okay?

Jaune: Let's go.

--------------------------------------------------

Nora: Alright! Get your crap in the bag! It's go time!

Pyrrha: ...

Jaune: Gear check before we go in.

"The Black Roads." It's said it was created by a shunned Witch to avoid outsiders; this cave system leads down into one of the largest dungeons in the continent.

Guard: Hey, Jaune!

Jaune: Hey man.

Guard: Going down the pit, right?

Jaune: Yup.

Guard: Oof... I'd take a rain check on that. There's a horrible creature that was spotted last night.

Jaune: Like what? An alpha beowolf? Or maybe an Ursa?

Guard: WORSE! Word is, someone ran into...

Guard: A GRIMM-KIN!

Nora: A GRIMM-KIN?!

Grimm-Kin are a Grimm subspecies that live deep in the Black Roads. They have a harsh, matriarchal society that enslaves men. It's well-known that Grimm-Kin women are inherently evil.

Jaune: We haven't had a Grimm-Kin sighting in years. Did something happen?

Guard: I'm not sure what's going on, but you be especially careful, Jaune! A handsome guy like you? Grimm-Kin would be slobbering just for the chance to get at your pecker!

Jaune: Don't worry. I'm an expert at rejecting the advances of horny women.

Pyrrha: Oh boy... Wouldn't I know...

Nora: You okay?

--------------------------------------------------

Nora: I HATE GRIMM-KIN! In fact, I HATE REGULAR GRIMM, TOO! I'm not racist. I just don't like Grimm.

Jaune: You're a real dwarfy Dwarf, Nora.

Nora: WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!

Dungeon Level B3

Grimm: (Barks)

Grimm: (Snarls)

Grimm: (Growls)

Grimm: (Yips)

Grimm: ?!

Grimm: (Snaps, Snaps in two)

Pyrrha: Do you ever wonder what the Grimm talk about?

Jaune: Probably Grimm stuff, like how to get the most negative emotions out of a person. Oh, scoop up that ash.

Nora: How much ash have we got? What's the market price?

Jaune: Er, not great. Last I heard, Grimm Ash was going through another inflation.

Nora: AGAIN?! SERIOUSLY?! HOW AM I GONNA PAY MY RENT?!

Jaune: Well, you can stop drinking syrup from the top shelf.

Nora: Wow... That's a low blow. You think we can go deeper than this?

Jaune: I wouldn't do it. We should get at least a four-man party, preferably five.

Nora: Mm...

Pyrrha: (Turns, Sees arrow flying at her)

Jaune: (Grabs Pyrrha, Blocks arrow)

Pyrrha: Thank you, Jaune!

Jaune: See? This is what I'm talking about. We need a scout to prevent ambushes like this. Show yourself... GRIMM.

Cinder: (Steps out) Well, well... You parried my arrow cleanly. Looks like you're not just a pretty face... HUMAN.

Jaune: Why did you attack us, Grimm? We mean you no harm.

Nora: I DO! I'm gonna harm that skull into PIECE, BONE-FACE!

Jaune: Nora, can you please be quiet for just a second?

Cinder: Oh my... Isn't it obvious? I attacked you to get what I want. Because there's one thing every Grimm-Kin girl wants...

Cinder: HER VERY OWN MAN-SLAVE~! HOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO~!

Cinder: YOU, PRETTY BOY~!

Jaune: Huh?

Cinder: I like you~! Ufufufu~... Back home, all the men I got were broken hand-me-downs from my mother! Now, I get to finally have my own boy-toy~!

Cinder: Don't worry, I won't kill anyone~! My blades and arrows are coated with knock-out poison, so I can take you all down with just a scratch! Then I'm going to drag pretty boy off and teach him how to please a woman~!

Jaune: Ah... So, let me get this straight. You're attacking us just because you want to have sex with me.

Cinder: Oh~? Have I piqued your interest~?

Cinder: It's not a big deal, is it~? You only need to become my pet and I'll allow you to play with this body. Imagine the desperate moans I'll make as you drag your tongue over my peaks and valleys, driving me wild with pleasure~!

Jaune: Hm... That does sound like a good deal.

Pyrrha: J-Jaune?! Wait! Don't fall for her lies! She's trying to trick you!

Jaune: I'll admit, you're a very attractive lady, and I'm sure there are many men out there who would give up everything to be with someone like you.

Cinder: So you'll be mine then?!

Jaune: BUT I REFUUUSE! GIRLS AND BOYS MUST NOT FORNICATE BEFORE MARRIAAAGE! NO CASUAL ENCOUNTERS! NO KISSING BEFORE THE TENTH DATE! NO MOUTH PLAY! NO ASS PLAY! DEFINITELY NO ASS TO MOUTH PLAY! ONLY MISSIONARY FOR THE PURPOSE OF PROCREATION! BETWEEN MARRIED COUPLES! MONOGAMYYY! NO HAREMS! NO ORGIES! HAND HOLDING IS OKAY, BUT DON'T! LOCK! THOSE! FINGEEERS!

Pyrrha: ...

Jaune: ...

Nora: ...

Cinder: ...

Nora: ...

Cinder: ???

Pyrrha: Whew!

Jaune: Khm! My name is Jaune Arc, and I am a Paladin of Order. THIS is my solemn vow.

Cinder: Uh... Is every surface dweller this prudish, or is it just him?

Jaune: ...

Nora/Pyrrha: It's just him.

Cinder: Okay! So, uh... Kinda got sidetracked, but you're not volunteering to be my man-slave, right?

Jaune: Yeah.

Cinder: Good~! I prefer doing this the old-fashioned way.

Jaune: Here we go. Stay behind me. I'll handle this.

Cinder: Hoohoohoo~! A little overconfident, aren't we? THE ONLY THINGS YOU'LL BE HANDLING ARE MY NIPPLES IN BED~!

Jaune: (Holds action)

Cinder: (Leaping strike)

???: Oscura Ventos...

Cinder: (Knocked on her back) GAH!

Jaune: ?!

???: What have I told you about "No more man slaves"? Such a naughty girl~...

Cinder: Dammit! You always get in my way...

Cinder: MOTHER!

Salem: But then again, I'm not surprised. You always were needy for attention.

Cinder: Why did you stop me?!

Salem: Because slavery is WRONG, Cinder. We need to start treating men as equals.

Jaune: You okay?

Cinder: Oh, fuck off! You were going through three men a day just a week ago, so cut the crap!

Salem: That was the old men. I'm a new woman now, ever since I met...

Salem: (Cuddling to Papa Arc) My husband~! Mr. Nicholas Arc~!

Papa Arc: Heya, son~! How ya doin'?! (Laughing with Salem)

Jaune: ...Hi, Dad.

Papa Arc: Jaune, my boy! How's it hangin'~?

Jaune: I'm fine, Dad. Why are you in the dungeon with two Grimm-Kin?

Papa Arc: Ah, yes... These lovely ladies. It's a long story, one full of danger, adventure, and rrromance~...

Jaune: Let me guess; you and your party were hired by a rival faction in Mistral to attack a Grimm-Kin nation, single-handedly destroying their army and were supposed to kill their leaders, too, but then you saw the Grimm-Kin queen was hot, so you couldn't resist and just had to seduce her and screw her brains out, and then you smuggled her out of the war zone with the promise of marriage... again.

Papa Arc: HUH?! H- H- HOW DID YOU KNOW?!

Jaune: This is, like, the eighth time you've done this, Dad.

Papa Arc: Aw, geez... Don't tell me I'm getting predictable!

Nora: By the Brothers! I'm in awe of this GigaBard! This man is my HERO~!

Papa Arc: Ahem! Well, I was going to do this later with your mother, your sisters, and all your other mommies around, but since you're here now, allow me to introduce...

Papa Arc: Your new stepmother, Salem Arc, formerly Salem, Queen of the Grimm-Kin, and her daughter, Cinder, your new stepsister!

Salem: Apologize to your brother, Cinder~.

Jaune: Grr! I'm sorry I tried to enslave you... I guess...

Papa Arc: I was showing them around the dungeon since it's the most profitable job in the Kingdom of Vale.

Jaune: They'll be living with us in town?

Papa Arc: That's right! They'll be strangers in a strange land and they'll need someone to help them get used to our lifestyle. I'll be with Salem, so could you take care of your sister?

Cinder: Hmph! (Turns away)

Jaune: Uh... My "sister" tried to kidnap me and turn me into her sex slave... five minutes ago.

Papa Arc: I know! Isn't it great?! You're like family already!

Papa Arc: C'mon, Jaune, if someone doesn't watch her, she'll be arrested in a day. And besides...

Cinder: (Turned away from everyone)

Papa Arc: She looks like she could really use a friend.

Jaune: ...Fine, I'll do it.

Papa Arc: Attaboy, Jaune~! I knew you'd say yes! That's why I already bought a HOUSE for you! You two will be living together without any supervision~!

Jaune: What?

Cinder: What?!

Pyrrha: WHA- WHA- WHAT?!

Papa Arc: Sorry, Pyrrha. That's just how these things work.

Jaune: ...

Cinder: ...

Pyrrha: ...

Cinder: Ufu~! Ufufufufu~! I've always wanted a little brother~.

Pyrrha: HUH?!

--------------------------------------------------

And so, in this new house, my strange new life began.

Cinder: Step bro~! Step bro~! Oh, it's just awful~! I forgot to bring my clothes with me, so now I have to come out of the bath NAKED and SOAKING WET~!

Jaune: (Eyes shut) Here, I brought you a change of clothes. Cinder, please stop trying to seduce me. Seeing your nipples aren't going to make me break my vows as a Paladin.

Cinder: (Hugs him) Are you suuure~?

Jaune: Yes.

Some journeys start without taking a step away from home.

Cinder: Help, Step Bro, help~! I'm stuck in this conveniently positioned hole~!

Jaune: NO, YOU'RE NOT! WILL YOU STOP DOING THAT?!

I didn't know this at the time, but my stepsister's appearance was about to steer my Lawful life into a Chaotic world I was utterly unprepared for. But even then, one thing was obvious...

MY GRIMM-KIN STEPSISTER WASN'T GOING TO LEAVE ME ALONE

--------------------------------------------------

Nora: I'm a huge fan of your work, Mr. Arc! Could you sign my hammer?!

Papa Arc: Why, of course, my dwarven friend! Anything for a fan~!

[silentgravesdontexist]

Alright, here's the part 2 of Hozier songs that remind me of the following OP Men. If you haven't read the first part yet, here's the masterlist! Might be the final part too since I'm running low on ideas—

Featured Characters: Yamato, Jimbei, Shanks, Law, Kid, and Sabo

CW: Suggestive Content (its Hozier. Some songs are just down right feral)

Yamato

My lover's got humour She's the giggle at a funeral Knows everybody's disapproval I should've worshipped her sooner If the heavens ever did speak She's the last true mouthpiece Every Sunday's getting more bleak A fresh poison each week "We were born sick," you heard them say it My church offers no absolutes She tells me, "Worship in the bedroom" The only heaven I'll be sent to Is when I'm alone with you

In Yamato's eyes, there was just something about you that made you stood out from the rest. Different just like him— in a good way. That's what kept him drawn to you.

Oh, how he'd worship you like the ethereal being you are. Kneel at your feet and kiss the knuckles of your hands— the lengths he would go through to be blessed with that smile of yours.

The love you two shared was your own. It doesn't matter if the whole world frowns on it. He loved you, and you loved him. That's all that truly mattered to him.

Jimbei

We lay here for years or for hours Thrown here or found To freeze or to thaw So long, we'd become the flowers Two corpses we were Two corpses I saw

And they'd find us in a week When the weather gets hot After the insects have made their claim I'd be home with you I'd be home with you

I have never known sleep Like the slumber that creeps to me I have never known color Like this morning reveals to me

Jimbei's adoration for you felt as calm and soothing as the gentle waves that lap at your feet by the shorelines. It felt safe and gentle— almost as if you could fall deeper and deeper without fear or worry.

He held you in his arms and guided you along a field of flowers. His patience as unwavering as his fierve loyalty was to you. And lie beside you to indulge is an indulgence he'd never tire of.

There's a comforting silence that envelops you both. In his eyes, you were all there was. The past, present, and future— he craved to share it all with you.

Shanks

But I've had no love like your love, ooh, from nobody I'd be appalled if I saw you ever try to be a saint I wouldn't fall for someone I thought couldn't misbehave But I want you to know that I've had no love like your love

Honey, when you warm the bed on Wednesday (yeah) It's suicide Tuesday back in LA If I had the choice between hearing either noise The excitement of a thousand, or the soothing of your voice

At first chance, I'd take the bed warmed by the body, woo I once warmed my hands over a burning Maserati, woo

You knew Shanks adored the life of piracy, and you respected that. And how he loved you all the more for it. The long distance from your warmth did nothing to wane his burning desire for you.

At every chance he gets, he'll find you— even if its only for a short while. To remind you just how much his devotion runs deep. He'd gladly spend hours worshipping your body.

He'll find his way back to you. Always. Should his heart be a compass, there is no doubt it'll point to the seas. But you were that little minx that always had him straying far from the sea.

Trafalgar D. Law

Never feel too good in crowds With folks around When they're playing The anthems of rape culture loud Crude and proud Creatures baying All I've ever done is hide From our times When you're near me Honey, when you kill the lights And kiss my eyes I feel like a person for a moment of my life

But you don't know what hell you put me through To have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you To feel your weight in arms I'd never use

It's the god that heroin prays to It feels good, girl, it feels good It feels good, girl, it feels good It feels good, girl, it feels good Oh to be alone with you

Law knows what its like to be alone. A kind of isolation he never even asked for in the first place and yet the gods deemed he go through it. Eventually, it became a comfort to him— his own company.

All the while you were someone who'd come into his life. A flickering flame in the winter of his soul. And just like a moth, he felt drawn to you in ways he'd never be able to explain.

He expected your love to hurt. It didn't. It enveloped him in a warmth that made him forget what the cold even felt like in the first place. That made him crave more.

Eustass Kid

To be twisted by something A shame without a sin Like how she twisted the bog man After she married him

Rare is this love, keep it covered I need you to run to me, run to me, lover Run until you feel your lungs bleeding

But in all the world There is one lover worthy of her With as many souls claimed as she

But for all he's worth He still shatters always on her earth The cause of every tear she'd ever weep

It was an inexplicable and complicated thing between you and Kid. A burning and passionate love that it left the two of you drawing each other close only to pull away from the other.

By the gods, you knew you'd do anything for each other. The raw and visceral intensity of it kept drawing you two close once more in hopes that your paths will finally intertwine as one.

It may not be today as the bed beside you feels cold and empty. But perhaps— just maybe, a day will come back that the walls crumble down to guide a path where the two of you can walk together.

Sabo

Give your heart and soul to charity 'Cause the rest of you The best of you Honey, belongs to me

Ain't it a gentle sound, the rollin' in the graves? Ain't it like thunder under earth, the sound it makes? Ain't it exciting you, the rumble where you lay? Ain't you my baby? ain't you my baby?

Nothing fucks with my baby Nothing can get a look in on my baby Nothing fucks with my baby Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing

[zepskies]

Break Me Down - Part 2

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x Female Reader

Summary: You’re a private investigator by trade, but now you happily sit at a desk — leading a surveillance team at Supe Affairs. After managing to end Homelander in New York, Soldier Boy escapes custody. You are recruited for the manhunt, joining Butcher’s team.

Truly, you joined the S.A. for the right reasons. But after you become his accidental hostage, Soldier Boy will break down every single one of them…

💚 Break Me Down Masterlist

AN: Surprise Sunday update! I was able to put the finishing touches on Part 2 a bit early. 😉

Song used in this chapter is “If I Didn’t Care” by The Ink Spots (but more like Amy Adams' version). Song inspiration for this chapter (and the song title) is “All My Livin Time” by Radio Company (Jensen’s band with Steve Carlson).

Word Count: 4,500 Warnings: 18+ only! Willful seduction, kidnapping, SB being himself lol.

Part 2: You Move Me, Baby

This next mission was going to be a bit more…hands on. 

It was a gentlemen’s club, styled like a 1920s speakeasy, of all things. If nothing else, Soldier Boy was predictable.

Through a crack in the dressing room door, you didn’t see any gentlemen here. You saw a bunch of skeevy bastards. 

For the record, you didn’t like this plan. But as Butcher once again pointed out, Soldier Boy’s less likely to fuckin’ recognize you than any of us. 

And you certainly couldn’t (wouldn’t) imagine Butcher in rhinestone nipple tassels. 

Right now, you were waiting to be assigned an outfit. Hopefully, you could just blend into the background of whatever performance act the stage manager wanted to slip you into. And you really hoped you wouldn’t have to striptease on stage.

In the meantime, you sat on a stool in a black lace bra, matching panties, and sheer pantyhose, while Annie was helping you with your stage makeup. Years as a pageant child had taught her well. You felt like Sandra Bullock in Miss Congeniality, fending off getting hairspray up her ass. 

Sure, you had gone undercover several times, but this was slightly out of your wheelhouse. You bit your lip, forgetting that you were already wearing several coats of scarlet red lipstick. 

Annie slapped your hand. “Stop it. You’re smudging my paint job.”

You had Butcher and M.M. to thank for arranging this little detail. 

May they both rot in hell, you silently simmered. 

“Oh, stop pouting. You look great,” Annie said. You caught the little smirk she was trying to taper down. 

Then the manager’s head popped into the dressing room. When he verified that all the young women had at least their underwear on, he stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

“All right, listen up,” he said in Spanish. You understood just enough to follow what he was saying. “Angelica got food poisoning.”

You grimaced. Angelica was the main act. She had a whole burlesque-style routine with the rest of the women—for which you were meant to step in for one of the girls in the ensemble. Hopefully in the back. 

“Daniela, you’re filling in,” said the manager, pointing to a busty brunette. 

“What about the second act?” asked another girl. If you remembered right, her name was Raquel. “Dani can’t sing like Angelica to save her fucking life.”

“Excuse me, bitch. I sing better than you,” Daniela snapped back.

The manager rolled his eyes and clapped his hands harshly to end the bickering. 

“Okay. Which one of you bitches can actually sing?” he asked, first in Spanish, then in English, you noticed as he glanced at you.

Annie looked at you with raised brows. You glared back at her. 

Damn you for telling her about your childhood church choir days. You were sure your religious mother never thought you’d be using those talents like this.  

“No,” you said firmly. Annie just smiled and waved the manager over.

That was how the two of them ended up all but pushing you on stage—after Annie had wrangled you into a shimmering red gown over your underwear and pantyhose. It was overlayed with delicate beading in intricate patterns. And it was easily the most beautiful thing you’d ever had on your body.

However, you did take issue with how long the slit was, running all the way up to your hip bone.

Not really ‘20s style, now is it? you thought sourly.

Annie just slapped your ass and guided you forward.

You shot back one last look at her—one that swore you’d have your revenge.

Then the curtain slid open. 

Fuck me, you thought nervously. This was really happening!

The lights blinded you for a moment, and you blinked the glare out of your eyes. They soon adjusted as you forced yourself to move towards the microphone at the right-hand side of the stage, close to the live band. The pianist shot you a smile and a wink as he started to play in dulcet tones.

Steeling yourself, you grabbed the microphone with a slight tremor in your hands. You stared out into the crowd as the rest of the band joined in, slow and jazzy. 

You’d informed the manager that you really only knew one song by heart.

“Eh, that is too slow,” he’d replied to you in English.

“It’s that, or Dani belts out in her best soprano,” you informed him. He sighed and waved a resigned hand. 

“Get her the red one,” he told Raquel. She then handed you the dress on a hanger. 

Now, you held the microphone between both hands and started the song your grandmother used to sing to you when you were a kid.

“If I didn’t care, more than words can say,” you began. “If I didn’t care, would I feel this way?”

You took in an unsteady breath. With each note, your voice was getting stronger, more confident. 

“If this isn’t love, then why do I thrill? And what makes my head go round and round, while my heart…stands…still…”

As you eased into the rest of the song, you remembered your mission. 

You scanned the dark room, rows of men of all ages, women serving drinks and food and their own bodies. You weren’t finding your target.

But this intel was good. The source was the girl you’d replaced in the show, and M.M. had already worked out her safe exit out of the city for a while. 

There. You finally saw it. 

Or rather, you saw him.

Towards the back, Soldier Boy sat at a large exclusive booth. He had a long joint propped between his fingers, and a working woman from the club already propositioning to service him. Her manicured hand eased down his chest. 

He also seemed to have hired men sitting at a table nearby. 

Your voice nearly hitched at the sight of him, but you forced yourself to take a calming breath during a musical interlude. 

You knew Annie and the rest of the team were here in the club somewhere, to back you up. But Soldier Boy knew Butcher and his team were onto him. the bastard would recognize them. You were the distraction here.

And if he went away with that escort, he could easily disappear upstairs and hop out the window again, gone like a coil of weed smoke.

Somehow, you needed to keep his ass in his seat.

So your voice came back in strong for the final verse.

“If I didn’t care, would it be the same? Would my every prayer begin and end…with just your name?” 

You watched Soldier Boy’s gaze drift toward the stage. Your lips curved as you held his eyes for a moment…but then, you coyly slid your gaze away. 

Okay, what’s going to grab his attention…

You shifted on the stage, letting the curve of your hip and ass sway to one side. You raised your other foot on the tips of your toes. And the slit running up your leg slid open, revealing your tall silver heels and a smooth leg, all the way up to the inside of your thigh.  

Unfortunately, you hadn’t been able to fit your gun holster this time.

“And would I be sure that this is love beyond compare…” Your voice rang out on the high note; at that climactic point, the music reached a crescendo.

You turned your head and looked directly into Soldier Boy’s eyes, and his mouth slid into a grin. 

He was watching you. 

Good.

“Would all this be true,” you sang, “if I didn’t care for you…”

As the final notes reverberated from the piano, applause and male whoops erupted from the crowd. 

You slowly released the microphone, breaking off eye contact with your target. 

Then you turned around, trying to hide the nervous tremor in your legs. You pressed a discreet hand to the communicator in your ear after the curtain fell behind you, and you told the team. 

“He’s here.” 

Annie was no longer backstage. 

“Good job, crooner,” M.M. said on the comm. 

“Watch him ‘til he’s ready to leave,” Butcher said to everyone.

You agreed and dodged the manager so you could slip to the back room within the dressing room. 

You were about to change into your real clothes (and grab your gun), when you were stopped by a Latino man. Though he clearly wasn’t a local or a tourist. He looked ex-military, complete with a crew cut and dark beard. 

“Soldier Boy would like to meet you,” he said in lightly accented English. You affected some doe-eyed shock, even though some of your surprise was genuine. 

You’d just wanted to keep him watching the show. You hadn’t expected him to take the bait this much. 

“Oh, wow…where? Now?” you asked.

“Now,” he confirmed. “Upstairs.”

He couldn’t even pick me up himself? Lazy, you wanted to tsk.

You spied the stage manager over by the doorway. He gave you a stern nod that told you that you had no choice but to accept. 

Not that you ever intended to decline. Though of fucking course the manager had known Soldier Boy was here. He was probably a damn regular. 

You gave Soldier Boy’s man a charming smile. “Lead the way.”

This wasn’t the plan, exactly. You decided it was even better though. Just infinitely more dangerous. 

Even though you had years of training, honing your body and your mind in a fight, you weren’t a supe. You were, in fact, exceedingly breakable.

“Are you crazy, cherie?” Frenchie said on the comm. 

You also thought you heard M.M. mutter an, “Aw shit.”

“She don’t got a choice now,” Butcher said. “But it’s a good play to get him alone. Slip her one of them hockey pucks.”

You heard M.M., Annie, Butcher, and Frenchie’s continued twittering back and forth about the change of plan. Meanwhile, you were being escorted upstairs.

Kimiko managed to maneuver into your path from the opposite direction, and she slipped a small disk into your hand as she passed you. 

You gave her a grateful wink and discreetly placed the device into your bra while your escort wasn’t looking. 

It wasn’t a dose of Novichok, but it was something that might keep Soldier Boy occupied for a moment. You intended to use it if he got too fucking handsy.

You were let into a room on the third floor. With the lavish way it was furnished, complete with a king-sized bed, it almost looked like a hotel room. 

Yeah, Hotel California, you thought wryly, as the door shut behind you. 

Soldier Boy sat at a table by the far wall, gazing out the window with yet another joint (or perhaps the same one?) and a generous pour of whiskey in his hand. 

Even you could admit, he cut an attractive figure. He was dressed in light brown slacks, a matching suit jacket and a white dress shirt with the top buttons left open. A simple ensemble, but well-tailored and suited to the golden tan he’d developed here in South America. His beard was neatly trimmed, his short hair styled back in its familiar sweep on both sides. 

Even seated, his posture was casual, yet controlled as his head turned to meet your gaze. A smile started to curve his lips. 

Show time, you told yourself. 

“You’re new,” he said. You tilted your head, a bit of flirtation in your smile.

“What makes you say that?” you asked.

He gave you an oh please look. With the hand that held his whiskey, he gestured with a curling finger. 

“Come ‘ere. Don’t be shy,” he said. It was an order rather than a request, but you hid your instinctive annoyance.

You subtly took in a steadying breath. And you moved farther into the room. You didn’t stop until you were sitting opposite him at the window, crossing your legs beneath the table. 

You could tell he’d expected you to take a seat in his lap, but to a degree, you didn’t want to do what he expected. He was likely paying the club well for this time. You didn’t want to make it easy.

You wanted him to be enticed. Invested in this moment. 

And distracted, for as long as he let you. 

You watched him glance down with interest at your bare leg peeking out. At your strappy silver heel shining along with your dress in the soft lamplight, which casted shadows across his profile. 

“Want a drink?” he asked. 

You were surprised he was offering you anything. You’d half-expected him to order you onto your knees already. Upon which, he would’ve received the gift currently residing in your bra a bit early. 

You didn't want to take any drink you hadn't poured yourself, but you also needed to keep this act going...

"I'm not gonna fucking drug you," he said, reading the look in your eyes. "What would be the fucking point of that?"

Hmph. smart-ass motherfucker, you thought. But you didn't detect a lie.

You quirked your head and took the proffered sip from his glass. You wanted to play it cool, but maybe you also needed a little liquid courage. 

“All right, easy on the booze. Get his guard down,” Butcher said in your ear. You resisted the urge to frown.

Could Butcher see you somehow too? Or was he just hearing the ice clinking in the glass as you gulped it down. 

“Did you enjoy my performance?” you asked Soldier Boy.

“Still am, doll face,” he said with a smirk. You raised a brow. 

“I’m not that new,” you replied, biting indelicately on a dark cherry. Your heeled foot slowly slid against the inside of his thigh. 

It was his turn to raise brow. His head tilted with his smirk. 

You didn’t know if he was more amused than turned on, but his gaze roamed openly over your legs, the cleavage on display, your dark red lips. 

“Are you enjoying your stay in Medellin?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation going. 

“Oh, yeah. I’m having a fuckin’ ball,” he said wryly. He dabbed some ash off his blunt with a finger. 

There was something off there, and you didn’t miss it.

“You sound bored,” you said. Soldier Boy considered you with a lustful, challenging gaze. 

“Maybe. You gonna help me with that, sweetheart?”

A flutter of nerves churned in your belly, but you used it, letting the feeling prickle awareness across your skin. 

“Depends,” you said coyly. 

Both his brows rose this time, as if he was surprised you were actually pretending to resist him. 

“On?”

You subtly leaned forward when you gave him back his glass, allowing him to spy a bit more down your dress. You stared into his deep green eyes, and tried not to get lost yourself. He was an attractive man, but he was also your target. A job you intended to finish. 

A smile played at your lips.

“On what excites you,” you replied. 

By the way his eyes darkened, his smile curving, you thought he liked that answer. 

Then his hand extended toward you, a silent command in his gaze. Steeling yourself, you tried your best to be graceful and sensuous when you took his hand. He playfully jerked you forward, making you fall into his lap. 

You waved some dank weed smoke out of your face as you looked down at his amused one. 

He was nearly down to the roach on his joint. Meanwhile, his free heavy hand slid up your bare leg, disappearing beneath your dress and making goosebumps spread across your skin. Your breath hitched, though you disguised it with a smile. 

“You afraid of me, sweetheart?” he cooed. 

Yes, if you were honest with yourself. 

There was a false sense of security in his deep voice. You looked down into his eyes, very green and intensely focused on you, despite his air of nonchalance. 

“Not really,” you replied. “Only that you might get ash on my dress.”

He chuckled, smoke blowing out his nose. He put out the joint in the ashtray and took another sip of his whiskey, likely to drown out the cotton taste in his mouth. You laid a hand on his chest, fingers spreading between the open buttons, and felt his warm skin. 

He glanced up at you with another challenging tilt to his head. What are you gonna do now?

You met that challenge, boldly leaning down to press a kiss against his lips. You held his face, delving your fingers into his soft hair. 

Soldier Boy grabbed your hips with a bruising force. It made you wince, instinctively biting into his lower lip. He uttered a pleased sound, guttural in this throat. You braced yourself against the wall behind him for leverage as his chair started to tip back. 

Before either of you could fall, he lifted you effortlessly by the waist and pivoted, pinning you against that wall. Your legs wrapped around his waist as his tongue invaded your mouth, devouring you with hot and heavy hands holding you in place.

His fingers pressed into the flesh of your thighs, and you knew you couldn’t easily escape if you needed to.

This is getting out of hand… 

He was busy kissing a wet and sloppy line down your neck, his beard scraping against your skin. It actually felt so fucking good to be touched. You hadn’t experienced it in so long, it almost startled you when your heated core pulsed with the friction you were feeling against the hardness in his slacks. 

You would never admit it, but it wasn’t an act when you moaned into his ear. Fuck…

But when his hand again slipped under your dress and crept up your inner thigh, alarm bells triggered in your mind as panic started to set in. You panted for breath. 

With him seemingly distracted, you reached down into your bra and grabbed the metal disk. 

You gasped as Soldier Boy grabbed your wrist, tight as a vice. He looked down at you with a sly grin. 

“You were fuckable in black, but red’s my favorite so far,” he said. 

Your eyes widened. When the hell did he see me in black?

And then you remembered. You’d worn a black dress at the last club, where you got groped on the dance floor and found Soldier Boy’s latest note…

Had he hung around after all, watching you and the team pick up his clues?

And you realized, he knew exactly who you were. 

Soldier Boy glanced down at your lips, then at the tops of your breasts heaving as you caught your breath. His eyes shone with mischief and lust. 

“It’s a real shame. You’re probably a good fuck too,” he remarked. It sparked your irate disgust like a wildfire.

Then you smirked. “You can fuck this.” 

You activated the disk in your hand and flicked it at him. He instinctively grabbed at his face, releasing you. The device attached to his cheek and electrified enough volts through his body to drop an elephant. 

Maybe five. The CIA weapons specialist hadn’t been too sure.

And a star bolt shot Soldier Boy in the chest, shoving him away before he could grab at you. 

You jumped back and continued to put several feet of distance between you and Soldier Boy, while Annie and the rest of your team poured into the room. They were poised for a fight, once Soldier Boy ripped the device off his face with a grunt. It probably hadn’t hurt him much, but he looked pissed now. 

He rolled the kinks out of his neck and surveyed the room with a slow gait. He spared you a fleeting glance. You were now at the safety of Kimiko’s side, and Frenchie handed you a gun. 

“Ah, the Scooby Gang,” Soldier Boy remarked. He nodded at Butcher. “This is how you repay me for taking care of Homelander? My own son.”

“He weren’t your fucking son,” Butcher replied. “I’d reckon you know that best of all.”

Soldier Boy’s lips twitched. Whether at a smile or a frown, you couldn’t tell. 

“You found me, remember? So what, you got buyer’s remorse?” he said.

“See, the problem is, supes like you are what we call,” said Butcher, “a menace to fucking society.” 

Soldier Boy’s lips pulled down into a frown. He looked a cross between annoyed and impatient. 

“I fought for my country. I saved lives—”

“You took just as many as you might’ve saved,” M.M. interrupted. “And not just that building you burnt the fuck up last year.” 

Soldier Boy hesitated at that. “You really wanna do this?” 

You all really want to die? his eyes said. He got determined silence from all of you. He rolled his shoulders and adjusted his blazer. 

“All right,” he shrugged. 

Then all hell broke loose. You ducked for cover as Soldier Boy deflected the giant flare gun M.M. shot at him. With his bare hand. 

Hired security then poured into the room—you assumed hired by Soldier Boy. And you protected Hughie from getting his neck snapped by shooting a man between the eyes.

You and M.M. continued to fight them off. Meanwhile, Kimiko and Annie tried to give Butcher and Frenchie a chance to get close with the Novichok gas on Soldier Boy. 

You took care of three more men before you heard a low buzzing sound. You turned around, and a gasp fell from your lips when you saw Soldier Boy’s chest lighting up. 

You knew what came next. 

And so did Annie. She poured her all into her next star bolt—which managed to shove Soldier Boy through the window. She and Kimiko flew or otherwise ran out the window to follow him. While Butcher, Frenchie, and M.M. helped you fight off the last of the hired guns. 

Finally, you covered Hughie as the five of you left the normal, human way, and ran down the stairs to exit the club. By the time you were able to join Annie and Kimiko, however, Soldier Boy had disappeared.

You glared down the dark, busy streets of Medellin. 

Damn it!

You returned to the hotel disappointed and angry beyond fucking belief. Mostly at yourself.

After all the work you did, having to seduce and make out with that bastard, only to discover he’d made you long before you took the stage at the club.

Fucking hell, you thought angrily as you kicked at your suitcase. It sent your clothes tumbling across the dirty carpet, but right now you didn’t give a fuck. Damn cocky bastard. 

In the bathroom, you kicked off your heels in relief. You looked yourself over in the mirror and found various cuts and bruises from the fight. Your softly curled hair was a shambles, along with your makeup. 

Parts of your dress were torn, along with your pantyhose. Which was probably Soldier Boy’s doing, if you thought about it. You sighed. 

You were about to start undressing, but then you heard something. A small sound, like a thump. 

Your gun was on the table in the main room. Frowning in suspicion, you left the bathroom cautiously. Before your hand could close around your gun, a gloved hand grabbed your wrist. 

You aimed a punch with your free one and caught a man directly in the jaw. He reeled back, but was quick to recover and try to grab you again. 

While the guy was strong, you could feel that he wasn’t a supe. A human, you could deal with. He wore a mask over his face, but you could see he had shoulder-length brown hair. He was tall and lean, and one of his boots was strangely larger than the other.

You didn’t have time to focus on it. You redirected his following blow and used his strength against him, flipping him over your shoulder. Unfortunately, he landed on the table that held your poor laptop. 

“Aw, shit,” you snapped with a grimace. You searched for your gun in the wreckage. 

While you were somewhat distracted, he aimed a kick that caught you in the face, sending you onto your back with a pained cry. You quickly rolled over and got to your feet, just as your attacker threw out fist after fist.

You dodged and shoved away most of them, until he grabbed your arm and managed to crack his elbow into your temple.

You went down and hit your head hard against the bedframe.

And it was lights out.

You slowly, painfully woke up in a moving car. 

You were suffering the cottony taste of a gag in your mouth and a musty bag over your head. Your wrists were tied in front of you, and it felt like you were shoved into the backseat. The car was quiet, save for the radio playing Latin pop on low volume. 

You never would’ve thought Shakira would be the background track of your kidnapping, but here you were. 

The car eventually stopped and you were dragged out, forced onto your feet on a cobblestone driveway. Then into a house. 

…Well, this fucking sucks.

The thought rattled through your mind as you were led down a hallway, across a cold expanse of tile floor. You couldn’t see where you were going with this stuffy bag over your head, but you knew it was tile. Your bare feet all but scraped across it as they dragged you. 

Whoever held your arms in a vice grip eventually forced you to sit in a rickety wooden chair. They pulled your wrists behind the chair and bound them together with a zip tie. 

You felt the slit on your dress sliding open, so you crossed your legs, for whatever good that would do you. At the very least, it would give the impression that you were sitting here casually, and not (figuratively) shitting yourself with fear.  

“What the hell is this?” a deep, familiar voice asked.

“A gift.” You knew this voice as well. Neither one instilled you with calm.

Then the bag finally came off your head. The gag did not, however. You knew your red dress was in unfortunate tatters. You knew you were bruised and scratched, and overall worse for wear.

But when your gaze found your kidnapper, you glared up at him with a stubborn tilt to your chin. Antonio, Señor Groping Bastard from the club, was smirking back at you. 

What the fuck.

Then you noticed him.

Soldier Boy stared back at you with raised brows, and instant recognition in his eyes. His lips curved into a smirk.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

AN: 😬 So we finally made it to the prologue opener! Was it everything you thought it would be? How did you like her attempt at "undercover?" 🤭

And are you ready for what's coming next?

To keep reading: Part 3

Soldier Boy Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Series Tag List:

@deans-spinster-witch @this-is-me19 @waynes-multiverse @pallographsunspot @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @spalady26 @spnwoman @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden @syrma-sensei @muhahaha303 @123passwort @xoxovienna @magnificentnightmarehadi @lollag0w0 @globetrotter28 @nancymcl @ashbatz @yvonneeeee @fckinel @secretdreamlandmentality @kristophalis @wonderland2022 @waters-2567 @emily-winchester

[xirayn]

Long distance Stonathan as requested by @fortnightdjo

---

"So when are we going to meet this imaginary boyfriend of yours, Country Club?"

Steve finishes mixing the bloody mary Rosanne Thorne always ends her night with, though the sun will be starting to peek over the New York City skyline by the time Steve gets home. It has been over a year since he started working at The Back Door and the performers have been asking that same question since they learned he was taken.

The drink is garnished with a skewer of cornichons, salami, and cheese kept on hand specifically for nights Rosanne is on stage.

"Once he gets his acceptance letter," Steve answers as he slides the drink over. He goes back to cleaning, smiling to himself at the thought of finally adding the last piece to complete the life he's built for him and Jonathan.

Back in Indiana, Jonathan is attending community college a short drive from Hawkins. Steve understands why. His family might not need him to help pay for bills anymore and Hopper is there to be the 'man of the house', but Jonathan has been too responsible for his family for too long to just leave. So, Steve made an offer: he would be the carrot at the end of the stick and move to New York City while Jonathan earned what credits he could transfer to NYU. If Jonathan still couldn't leave after a few years of seeing his family was alright without him, Steve would move back with life experience beyond a small, midwest town and an interdimensional hellscape.

Rosanne takes a long sip of her drink, considering Steve in a way he got use to sometime back in high school. "Well, if you decide you want a real boy, I called dibs."

Steve chuckles. "You'll be the first to know."

On his walk home, Steve wonders if the crowd and noise will be too much for Jonathan or if he will like the anonymity of being just another face. There is definitely an appeal to it. Safety, as well, since Steve is more concerned about the military or KGB tracking him than he is pickpockets.

There is a padded envelope in his mail. Excitement breaks through his growing fatigue and he practically runs up the three flights of stairs leading to his one bedroom apartment. It's small, but as much as he can afford within a reasonably walking distance of NYU. He calls Jonathan. As the phone rings, he opens the envelope. A groggy voice greets him.

"Don't you have class, Byers?" Steve teases. He presses play before getting a bagel to pop into the toaster. David Bowie croons about changes through the stereo.

"Fuck you, it's Sunday," Jonathan yawns.

"Church, then." The scoff on the other end of the line makes Steve chuckle.

He listens to Jonathan's usual morning grumbles. They talk for a few minutes every few days between Steve going to sleep and Jonathan waking up since long distance calls are expensive. It also allows Steve to check in. Jonathan is likely to skip meals or sleep if not reminded.

"I'd rather love you then be saved," Jonathan says and Steve melts a little. Before can respond, however, the song changes. He recognizes it immediately.

'Start spreading the news, I'm leaving today'

"You got in," he murmurs in realization. Frank Sinatra continues to sing as Steve repeats, louder, "You got in!"

"I did." The sleep has left Jonathan's voice. Steve can picture the amused quirk of his lips and affection in his eyes along with the shy way he ducks his head whenever someone is happy for him. "Do you still have room for me?"

"I think I can find some."

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven In Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x Reader!OC

Summary:  Beaten with guilt and shame after losing his temper again, Arthur's aimless wandering leads him to church. There she is and, after diving into her heavenly eyes, he is convinced God has sent him His sweetest angel to save his bastard soul.

Words: 2.6k

TW: Blood, a bit of angst, slight blasphemy and bad use of holy water, reckless x caretaker Inspired by the prompt "Where does it hurt? - Everywhere" by @the-three-whumpeteers

Notes:

✞ Timeline: between seasons 2 and 3

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here). Heaven’s voice and song is linked, all you have to do is click on the lyrics.

NEXT CHAPTER || Masterlist

The stumbling tall silhouette of Arthur Shelby was crossing through the thick haunting mist of Birmingham. As unwelcoming the town was during the day, it was nothing compared to night time. When sun faded behind the horizon, chased by the pale glowing face of the moon, the whole city turned into a cut-throat area. Arthur brought the neck of the bottle he was holding to his chapped lips and gulped down a mouthful of pure Irish whisky. The fire trail the beverage left behind it as it went down his throat reminded him he was alive — he could still feel something, even though it was the alcohol’s burning. An animal growl escaped from his lips when the bottle left them only for him to lean his back against one of the church’s gigantic concrete walls. A loud raven’s croak torn the silent veil of the night, making him swears. The gravel in his voice answered to the dull bird, which was watching him from a tree with his tiny and beady eyes.

« Fooking bird, laughing at me like the rest of ‘em eh? »

The raven — which was rather large for a bird — tilted its head to the side and kept staring at the drunk man with a cunning interest. Its black eyes, shining under the moonlight, seemed filled with both a wise glare and a mocking sparkle. Soon, Arthur’s curiosity for the raven’s unusual behavior turned into a senseless anger when he understood why the bird was focusing on him, his explosive rage strengthened by the incredible amount of alcohol he had drunk a bit earlier.

« It’s the damn blood is it? Stop lookin’ at me like I’m — I’m some kind of monster, or a beast or I don’t fookin’ know what else! Go to Hell! »

The bottle flew towards the raven but it did not flicker, as if it knew Arthur was not in the shape of being quick nor particularly precise with aiming. As the glass smashed into the ground, Arthur hit the wall behind him with the back of his head and let out a frustrated scream. No more cocaine, no more auto destructive behavior nor suicide attempts for two years straight, and tonight he fucked it all up. He was convinced he could get better, and God knows he tried his best to do so. Got sober from every poison he used to take, got a religious wife that was trying to turn the wolf in him into a sheep… Hell, he even brought her flowers every damn day. But then came troubles, taking the shape of his little brother, Thomas Shelby.

He asked him to do the dirty job — again.

With his calloused hands, he took another man’s life. At first Arthur thought he would not be that disturbed at the idea of killing someone, after all he had done that almost his entire life. Just one last time, he told himself, just one last time and I’ll go back to my little peaceful life with me wife.

Yet, the guilt and the shame that struck him after bashing the lad’s head against the edge of a sink until his face became a pile of squishy flesh soon became too much to handle.

As the last spurt of blood spattered his face, Arthur’s clouded mind became suddenly crystal clear: it would never stop. After that epiphany, the older Shelby brother contemplated how everyone he deeply loved tended to use him. For Thomas and the rest of the family he was a mad dog, the combat brute whose only times he could enjoy life without a muzzle were when he had to rip someone’s throat apart. For his father, he had been nothing else than a poor naive hound that would have done anything to receive his respect. As for Linda, her love was a cruel mirage he wanted to believe with all his heart — but the illusion had vanished in smoke. Whether she considered him as her personal test subject for Christian brainwashing or as a tool to get what she wants, Arthur could not tell. What he could tell though was that he knew she did not really loved him. She wanted to mould him at her will, but he was no lamb. He was a wolf, a beaten and lonely wolf, but still one. And there was no love for rabid wolves, only a bullet through the brain to cure the madness.

As his skull buzzed with macabre thoughts, whose unpleasant noise reminded him of a furious beehive, a bewitching voice pulled him out of his auto-destructive spiraling. Standing at attention and listening carefully, he came to realize that someone was singing inside the church. Arthur’s eyelids fell on his steel blue eyes and the back of his head gently rested against the cold wall behind him, the same wall he had been previously smashing it with. A sighed escaped from his liquored lips as the angelic and hypnotizing voice, slightly muffled by the church’s heavy wooden doors, plunged him into a soft but oh-so-warm haze.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold…

Lulled by the sad melody carried away with Birmingham’s cold night breeze, the swarm of raging hornets in Arthur’s brain stopped crashing against the bony walls of his skull. Another sigh — one of relief this time, for the unbearable noisy thoughts and violent buzzing had vanished. His trembling fingers, numbed by the blows he had hit his target with one hour ago and still covered with half-dried blood, slid along his temples and slicked his hair back. The utter and feral anger he had felt was reduced to void, for even his old heart had slowed its pace down in his ribcage.

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold…

The tune, embedded with melancholy, soothed his troubled mind and to be honest, he could barely believe it. When that switch in his brain flipped, God knew he was not in control anymore - even dear Linda, who still managed to hush down some of his tantrums, could not tame the beast inside when it broke free a bit more fiercely than usual. Yet, this voice did so. This stranger, faceless and nameless ghost of the night, brought him back to sanity with the sole power of her voice. The words she was singing, with her a juvenile and enchanting tone, were wrapping his heart. Arthur sniffed and fought hard against the dawning tears that were forming delicate crystal beads at the corner of his closed eyes.

If he had been the jolly sailor bold, he would have thrown himself out of the boat to join the siren that was singing.

My heart is pierced by Cupid

I disdain all glittering gold.

There is nothing can console me

But my jolly sailor bold…

She repeated, sadder than she previously sang.

Her song sipped through his heart and filled the cracks with molten gold. Arthur’s lips stretched in an almost invisible grin without even realizing it — By her voice, he was convinced she could repair the damaged creatures like him and make them even more beautiful than they were before they had been dragged through the trenches’ mud and shit. He had barely came to his senses, almost miraculously sobered up, when silent fell again in the church. Arthur reopened his eyes, and shook his head - Had he dreamt? Had it been the whiskey singing to him? No, he could not be that crazy right? Not quite sure if he was starting to hear voices and see things, Shelby decided that he had to found out who had been singing to his very own soul. He wanted to see her, the girl who soothed his foul heart and his twisted mind. He wanted to know, no, he HAD to know, even though his whole being was fragile like a flickering candle flame caught in a hurricane and would probably shatter in million of pieces if she turned out to be an illusion.

Gathering all his remaining strength, Arthur grabbed the handle and opened the church’s door.

[…]

A shiver ran down your delicate spine at the loud silence that floated in the gigantic and empty church. The peculiar sweet yet strong scent of myrrh, wood and frankincense filled your lungs with its holy fragrance. The vibrations of the last word you sang was still echoing in the room, swirling to the high and sculpted ceiling, from which marble angels were watching over you. If someone would have told you two years ago that the only place you would find comfort would be a church, you would not have believe it. You had never been particularly fervent about religion, but you did believe in higher forces whether they were good or bad. More than a matter of faith, the church itself was an old friend of yours. A gargantuan friend of stone, holy titan always welcoming you even in the darkest moments of your life. What you liked the most were these lonely moments at night, during which you could light up dozen of candles and sing your sorrow to the status and colorful stained-glass windows. No gossip from the parish, no believers swarming like ants within these mighty walls. There were just you, the candle lights and the soothing silence. For a few hours, you could finally find peace.

Brushing the varnished wood of the altar with your thin fingers and painted-red nails, you let your mind drift and, suddenly, the world around you vanished. You sunk so deep in the abyss of your thoughts that you did not hear the creaking sound of the heavy door opening, nor the footsteps that followed. All you could heard were the « Burn witch, burn! » that hundred of villagers screamed at you in the woeful remembrance of your past. And in spite of your immaculate porcelain skin, you bore the scars of their words deep in your soul.

[…]

Arthur made a few steps before freezing, his body refusing to come closer as if the aura around the creature that was standing back to him , right in front of the altar lightened up with dozen and dozen of small dancing flames, was too sanctified to be violated. Bathed in the soft and warm orange hue of candles, the long white hair of the woman fell down the small of her back like an ivory waterfall. Right above her the pale glow of the full moon coming through the stained-glass window formed a luminous halo around her head.

His breathing stopped, choking in his throat at such a divine vision. The gangster opened his mouth to speak but no words managed to come out. He had never been good with words anyway. Instead he moistened his lips and swallowed, his mouth dry. The white-haired girl had started to hum the same song she had been singing a bit earlier, not aware of his presence — and he did not dare to disturbing her as if he feared God’s punishment. He took another step, the wooden floor creaking under his sole.

This time the angel — because he was convinced it was one — jumped and turned around, an expression of utter surprise veiling her sweet face. Her fox eyes, adorned with two iris so fair it reminded him of aquamarine stones, scrutinized his slightest movements. She remained petrified for what felt eternity for her but, regarding him, time had stopped for good. Arthur finally inhaled sharply, coming back to life.

All those endless nights of crying, all those endless nights of praying in vain for something or someone to save him, and here you were… His salvation.

He had asked God to send him, the most desperate sinner of all, His most beautiful Angel and He had done so.

She was not just pretty. She was otherworldly and vaguely threatening. Almost ethereal in her short white dress whose cut let her naked back for the world to see.

« I waited for ya. » He whispered.

She blinked, her full and juicy lips opening with surprise.

He stuttered, looking down and decided it was better for you if he stopped talking. The gravel in his hoarse voice, as strong as it was, sounded indescribably frail. As if this tall and slightly threatening man could shatter at your single touch. Now he felt stupid, clumsy with words contrary to Tommy and his naturally eloquent and charismatic speech. In addition to the unpleasant impression of being a fool, Arthur’s own whisky-scented breath and the strong metallic smell of blood reminded him of his horrific appearance. Overcoming the awe you infused in him, panic started to kick.

You frowned, and all of sudden he did not look that impressive anymore. Swept away by the wind, your face relaxed and wrapped itself with a calm, almost placid expression. You exhaled through your nose and walked towards the gangster, who had brought his bloody hands to each side of his head and was now pulling his own hair in a desperate attempt to not lose track.

« Where does it hurt? » You asked with a quiet and soothing tone, for you were concerned about all the blood he was covered with.

Arthur raised his gaze toward the petite white-haired doll who had just pressed one of her cold little hands on his. Your ice against his fire made his legs weak and his heart missed a beat. How his breathing calmed down at your touch was a mystery, but it did. Not quite comprehending why you did not seem scared of him, he stuttered again, all flustered.

« Shhh, shhhh. Everything’s okay, take a deep breath and answer with all the time you need. » Your hand gently tightened its grip, willing to show him you were there and you were not going anywhere until he feels better.

« Where does it hurt? »

« Ev-Everywhere love. It hurts everywhere. »

His hands, his face, his body, his brain, his soul, his damn tortured soul… It all ached too much, and too constantly for him to bear anymore. E-ve-ry-where, that was all he could say because pain was all he could feel.

Without answering, you pulled him to the altar and invited him to sit on the marble stairs. The strong and fierce gangster followed you without the single physical resistance and gave in between your hands, as a rag doll. All he did was looking at you with his charming but oh-so-exhausted blue eyes as you tore the fabric of your dress near your thighs and soaked it in holy water.

« Let me wash away the blood. » Your voice echoed in the vastness of the church, enticing and haunting at the same time — enough to send a pleasant shiver down his spine. You had barely finished your sentence when you started rubbing the wet cloth against his hollow cheek to clean his pale skin from the dark red blood. Once again, he could not help watching you during the whole ordeal all the while enjoying the fresh sensation of the holy water cleansing the dirt of his soul. Not minding his stare filled with fascination, you focused on your task, brows slightly furrowed and fingers blessing him with the softest and most caring touch someone had given him.

« Yer an Angel. I swear you are eh. »

You quickly glanced at him, a sparkle of amusement shining in your cunning celeste blue eyes, before looking back at what you were doing. The weight of his gaze brought fire to your cheeks, for he looked at you like he had just realized what love was.

He looked at you, and to his greatest surprise, found Heaven in your eyes.

I'm super new in the Peaky Blinders fandom, so please bear with me... Especially since English is not my native language. To be honest I am kind of scared to post it so any comment, review, reblog or constructive criticism is welcome. Also, I'll be more than happy to meet people in the Peaky Blinders fandom! In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed some Arthur and Heaven. Still don’t know if I’ll write a full series or snipets of these two love birds.

Tags: @areyenotfondofmelobster

[falloutboylyricss]

Fall Out Boy and Colors

Evening Out With Your Girlfriend

none

Take This to Your Grave

"I'm good to go for something golden" - Saturday

"These friends are, new friends are golden" - Homesick at Space Camp

"My insides are copper, I'd kill to make them gold" - Sending Postcards From a Plane Crash (Wish You Were Here)

"My heart is on my sleeve, wear it like a bruise or black eye" - Chicago Is So Two Years Ago

"All the colors of the street signs, they remind me of the pickup truck out in front of your neighbor's house" - Chicago Is So Two Years Ago

From Under The Cork Tree

"You look so good in blue" - Nobody Puts Baby In The Corner

"We're traveled like [nomads] only with worse luck and far less gold" - Sophomore Slump Or Comeback Of The Year

"With your backless black dress soaked to the skin" - Champagne For My Real Friends, Real Pain For My Sham Friends

"Someone old, no one new, feeling borrowed, always blue" - I Slept With Someone In Fall Out Boy And All I Got Was This Stupid Song Written About Me

"This story's getting old, the homewrecker with the heart of gold" - Snitches And Talkers Get Stitches And Walkers

Infinity On High

"At night, we're painting your trash gold while you sleep" - This Ain't A Scene, It's An Arms Race

"Kissed teeth stained red from a sour bottle baby girl with eyes the size of baby worlds" - I'm Like A Lawyer With The Way I'm Always Trying To Get You Off (Me & You)

"I sing the blues and swallow them too" - Hum Hallelujah

"How cruel is the golden rule when the lives we lived are only golden-plated?" - Golden

"Her nose runs ruby red, Death's in a double bed" - The (After) Life Of The Party

"Racing through the city, windows down in the back of yellow checkered cars" - Bang The Doldrums

"There's too much green to feel blue" - Fame < Infamy

"Lips pressed close to mine, true blue" - G.I.N.A.S.F.S.

"Trade baby blues for wide-eyed browns" - G.I.N.A.S.F.S.

"Blackmailed myself, 'cause I ain't got anyone else" - It's Hard To Say "I Do", When I Don't

"I've got the red carpet blues, baby" - It's Hard To Say "I Do", When I Don't

Folie à Deux

The (Shipped) Gold Standard (title only)

"I've got a lot of friends who are stars, but some are just black holes" - 27

"Oh, baby, you're a classic, like a little black dress" - Tiffany Blews

"I want to get stuck and be golden in your memory" - w.a.m.s.

"The infrared scope on pointlessness" - West Coast Smoker

Save Rock And Roll

"Silver clouds with gray linings" - The Phoenix

"Because the world is just a teller and we are wearing black masks" - The Phoenix

"Wave the white flag" - The Phoenix

"And when she touched him, he turned ruby red" - Where Did The Party Go

"Your hot whiskey eyes have fanned the flames" - Miss Missing You

"She's his suicide blonde, she's number than gold" - Rat A Tat

"I kept wishing she had blonde ambition and she'd let it go to my head" - Rat A Tat

"As alone as a little white church in the middle of the desert getting burned" - Rat A Tat

"She's sick and she's wrong, she's young dirty blonde" - Rat A Tat

PAX AM Days

"Every time I see you, I just want to paint the walls white" - We Were Doomed From The Start (The King Is Dead)

"You're just a black widow who fell in love with herself" - Hot To The Touch, Cold On The Inside

American Beauty/American Psycho

"Some legends are told, some turn to dust or to gold" - Centuries

"Overhead of the aqua blue" - The Kids Aren't Alright

"I always fall from your window to the pitch black street / And with the black banners raised as the crooked smiles fade" - The Kids Aren't Alright

"I got those jet pack blues" - Jet Pack Blues

"And I'm trying to find my peace of mind behind these two white highway lines" - Jet Pack Blues

"She's in a long black coat tonight waiting for me in the downpour outside" - Jet Pack Blues

"This is a black, black ski mask song" - Novocaine

"If you knew, knew what the bluebirds sang at you, you would never sing along" - Novocaine

"Take this sideshow and all its freaks and turn it into the silver screen dream" - Novocaine

"And I confessed, confessed to you riding shot-gun underneath the purple skies" - Favorite Record

"Live with me forever now, pull the blackout curtains down" - Immortals

"And there's a jet black crow droning on and on and on" - Twin Skeleton's (Hotel In NYC)

MANIA

"You were too good to be true, gold-plated" - The Last Of The Real Ones

"I'll stop wearing black when they make a darker color" - Wilson (Expensive Mistakes)

"These are the last blues we're ever gonna have" - Bishops Knife Trick

So Much (For) Stardust

"It's open season on blue moods" - Heartbreak Feels So Good

"Running middle fingers through the red lights" - Hold Me Like a Grudge

"Fever-dream tangerine sweat" - Hold Me Like a Grudge

"Take a knife and cut through the darkness, castle-temp red wine" - Fake Out

The Pink Seashell (title only)

"Orange leaves, but we're the ones falling off trees" - Baby Annihilation

"Oh, I'm going neon in the night-time" - What a Time To Be Alive

"I got the quarantine blues, bad news, what's left?" - What a Time To Be Alive

Misc.

"Boxed blondes have less fun" - Lake Effect Kid

"Fyre Fest, Black Parade, Michael Phelps, Y2K" - We Didn't Start The Fire

"SpongeBob, Golden State Killer got caught" - We Didn't Start The Fire

"Jeff Bezos, climate change, white rhino goes extinct" - We Didn't Start The Fire

[soscarlett1twas]

Midnight Church Bells

↳ Andrew and his brother sneak out. ↳ 2k words / also available on ao3! ↳ This fic is literally a year old lmao?? I was sorting through docs and found this finished draft, so I polished it a bit and here we are. Please forgive past me if the prose is... how we say 'shit'.

The holidays always snuck up on Andrew the same - sudden and unwelcome, but inevitable. This year, he’d been too invested in his studies, and, surprisingly, his own love life to notice much of withering leaves or decorations, but when he turned on the radio and heard those familiar jingles, he groaned in recognition. 

Really, it was none of those things (despite how much he did tire of those songs) that bittered Christmas for him. It was the fact that once the break started, his family would come calling. And despite all protests, his parents would never let him stay at college during the advent. 

“It’s time for the Lord.” His mother’s voice lifted through the phone he propped up on his dashboard. “And family,” she added after a moment. He resisted the urge to slam his head against the steering wheel, instead opting for biting his tongue. The one time his parents didn’t want him studying. 

Her saying that added to the sting of the season. And family. It seemed that this was the only time of year where that was on her mind. 

Which all led him to the same spot he was every December 24th: Sitting on his childhood bed, with whatever book he was currently reading in his hands, and classical music playing from his phone. 

Reclining into his pillow, Andrew lifted his glasses off and put them on the bedside table, a thumb folding the wings as the other worked as a bookmark. 

Yet he didn’t close his eyes. For one of those brief moments in life, he wasn’t thinking, or sleeping, or doing really anything at all. He was just there, in a limbo between sleep and consciousness, hoping that if he purposely derived himself the next day wouldn’t come as quickly.

And he stayed like that for 5 minutes. Or maybe it was 10, or maybe no time passed at all. But eventually he gave in to rest. No matter what, the morning would come and he’d rather not fall asleep during the already tedious sermons in church. So he set an alarm, put his book on the nightstand, and laid down.

He closed his eyes, and it was like he could hear the ringing already. 

Maybe he did.

A soft patter-ing rang just outside his door, the familiar sound of footsteps on carpet blotting the silence. And just as he was about to roll over, Andrew heard his door creak open, and the silhouette of a man leaned into the room. 

“Want to go on a walk?” He whispered, twinged with a sense of boredom. 

Andrew didn’t even need to turn to know who was asking. “Give me a moment,” he sighed, and motioned to push himself off the bed. 

—

“How did you know I was awake?” Andrew asked, still pulling his overcoat over his arms. 

“Your light was on, I saw it through your door.” His brother responded, turning off their driveway onto the sidewalk. He was slightly ahead of Andrew, but slowed a bit so that they were walking together. 

A cloud of mist formed from his breath as he stuffed his hands into his pockets, pulling the coat closer to himself to save some of his last remaining body heat. A near-midnight flit wasn’t what he had planned, but he’d prefer it than trying to sleep. Besides, this may be the only quality time he could spend with his twin during the break. God knows the time they’ve spent at college has already distanced them enough. 

“So,” he huffed, searching for a topic of conversation. “How have you been?” 

“Fine. Uni’s been beating my ass though - we spent practically the entire week leading up to the holidays in the lab, just sweating over our assignments. Jesus, I’m not even a Biochem major but Chemistry is just not letting up.”

It had been years since he was in a lab, but with the track he was on, he got the stress with ‘crunch time’. “I understand. I’ve recently had to rush a project for my Literary Theory course.” 

“What do you even do in that class?” He questioned, half serious, half mocking. 

“Analyze texts, find out how the culture of the author influenced their works.” He could go on: Literary Theory was one of his favorite classes, no matter how rigorous the course was, but he knew his brother wouldn’t care to hear the details. 

Winding down their street, the two carried on talking about academia with a partial interest, not fully understanding either’s field of study but trying to be supportive anyways. Soughing wind bent branches to a static beat as they approached the neighborhood's egress. By and by they were talking about the more social aspects of their schooling: Andrew’s literature club, the parties either rarely attended, his brother’s friends.

“How has your roommate been?” Andrew asked, kicking a rock under his shoe and watching it roll along the concrete. 

“Good.” He sighed out a laugh. “He’s great, actually.”

Andrew glanced over to his brother, and if the slight warmth in his voice wasn’t enough, the red on his cheeks told him everything he needed to know. He chuckled too, and gave a soft nudge on his shoulder, making them both smile. 

In a weird way, they never needed to tell eachother about any of this stuff. Equal parts the awkwardness that surrounded telling your sibling, your twin of all people, who you were interested in and an unspoken alliance against their parents had kept them from ever openly speaking it. But Andrew knew his brother was into guys ever since they were teens, he just didn’t know if his brother had caught on to his own preferences yet.

The stone made a sharp sound as it drifted over to his brother, who promptly kicked it back to Andrew with the inside of his shoe. 

“Helios, right?” 

His brother hummed in response. 

His mind trailed to the man at his college, the one who he had desperately wanted to introduce to him, and found himself grinning at the mere thought. God, he hoped Isaac would like his brother. 

He opened his mouth, then shut it quickly. What would he even say? He trusted his brother, but to come out was something entirely different, and with Christmas just around the corner? No, he’d wait. Right after, though, he’d tell him. Andrew silently swore it to himself. 

“Honestly, I prefer the dorms to the house.” 

That snapped Andrew out of his thinking. “Really?” 

“Yeah.” He stopped abruptly, and threw his arms out in exasperation. “Isn’t it suffocating to you too?” 

Everytime he was in his room, Andrew could only remember the sleepless nights he spent hunched over and studying. The dining table was a barrage of moments he spent silent as his parents and brother fought. The living room was a danger zone, as he never wanted to catch his parents when they were disappointed in his brother, or worse, him. The whole house could burn down and the only memories that would go with it were the most futile. Worse was, even without flames, Andrew felt like he wadded through smoke every time he was in those walls.

He silently nodded his head. His brother just stared at him, as if he wanted voice confirmation. But how can one speak up against the pyre when its fumes had already scorched his vocal cords? 

After a moment, his brother kept walking, and Andrew followed. “I contemplated not coming back this winter.” He muttered.

“As did I.” Andrew responded, suddenly getting his voice back. 

“What could you possibly be avoiding?” 

A million and one answers filled his head, but none escaped him - no matter what he said, not a single one would measure up to his brother's reasons. So why even bother trying to compare? 

His twin huffed as he turned away, suddenly gaining some distance on Andrew, and he let him keep it. 

For a while, the only sound they made was their shoes against concrete sidewalks and the crunch as they occasionally had to step into snow. Andrew brought his hands up to his face, cupping them to breathe and warm himself up. Normally he kept gloves in his pockets, just in case. But, of course, he just had to forget them tonight. His fingers combed through his hair, forcing him to look straight ahead at his brother's back. Again, he bit his tongue. But wasn’t that what had gotten him into this situation, unintentionally pushing his brother away by not talking? He didn’t understand it, but only continuing the cycle wasn’t going to help anything. 

So he opened his mouth, just in time to slam right into his brother. 

He stumbled, but his brother didn’t flinch. Or even look at Andrew. His eyes remained trained to the tree line, frozen in place. 

Regaining his footing, Andrew tried again. “Dar-“

“Stop.” He whispered.

“No, D-“  

“Shut up, Andrew, just listen.” 

So he did. 

For a few seconds, he didn’t hear anything. His eyes fell where his brother’s were focused, though without his glasses, the details were fuzzy. 

Then, a distant chime hit his ear. 

More followed. 

A symphony of church bells rang, each peal like a glimmer in the air. 

Andrew knew they rang the bells at midnight every Christmas Eve, though he couldn’t remember the last time he had heard them. During mass, he could imagine it would be unbearable. But from here? The sound was quite pleasant. 

As the bells continued, the twins stood there, listening to it all. Andrew was the first to tear his eyes away from the church he couldn’t see, glancing over at his brother through the corner of his eye. It was the first good look he had gotten at him in a long time. 

Andrew hadn’t realized how short a decade was. Though in context of anything else, the last ten years of his life had dawdled. But with his brother? It was like the blink of an eye. One moment they were running and laughing, a mirror image of one another - even the Christmas’ were tolerable. Fun, even. The next, blooming into adulthood - mimics of who they used to be.

In fact, the longer he looked at him, Andrew realized just how much his brother had changed. His hair had definitely grown, locked into a short ponytail that hung low with swooping bangs, and he made the full switch to contacts some time ago. He even got taller, and next to Andrew, he was a lofty inch or two higher. Though that could also be accredited to the boots he wore. (Ashamed to say, Andrew didn’t remember when or how he got them. They certainly weren’t a gift from their parents, but did his brother even have a job to afford them?) He was more muscular, which wasn’t saying much compared to Andrew, but he was certainly leaner. The man never made a mention of continuing his secondary school athletics, but maybe he did as an extracurricular? Again, Andrew was straining to remember specifics. Though, he supposed any reason to play was now null, as originally it was a brilliant excuse to come home late without his parents accusing him of deviancy. 

But he wasn’t too alien to him. There was something still familiar to him, like flecks of gold shining through, no matter how small. After all, they began to sneak out when they were fourteen and are still doing it now. There must be something that still connected them. 

Right?

Just as he had that thought, he missed his brother's pass, and the pebble went flying into a curb. 

They walked in silence for a while longer, bells fading to the wind. Eventually they found themselves back on their driveway, and their silence became deafening as they lightened their footsteps. God knows what their parents would do if they found out they had been out so late.

They followed one another up the stairs, crossed the same hallway, and went to rooms adjoining. There was a time they shared one, but that was before they had moved. 

Andrew slipped open his door, the knob turning slowly as to mute itself. As he slipped in, he turned half-way to see his brother doing the same.

His brother looked up, catching his gaze. 

Andrew saw himself in the reflection of his eyes. They were bitter, burning with… not rage. But a violent form of disappointment. 

Andrew was the center of it. And he could smell the smoke wafting. 

[unfinishedslurs]

prophetic nightmares of the dead (steddie)

Eddie’s been dreaming of dying. 

It started his first round of senior year, some kind of prophetic fuck-up from his brain. No one knows except Wayne. Wayne gets it, kinda, from his time in ‘Nam. Knows how vivid nightmares can get, knows all the tricks to waking up and remembering you’re alive. 

“It’s that damn music,” he mutters to make Eddie laugh through tears, after Eddie’s woken him up again with his shrieking and stumbling out of his room. “Or that game. Your imagination is vivid enough without you feeding it, boy.”

“You’re right,” Eddie responds unsteadily. “No more of that devil shit for me. I’m going on the straight and narrow. From now on it’ll be…fucking church hymns and songs about the Lord.”

Wayne hums in absent agreement, still rubbing Eddie’s back. The glass of cold water sits heavy in his hands. He takes a drink. 

It was practically routine. 

He got better at waking up silently, at not running to his uncle after the fourth, seventh, twentieth nightmare in a row. Avoided sleeping at all, showed up to school with bags under his eyes and cranky as all hell. His grades dropped lower than ever, Wayne got more and more concerned, and Eddie kept dying every night. 

The Queen of Hawkins High wasn’t the person he was expecting to understand his predicament. 

“Do you ever feel like you’re losing your mind?”

“Um, you know, just... on a daily basis.” He smiles, tries to make her laugh. Every day until I get out of this damned town. 

Slowly, he wheedles it out of her. 

“I keep having these dreams,” she admits. “Nightmares. Every night, for years. It’s always…it’s always the same.”

A chill goes down his spine. 

“I’m sorry, I sound crazy.”

“No, no, no,” he scrambles to reassure her. “Keep going, it’s okay. Safe space, right? It’s just me, you, and the trees here.”

She nods, unsteady. “There’s…a monster. And he…he’s after me. And when he catches me, I always…the dream always ends with me…” She raises a trembling hand to her eyes, not bothering to wipe away her tears. Almost like she’s checking if they’re still there. 

His blood runs cold. 

“Dying,” he whispers. Chrissy lets out a sob. “Every night, since ‘83, you’ve dreamed of dying.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because it’s me, too, Chrissy.” He jumps up, pacing in circles. “I…every single night, since that Byers kid went missing. It’s not the same as yours but this is…this is fucking crazy, what are the odds—oof!”

Chrissy has barreled into his chest, clinging to him with her arms around his neck. He can feel the collar of his t-shirt getting damp. 

“Uh,” he stammers as she sniffles into his shirt. His hands hover around her, not sure what to do until he settles them around her back. “There, there?” He tries to soothe. It’s not very soothing, with the way his voice shakes. “It’s okay.”

“Something’s wrong with me,” she gasps. “It’s following me. I keep seeing things when I’m awake, my mother and a clock and a monster—“

“Shit,” he says, a sinking feeling in his chest. He’s not exactly superstitious, but he has a feeling there’s more to this than dreams. “Hey, listen, Chrissy, you’re gonna be okay. Nothing’s going to happen to you.”

She just shakes her head, burrows in closer like she can worm into his skin if she tries hard enough. He’s never been hugged like this in his life, and he has no idea what to do with the scared teenager in his arms. 

“Here, hold on,” he says, and carefully removes her arms from his neck. She wipes her eyes, looking away. 

“I’m sorry, I just…”

“No, no, it’s cool,” he says. “Promise. I just wanted to give you this.” 

Fumbling, he drapes his leather jacket over her shoulders. Her cheerleading jacket can’t be very warm, especially combined with the skirt she’s wearing. 

She pulls it tight around herself, even though it probably sticks like weed and cigarettes and Eddie’s BO. He’s a little too preoccupied to be embarrassed about that right now, though. 

The bell rings, signaling the end of class. Chrissy startles like a scared rabbit, dread coloring her whole face, and Eddie makes a decision. 

“Do you want to get out of here?”

Looks like Hellfire’s getting postponed after all. 

They make a stop at Family Video, partially to rent a movie or two, but mainly because Henderson never shuts up about Steve fucking Harrington so now Eddie knows exactly where he works. Why the little rich boy is working a dead end job with Keith as his manager is a mystery, but it’s not one he’s interested in uncovering. Hopefully he’s on shift today. 

All of Eddie’s shit luck must have worked to make the stars align, because there he is at the counter, in all his ex-kingly glory. He doesn’t look up as the bell rings, apparently focused on whatever he has in hand. 

“Welcome to Family Video,” he calls, chewing on a pen. “Let me know if you need help finding anything.”

“Is that Blue Jeans?” Eddie asks, walking up to the counter as Chrissy goes to look through the shelves. Harrington jumps, slamming the magazine shut. 

“Hi, what can I get you—Munson?”

“Harrington,” he grins, reveling in the frown he gets in response. Harrington meets his eyes for one startled second before his gaze travels down to his Hellfire shirt, over his vest and bare forearms, and taking in the belt and ripped jeans. Eddie smiles wider. He oh so loves intimidating the jocks and moral majority of this town. 

“Shouldn’t you be in school?” Harrington finally asks, eyes jumping back up to meet his gaze. 

“That’s actually why I’m here, I need you to pass on a message for me. We’re skipping, and—“

“We?”

“Hey Eddie,” Chrissy says, appearing behind him. She lays three movies on the counter. “I picked some out, I hope that’s okay.”

“Yeah, yeah, ‘course,” he says as Harrington’s eyebrows jut up. Chrissy is still wearing his jacket, and he realizes exactly what this looks like. Shit, is Harrington friends with Carver? They probably have some jock bro code that’s totally going to end in Eddie getting beat up, shit—

“Hey Chrissy,” Harrington says agreeably. “Finally dump Carver?”

She blinks, startled at the insinuation. Her cheeks flush. “Oh, no—“

“It’s not like that,” Eddie breaks in, laughing to cover up the panic he feels. Trying to walk the delicate line between not a queer and not stealing a jock’s girlfriend. “Chrissy here just needs some company.”

Harrington nods, clearly not believing them. 

“Seriously,” he presses. “I mean, can you really see a girl like her with a guy like me?”

Chrissy frowns, but Harrington looks him up and down again. 

“I mean, yeah,” he says. “But it’s really none of my business, I don’t get paid to care who dates who.”

Eddie blinks. It almost sounds like Harrington was calling him hot or something.

Before he can figure out what Harrington actually meant, he starts scanning the tapes. He pauses on the last one, brow furrowing, before he looks between Eddie and Chrissy with understanding in his eyes. Eddie doesn’t know why the sudden change of heart. 

“Rocky Horror Picture Show?”

Shit. 

He has to clear his throat. “You have that here?” 

They don’t. They shouldn’t. It’s not exactly small town video store material. Eddie had to go to Indianapolis to find it again, he knows damn well it’s not at Family Video in fucking Hawkins. 

But the cover stares up at him anyway. 

“I found it on one of the shelves,” Chrissy says. “It looked like it doesn’t get checked out a whole lot. Is it any good?”

Eddie braces himself for the slurs. For the bored retail worker to disappear and the Bible thumping, red blooded American to come out. It’s not Chrissy’s fault, she didn’t know any better, but if Harrington knows this movie and now he knows that Eddie knows this movie, there’s some bruises in his near future. 

“It’s pretty good,” Harrington says easily. Eddie blinks his eyes open to see him smiling warmly at Chrissy, handing her the tapes. “For a, ah, certain type of people.

Well color him surprised. This is an interesting turn of events. 

“I own it,” Eddie blurts out without meaning to. Harrington’s eyes snap to him, widening at the confession. “It’s, uh, hard to find, I had to go out of town for it. That’s why I was surprised.” 

 “Oh, I guess we don’t need to rent it, then,” Chrissy says, completely unaware of the staring contest that’s happening between him and Harrington. 

Harrington looks away first. “Right,” he coughs, and goes to cancel it. Chrissy pulls cash out of her pocket. 

“Oh, Chrissy, you don’t need to—“

“Don’t be dumb,” she says. “I picked the movies, I’m paying for them.”

He shrugs, unable to fight the logic in that. He’s not exactly in the mood to spend money right now, anyways, since he’s definitely giving her a discount on the drugs after this.

“What was it you needed me to do?” Harrington asks as he prints the receipt. 

“What?”

“You said you had a message.”

“Right,” Eddie says. He completely forgot about that. “You’re going to the game tonight, right?”

“How did you know that?”

“Sinclair said you go to all his games.”

“He talks about me?”

“Dude, those kids never shut the fuck up about you,” Eddie says. “Makes me want to pull my hair out.”

“It’s mutual,” Harrington snorts, looking a bit touched. “Henderson already phoned me to ask to join the campaign, man, I’m not filling in—“

“He asked you?”

“Yeah? Wait, if this isn’t about that, then what is it?”

“Tell Henderson he got his wish,” Eddie says, putting his hands in his pockets. “I’m postponing the campaign.”

“Wait, really? Lucas is going to lose his mind, he was gonna be so bummed if he missed your nerd game—wait, why are you telling me?”

“‘Cause we’re ditching, Harrington, catch up.” Sinclair was excited for the end of his campaign? It makes him feel a little bit guilty, somewhere deep in his nonexistent soul. Oh, well. He’s postponing now. 

“I’m going to wait in the car,” Chrissy says, and takes the tapes and Eddie’s keys with her. 

“I see what this is,” Harrington says, leaning closer to Eddie and pillowing his chin on his hand. “You got them all riled up, and now you want them to shoot the messenger.”

“You caught me.” He grabs his chest, pretending to be shot. Then he leans forward with a grin. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

“Maybe I won’t tell them, make them wait for the entire time for you to show up. Henderson’ll do it, you know. Then who’ll be in trouble?”

Eddie laughs without meaning to. He doesn’t believe for a second that Harrington will do it, which surprises him. But it seems like Harrington is full of surprises this afternoon. 

“So she really hasn’t broken up with him yet?”

“Huh?”

Harrington nods behind him, to where Chrissy is in the van. It seems like she’s playing music, nodding along with a small smile. 

“I told you, man, we’re not—“

“That’s not what I meant, it’s just…” he grimaces. “She’s way too good for him. And she’s never seemed…you know. Happy.”

“Really? I’d have thought you and Carver would get along, you know, jock bonding or something.”

“The only jock I’m friends with these days is Sinclair, and he’s as much of a nerd as the rest of ‘em. Anyways, even if I was still on the team, it’s like…I dunno. He sounds like a preacher.”

“The devil knows scripture, too?”

“Something like that.” He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. How’d you two end up hanging out anyway?”

“Oh, you know,” Eddie says lightly. “Shared visions, strange dreams, things like that.”

He waits for Harrington to laugh it off, to roll his eyes and go back to his girly magazine. It doesn’t happen. If anything, Harrington grows sharp, gets a cutting edge Eddie’s never seen on him before. Not even for the time he spent as king, looking for peasants to push around. 

“Visions? Did you see any weird dust, or animals? People acting weird? Or anything else like that?”

“What?” Eddie blinks, startled. “No? They’re just nightmares, dude.”

Actually, his dreams do involve weird looking animals. A bunch of ugly bats, with teeth that hurt. Whoever said you can’t feel pain in dreams was a fucking liar. 

They’re not just nightmares, Eddie knows. At least, not for Chrissy. Not if she’s outright hallucinating. There’s something wrong with both of them, and Eddie’s of half a mind to just drive them both down to Pennhurst and get it over with. But that’s their business, and he’ll be damned if he tells King Steve Chrissy’s secrets. Even if he doesn’t seem that bad, now, out of the fluorescent lights of their school. 

“Right, right, of course.” He laughs, dragging a hand down his face. “Sorry, I’m just…on edge, I guess. Didn’t get a lot of sleep.”

“I know the feeling.”

“Right,” he says again. “Well, have a good day, I guess. Tell Chrissy her tapes are due back in five days. And, uh, thank you for choosing Family Video.”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Eddie says, feeling equally unsteady after the weird turn their conversation has taken. He heads for the door, only pausing when Harrington calls out. 

“Oh, and, uh, Eddie?”

“What?” He pauses, one hand on the door. 

“If anything…weird happens, let me know, all right?”

He has no idea what that means. “Don’t worry, Harrington,” he says, throwing a smile over his shoulder. “I live weird.”

When he gets back in the van, Chrissy studies him closely. 

“What?”

“What did you and Steve have to talk about? I didn't know you were friends.”

“We’re not,” he snorts. “Me, friends with the King? Can you imagine? Nah, we share custody of some of the freshmen in Hellfire.”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I feel like…” she trails off, biting her lip raw. 

“Like what?” He encourages. 

“You called me a queen. Does that mean we can’t be friends?”

“Uh…” Eddie says, stumbling a bit. He does want to be friends with Chrissy. Even without the fact that they’re probably going to end up at the same cell in the nuthouse, she’s sweet and quiet in a way that makes him want to ask if anyone’s ever told her she can be loud. Her eyes are big and sad, but he can see a smile glancing along the edges of her mouth when he looks at her. She’s clever, he’ll give her that. He’s been caught hook, line, and sinker. “No, I’d— I’d like that. To be friends with you.”

Her smile feels brighter than the sun. 

“Then what’s so weird about being friends with Steve?” She asks, glancing towards the Family Video window. Harrington looks like he’s back to reading his magazine, but glances up like he can feel them watching him. Eddie looks away and starts the van. 

“Well, for one thing, you’re not one of the assholes who called me names and pushed me and my friends around.”

Harrington’s not either, really. Too busy standing around and being self obsessed to bother. His friends did all the pushing around for him. Wouldn’t do to get his hands dirtied with the freak. The familiar bitterness rises in his chest, and he tries to push it down. Looks at Chrissy out of the corner of his eye as he pulls out of his parking spot. 

Her smile has faded, and he could kick himself. “Jason is, though,” she says quietly. 

“How long have you guys been dating, anyway?” He asks, eager to change the subject. He pulls out of the lot, all too ready to leave the video store and the man who resides in it behind. 

“Three years.”

Eddie chokes, not expecting that answer in the least. “Three years?”

“We got together when we were fifteen,” she says, a grimace pulling at her mouth when he glances at her. Shit, maybe Harrington was right and there is trouble in paradise. 

“How do you stand him?”

“He loves me,” she says. It’s not an answer. 

“Yeah, but Chrissy, he’s like, a major dick.”

“He loves me,” she repeats. “He wants to go to college together. He wants to live in Hawkins, and have a pretty white wedding, and a job that pays and a wife that’s pretty and sweet and doesn’t have nightmares about dying every night. A wife that’s not crazy. And she’ll have his kids, all two and a half of them, and she’ll always smile and stay at home and never do anything with her life because she gave up all her dreams for him—“ 

He pulls onto the side of the road. “Jesus,” he breathes, twisting in his seat. “Chrissy. That’s not love.”

“He’s safe.” She looks at him imploringly, eyes wet. “I just have to make it until summer. He can have his pretty little girlfriend, his pretty little life. He can have whatever he wants. I just have to make it to summer.”

He swallows back bile. “What’s summer?”

She looks down. “I got an early admission. University of Chicago. I have scholarships. I’ll pack everything, and run away there, and I’ll never have to see him or my mom or anyone else in this fucking place ever again.”

“I used to hate Steve,” she whispers. “Even if he was nice to me, I used to…just wish he didn’t exist.”

“Shit, Chris, so did I. He was an asshole.”

She shakes her head. “No, because it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t because of that. I was just…jealous.”

“Of Harrington? I think everyone’s been jealous of him at some point.”

Her face screws up. “You don’t get it,” she says. “I didn’t want his house, or his money, or his car, I just wanted…”

“Him?”

“No!” She pulls her hair in front of face, looking at him desperately. “I wanted to be him, because he was…”

He really doesn’t know where this is going. “Because he was…?”

“Nancy,” she breathes with a sigh. “He had Nancy Wheeler, and she was pretty, and smart, and I…I wanted it to be me.”

Oh. Oh. Holy shit, Chrissy Cunningham is coming out to him on his ratty couch. He’s safe, she’d said about Jason, and he’d thought she was talking about all the other ways he was convenient, but… there’s safety in a shield. Easier to hide behind a boyfriend then have people asking questions you can’t answer. He’ll eat his shoes if Jason knows, but at least he’s good for something. 

She’s turning pale. “I’m—I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—I don’t know why I thought—“

“Woah, woah, woah,” he says, grasping her hand as she tries to flee. “Chrissy, I—Chrissy, wait. Me too, okay?” 

She freezes. “You too?”

“Yeah, Chris, me too.”

“Like you had a crush on Nancy too?”

The look he gives her speaks volumes. 

“Oh.” She settles back down on the couch, her too-thin wrist trembling in his grip. “Okay.”

“Okay?” He asks, just to make sure. 

“Okay,” she says. 

“Good.” He sighs, lets go of her hand to run his fingers through his hair. “So, Wheeler, huh?”

A flush blooms across her face. 

Steve breaks the surface again, looking panicked, before being dragged back under. 

Immediately it’s chaos. 

“Steve?” Nancy calls, looking over the side of the boat frantically. “Steve?”

Robin jumps in. 

“Woah, woah, woah,” Eddie says, as something determined flashes over Nancy’s face. “Let’s think about this—“

She takes a deep breath and dives in after her. 

“Shit!” He looks at Chrissy, eyes wide with dread. “We’re not going in there, are we?”

Sounds echo from the shore. Shit, the police. 

They’ll probably die if they go down there. But if the cops find them, they’ll take Chrissy’s Walkman, and then she’ll definitely die. 

He sees the same resolve settle over her face. 

“This is crazy,” he mutters. “This is crazy! Dammit, dammit, dammit!”

 She takes his hand. “On three?”

He lets out a hysterical laugh, gripping her hand tightly. 

Chrissy counts to three. 

They jump. 

He spits blood. It dribbles down his chin, and Eddie follows it down, down, watches a few drops land on that glorious chest and thanks every god there is that he’s too scared for the frankly impressive boner that wants to form. 

Chrissy elbows him. 

“Hey! What was that for?”

“You’re drooling,” she whispers. 

“Can you blame me?” He hisses back. “Look at him! That was some fucking Ozzy shit right there!”

She gives him a look. 

He toes one of the dead bats by his foot. Ugly little fucker, with sharp teeth. It’s almost familiar. 

He doesn’t get too far with that train of thought. 

“Sense of humor still intact, that’s good.” She chuckles nervously. Then she shakes him. 

“Ow, Rob!”

“You have to stop doing shit like this! ‘Hur, dur, I’m Steve, I’m going to go into the highly dangerous portal and get eaten by bats because I’m stupid—“

“I don’t sound like that!” He bats her hands away from his torso. “Also, you seem to be forgetting the part where I was dragged against my will.”

“You can’t take any more concussions, Steve!”

“No concussion,” he says, and takes her hands in his. She pauses to breathe. They look like they’re in their own little world, and something bitter twinges in Eddie’s chest. “No rabies, no concussion, I’m okay.”

“You’re definitely not,” Nancy says as she moves in to wrap his injuries. He grunts in pain. 

“I’m fine,” he insists, and Eddie snorts. He gets a scathing look in return. 

“We are not fine,” Eddie says. “We’re in some sort of hell dimension, shit, I…” he turns in a circle, finally taking in the world they’re in. Everything is grey and barren. Red lightning cracks across the sky. 

It looks exactly like his dream. 

He lets out a nervous laugh. “What the fuck,” he says. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck—“

“Eddie?” Chrissy grabs his hand, and he turns to her with wide eyes. 

“Chrissy, it’s just like my dream. This world, those weird fucking creatures, it’s exactly like…”

She turns pale. 

“Dream?” Nancy asks, sharp. “What dream?”

“It’s crazy,” Eddie says weakly. He’s starting to believe it less and less. 

“It’s both of us.” Chrissy straightens, raising her chin. “It’s always the same thing. For me, it’s a monster. He takes my eyes, snaps my limbs.” Mercifully, none of them point out the similarities with the recent killings, although all three of them straighten. “For Eddie, it’s…”

“Bats,” he says. “Ugly fucking bats, with sharp teeth. Everything is grey and desolate, and there’s this kid—“

The other three exchange what can only be described as a look. 

“I’m crazy,” Eddie pleads, trembling. Please, for the love of God, please tell me I’m crazy. Stick me in the loony bin, tie me up and leave me on the front steps of Pennhurst. Please. 

“You’re not crazy,” Nancy confirms. It feels like a death sentence. 

“So, what’s the story there?” Eddie asks, tripping over a rock. “How’d you figure out the whole ‘Prophetic Nightmares mean death’ thing, anyway?”

Steve furrows his brow. “You’re taking this surprisingly well.”

“I’m not.” Eddie lets out a laugh. “Trust me, I’m not at all. But I think some part of me had always known, you know? Like, it was too real to be just my imagination.”

Steve nods. “As far as we can tell, it’s only people who die from the Upside-Down,” he tells Eddie. “Has to be directly from it, no second-hand murder or anything.”

“Great.”

“Yeah.” He grimaces. “And it can change, you know? You might be having nightmares one night, and then you do something significant enough to change your…fate or whatever, and they’re gone. Or maybe something happens, and you start having them. It’s not always set in stone, you know?”

“Well, good,” Eddie breathes. There’s a chance they get out of this. “That’s good.”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know all this? Like, do people just come up to you and tell you their nightmares? Do you go around asking everyone in Hawkins what they dream about?”

“As far as we can tell, it started with Barb.”

“Barb?”

“Yeah, uh, Barbara Holland?”

“The one who died from the chemical leak?”

There’s a heavy silence, where Steve looks at Nancy. There’s regret in his eyes. 

“She had a nightmare, the night Will disappeared. Told Nancy a monster took her, something with no face and lots of teeth. Nancy told her to lay off the horror movies.”

Something sinks in his stomach. 

“That night, they came over to my house, you know? We were messing around, being stupid, and Barb cut herself. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal, we told her to go home and went inside. The next day, she was missing.”

“Shit,” Eddie breathes. “The chemical leak?”

“Bullshit,” Steve confirms. 

“Shit.”

Steve blinks, eyes jumping back up to his. “What?” He asks, sounding breathless. Poor guy. Those bites must hurt like hell. “Sorry, I didn’t hear that.”

“It’s fine,” Eddie says, even though his mood sours a bit at the idea of Steve not listening to him. “I was just saying, you and Wheeler looked pretty cozy. I think you’ve got a chance.”

Steve stares at him. “…what?”

“Christ, Harrington, your ex-girlfriend! Nancy Wheeler, who leapt after you without a second thought and was giving you eyes the whole time she was patching you up. I’m telling you to win her back.” Sorry, Chrissy. She'd told him she was over that particular crush, though, so he figures it's fair game.

“Nancy? You want me to date Nancy again?” He asks, as if the idea is so far out of the realm of possibility that it’s baffling. 

“Do you not?”

“Not really.”

“Why?” Eddie asks, because if there’s anything he’s learning about himself these days it’s that he’s a bit of a masochist. “Isn’t she the perfect girl for you?”

She is. They fit so well, Eddie could see it from space. Nancy Wheeler, with her determination and fearlessness, guns in her room and fire in her heart. Steve Harrington, the hero, the protector, standing at her side where he belongs. It’s so storybook it practically writes itself. 

But Steve’s shaking his head. “We weren’t…good together,” he says haltingly, as if he’s debating on whether to even tell Eddie this. “I wanted to ignore it all. I was scared of what I’d seen, scared of the government guys whose NDA’s I signed, just…scared. I wanted to pretend like it never happened, like  everything was normal. Nancy couldn’t do that. She lost Barb, and I…told her to forget. I told her to just put out the story the Feds were selling, because I was a coward. Barb’s parents sold their house to hire an investigator for a girl we knew was dead, and god, Nancy’s face…”

Eddie doesn’t know if he wants to hear this. He looks back up at the girls walking ahead. Nancy looks as fiercely determined as usual, but for the first time, he wonders what’s behind it. 

“I hurt her, and she hurt me,” Steve continues. “I…shit, I really thought she loved me, you know? I thought we would get married, have kids, the whole nine yards. Realizing it was all…well, bullshit, that was almost worse than any concussion I’ve had, but I don't blame her. I wasn’t what she needed.”

“And now? I mean, you’re clearly a different guy than you were back then,” Eddie says, because he’s kind of nosy at heart. Steve’s being all introspective and shit, just giving up all this information for free, and he wants to know more. It’s not at all because something in him turns smug when faced with the fact that the world’s most fated couple aren’t fated at all. Are actually kind of terrible together, if Steve’s to be believed. 

“It’d just be the same thing all over again. I’ll always love her, but we want different things. Different priorities and stuff. I wouldn’t be able to keep up, and she’s not going to slow down for me.”

It doesn’t mean he has a chance. Eddie’s got, like, negative chances with Steve Harrington. Still, the little peacock in him preens. 

“What does she need, then?” 

Steve’s face is almost wistful. “She needs someone like Jonathan. He’s got…drive, or whatever. He’s someone you know you can trust to do what needs to be done. The two of them made sure the stuff about the chemical leak was published, you know that? Nancy needed closure, and Jonathan made it happen. He’s cool like that. And he’s good to have in a fight, too. Throws a mean punch.” He smiles wryly at that, touching his temple like he’s lost in a memory. “He’s passionate, and caring, and he’s so stressed all the time, but he still manages to be, like, soothing. And he’s got those eyes, you know? They’re big and sad and like, wet all the time. He always looks like he’s about to cry, but it works for him. He’s just…he’s good at making people feel safe.”

Eddie barely processes the words, too busy staring at Steve in confusion, jealousy churning in his gut. Which is to be expected, given that he’s been pushing said jealousy down for this entire conversation, but he doesn’t know how they went from Steve’s relationship with Nancy to how pretty Jonathan Byers’s eyes are. 

He’s good at making people feel safe. God, he had it all wrong. In the wake of finding out they’d lived through three world-ending apocalypses, that might be the greatest confession of love he’s ever heard. And it’s from King Steve, about a boy that humbled him so bad he drop-kicked his crown straight across the country. 

Steve catches him staring and shuts his mouth with a click. Everything has a washed, gray tinge to it, but he swears his cheeks flush.

“I’m rambling,” he laughs, looking slightly panicked. “I was just trying to say that Nancy and I don’t fit together. Not like that. I don’t really know if we ever did.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, “I’m starting to see why.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”  

“Nothing,” he squeaks. Well, in for a penny, out for a pond, right? He’s already in hell, might as well try and sus Harrington out while he’s at it. “Just…Byers? Really?”

“I don’t—“

“Didn’t he kick your ass?”

“Not you too!” Steve groans. “I already got the third degree from Robin. I was asking for that beatdown. Shit, some of the stuff I said was so nasty it makes me want to take a shower when I think of it.”

His eyebrows fly up at how easily he’d given up denial. “Gotta say, I didn’t think he’d be King Steve’s type.”

“He—I—he’s not—“ he stammers. Never mind, then. Denial still firmly in place. 

At least until Steve lets out a sigh. “I don’t know why I’m trying to deny it. I can see that hanky in your pocket.”

Eddie’s eyes widen innocently. “Oh, this?” He asks, tugging it a bit for emphasis. It stays firmly in place, because he’ll be damned if he doesn’t pin it. He learned after the first three he lost to miscellaneous chaos. 

“Don’t play dumb, that’s my job,” Steve complains. “Shit, I can’t believe I said all that. That’s fucking embarrassing.”

“I mean, I just tried to get you to win back your ex-girlfriend when you’re in love with her boyfriend,” Eddie says mildly. “I feel like we’re both embarrassed here.”

Steve’s flush would be visible from outer space. “I’m not in love with him.” 

“Who are you trying to convince here?”

“I’m not!” He protests. “Like, yeah, I used to be, but I’ve moved on. Firmly moved on. I love him in the same way I love Nancy, you know? Like, she’s the first person I ever loved, and he made me realize that I like both. They’re always going to be part of me. But I’m not in love with him anymore.”

Eddie’s heart takes off without his permission. 

“Don’t tell Lucas,” she pleads. 

“I won’t,” Steve promises. 

Max hesitates.

“You don’t have to tell me if—“

“I’ve been having Nightmares.”

Eddie sucks in a breath. 

“What?” Steve sounds…shit, there’s not a way to describe how broken Steve’s voice is with just those four words. 

“Ever since Billy died,” Max says. “I can’t…it’s Vecna. I know it is. He gets me.”

“Max, why wouldn’t you tell us? We could have—“

“I thought it would be easier,” she tells him, voice cracking. “If I just pulled away, I thought maybe it would hurt less when I finally go. And I think—I think I wanted to—“

She cuts off with a sob, and Eddie’s heart fucking shatters. 

“Max,” Steve says helplessly. 

“I’m sorry,” she cries. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, and I’m sorry I haven’t been here, and I’m sorry for thinking I wanted to die but Steve I don’t, I don’t, I’m not ready to go. I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to, Steve, I don’t know what to do—“

Steve pulls her into his chest. She curls her fingers into his shirt, and he meets Eddie’s eyes over her head. Eddie sees tears streaking down his face before he ducks his head back down. 

“I’m here, Max,” Steve promises. “We’re gonna figure this out, okay? I’ll do everything I can to fix this. You just keep that Walkman on.”

She nods into his shoulder, still crying. It’s violent, her sobs shaking her entire body. She looks smaller every time Eddie sees her, like she’s retreating into herself, and now she looks tiny. Looks all her fifteen years, clinging to the only adult in the vicinity she trusts like he’s her lifeline. And Eddie sees the resolve settle on Steve’s face, knows without a doubt that he’s going to do something stupid. 

“Yes, we do,” Max says quietly. Even from here, Eddie can see her trembling. 

“No,” Steve says. “No, no, no, no, no.”

She’s got a whole plan though. Outlines it with steel in her voice, confident enough that everyone nods along. If Eddie didn’t know better, he’d believe in it too. 

Steve looks damn near apocalyptic. “Max,” he says through gritted teeth, “can I talk to you in the other room?”

Lucas stands up with her, but Steve stops him with a look. Still, he doesn’t sit back down until Max puts a hand on his arm. 

“It’s just Steve,” she tells him quietly. “We just need a minute.”

No one says anything as they close the door to Max’s room behind them. A deafening click of the latch in the silence. 

As soon as the door is closed, Dustin and Erica have their ears pressed to the wood. Chrissy isn’t far behind. 

“Guys,” Nancy hisses, even as she creeps closer, “really?”

“This should be a private conversation,” Robin whispers, wringing her hands as Lucas tiptoes across the room to join them. “Like, you know how Steve gets about you munchkins, obviously he wouldn’t take this well. Honestly, I’m not taking this well, and I’m not your guy's babysitter-slash-big brother-slash-dad. But it’s the best plan we’ve got, unless we want to just let Vecna-slash-Henry-slash-One to give up and find his fourth victim somewhere else and we wouldn’t know who it was and then he really will open the gates and kill everyone we know—“

She’s shushed by four different people. 

Eddie gives in, crossing the room as silently as he can to join their little eavesdropping party. Robin follows him. 

“—said you weren’t ready,” Steve is snapping, voice barely muffled through the door. Thank God for shitty trailer soundproofing. “I told you all you had to do was keep the goddamn Walkman on, and that’s what you’re going to do! We’ll find another way.”

“There is no other way, Steve!” There’s a light thump that Eddie thinks might be the stomping of a foot. “It’s our only shot at winning this. It has to be me.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“What are we gonna do? Wait for him to target someone else? Wait for them to die, because I was too selfish? Because I’m a fucking coward?”

“Yes!” Steve hisses, clear as day. Their little group of eavesdroppers look at each other with wide eyes. “Fuck, Max, if that’s what it fucking takes to keep you alive. He’ll find another target—“

“Are you kidding me right now?”

“I’m not letting you die on my watch, Mayfield. I’m not letting you die, period.”

Max sounds close to pulling her hair out. “You’re not letting me do jack shit. I know the risks. I’m willing to do what it takes.”

Eddie’s heart twists. Jesus, she’s a fucking kid. He’s with Steve, on this one. 

“Well I’m not,” Steve replies harshly. “And if those guys out there knew, they wouldn’t be so gung-ho about it either. You know damn well if you told them you were having Nightmares—“

Dustin loses his balance, and falls on the floor with a thud that seems to echo in the sudden silence that follows. Everyone freezes. 

When Steve opens the door, he’s glowering. Eddie can’t help but notice the tears in his eyes. 

“Seriously?” He demands. 

“You’re having Nightmares?” Lucas asks Max, heartbroken. 

Max’s face is thundering. “That was a private conversation.”

“If you wanted privacy, maybe you should have better soundproofing,” Dustin snarks. “We could have heard you from the living room.”

“Sorry for assuming we didn’t have to ask after closing the goddamn door,” Steve growls. 

Max pushes past them all, heading straight for the back door. 

“Max, wait—“

“Max!”

“Hold on—“

Steve starts after her, stopping them all in their tracks with a glare when they try to follow. He doesn’t say anything, just lets out a derisive huff before slamming the door shut behind him. 

They stand there, crowded in the tiny hallway, frozen. 

“I think we may have fudged that one up,” Robin says quietly. No one disagrees with her. 

By the time they come back inside, everyone else is scavenging for apology food. Max is wiping her eyes, and Steve’s hands shake like he needs a cigarette. 

“I’m the bait,” Steve announces. No preamble, no room for debate, just laying it down and expecting everyone to go along with it. 

Obviously, he was hoping for too much given the kids they hang out with. 

“Will that even work?” Erica scrunches her nose. 

“Yes.”

“Wanna elaborate on that?” Robin asks quietly, moving into his space. He gives her a look, but lets her close the distance between them until she’s taking his arm and dragging him to the couch. He sits obediently, and Max immediately moves to the side Robin’s not on, leaving a bit of distance between them like she wants to be close but is scared to touch. 

“Nope.”

“How do we even know if it’ll work?” Dustin asks. “You can’t just decide Vecna will go for you instead, that’s not how it works. That’s not how any of this works.”

“He’s right, Steve,” Nancy says apologetically. She backtracks at Steve’s deadly look. “Obviously, we won’t use Max anymore if she’s having Nightmares, but we have no way of knowing if Henry will come for you.”

“I could do it,” Chrissy offers quietly. Bile floods Eddie’s mouth, and he swallows it back with his protests. “He might still come for me, since I was cursed.”

“You’re not cursed anymore,” Steve reminds her. “You don’t even need the Walkman. Plus, he wants someone El knows. We don’t know that he’d come for you.”

“We don’t know that he’d come for you, either,” Lucas says. 

“He will.”

“He will,” Max affirms quietly. When Eddie looks at her, she’s staring at her own hands. 

“How do you know?” Erica asks. 

“Because I had my first vision while we were outside,” Steve says. 

That shuts them up. 

They’re distracted by Robin standing up abruptly enough to knock over her chair, yelling something incomprehensible at Steve about his “stupid box,” and where he can shove it, whatever that means, and storming off. Steve stays sitting exactly where he is, head down, looking defeated. 

Eddie and Dustin exchange startled glances. 

Chrissy creeps up to Steve cautiously. “Are you going to go after her?”

He shakes his head. When he raises it, Eddie notices his eyes are rimmed red. “You should,” he mumbles. “You’d probably help more than I would, right now.”

She nods and slips away. Eddie sends Dustin in the Sinclair’s direction, and plops down in Robin’s empty seat. 

“She not doing too hot with all this?”

Steve grimaces. “I told her where my will is.”

“Ah,” Eddie says, genuinely at a loss for words. “Well, fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“You not leave her anything?” It’s a shit joke, one that he kicks himself for making, but he laughs. It’s hoarse and cold and all too fake, but it’s a laugh. 

“Like, almost everything I have. To be divided as she sees fit.”

“Making her do all that? No wonder she’s pissed.”

Steve’s snort is real this time.

[artist-issues]

idk anything about 21 pilots, but you talk about them a lot and they seem cool!! Who are they and what are they about and where do i get started in their music 😁

GIRL

These kinds of questions make me so happy. People who know me in real life organically ask me to talk about movies and stuff sometimes, but never bands, and when they find out I like twenty one pilots, never them 😂

Anyway,

Twenty one pilots is a roughly 15 year-old band led by Tyler Joseph, who used to be an intern at Five14 Church (New Albany Church) in Columbus, Ohio, and a rising basketball star in his schooling. Then, my understanding is, he taught himself how to play piano, got interested in/wrote songs during his senior year of high school, and then eventually dropped out of college to pursue making music full time. The band is named after a play by Arthur Miller called “All My Sons.” Tyler Joseph studied it in school—he was inspired by the plot of having to make a hard decision that ultimately costs lives…and you can hear through all the songs the sense of urgency, and the way the lead singer is convinced that every single choice you make can have dire consequences.

At the start of the band, it had him and two other members. Their first album is called “Twenty One Pilots,” and it has sick album art that everybody loves:

The band played local shows (like in literal houses and backyards and stuff) and were mostly performing songs from this album. My favorite twenty one pilots song is on this album: it’s called Addict With a Pen.

(Specifically, my favorite is this version of him performing it live several years after its release, which I saw after returning from the camp where I got saved.)

In those early years, twenty one pilots performed songs off of Self-Titled. But they also did a few that Tyler Joseph wrote independently, the ones not featured on the album.

One of the songs that he wrote that isn’t on this album was written when he was in high school before he had a band. It’s called “Save.” He probably recorded it in the early 2000s, but if I don’t have my years mixed up, I didn’t hear that song until I was 14-turning-15 in the year 2011. And it, along with another song of his called “Clear,” played with it, was the first song I ever heard by twenty one pilots. I heard it the week I gave my life to Christ. Save is a gut-scream song about the need to be saved. It’s hard to listen to. But in the context I heard it in, I needed to be hearing the idea of “needing salvation” in that extreme and real of a voice. So I love it.

Clear is about Tyler Joseph’s struggle with trying to figure out if it’s better to get people thinking with cryptic lyrics about their need for a savior—OR should he just come out and say, “I’m a Christian, I believe Jesus Christ is what you need, please believe in Him like I did?” He winds up settling on the first option (sometimes I wish he hadn’t) and “telling the audience what he can,” and not pushing it on them when they “let him know when they’ve had enough.”

Clear planted the germs in my brain that led to me considering art, and then storytelling as a tool to deliver hard truth “under the eyes of watchful dragons.” He talks about the concept of Romans 7 using the philosophy of disguising his words, like in Clear, in this interview, which, when I saw the part at about 9 minutes, made me start paying attention to Tyler Joseph as a person instead of just listening to his music.

Anyway. Back to the band.

One of these independent songs, NOT on the original album of the band, was called “Time to Say Goodbye,” and it has a pretty intense ‘cycle of knowing you’re messed up (like really messed up. suicide attempt and purposeless darkness levels of messed up) -> unable to fix it on your own -> trying anyway -> failing -> driven to accept Christ’s ability to kill the old you so you can live for something bigger than your messed-up self’ concept in the lyrics.

That whole progression, the “Romans 7 Progression,” I think of it as, winds up being one of the strongest recurring themes in every album afterward.

But I bring it up because the legend is, when performing that song, Time to Say Goodbye, at a little venue, Josh Dun, who already had some experience drumming in a different Christian band, saw twenty one pilots for the first time. And he thought the song and Tyler were brilliant. The current drummer of the band introduced him to Tyler, and when everybody in the band except Tyler quit, Josh Dun quit his job with no fallback plan and became the drummer of twenty one pilots. Since then, they have been a two-man band.

They have their own genre, because they’re both self-taught, and one of the identifying factors of the band is that both Josh Dun and Tyler Joseph are intensely opposed to giving in to the draw of “Fame” or “Success.” They stubbornly insist that they just make music they like. Whatever, that’s not unique, lots of bands are punk rock and go “fight the power, we don’t care what anybody thinks, etc.”

But then you listen to Tyler Joseph adding screamo and ukulele and rap over…like, church-piano, and you hear him say things like, “I just rap because I needed to fit a lot of words in, and also my brother likes fast rap.” and you go, “oh. They meant it. They don’t know how any of this works and they just do what they like.”

Especially in their early stuff.

I “got into” twenty one pilots in the year 2011. That’s the same year they signed to a record label. They produced what I think is their best album, “Vessel,” (nobody agrees with me.)

I could break down every song on the album but nobody wants that and nobody would read it, so I’ll just say; it has deeper exploration of the band’s same themes:

Be Introspective - All the time, the lead singer is writing lyrics that urgently explore the dark corners of his own fear, doubt, and insecurity—and then he flips it around and begs his listeners to be introspective, too, because “there’s something you desperately need.” It’s this idea of not running from your emotions, but letting them drive you to what you need. (He’s never clear about what that is, though, beyond the general word “faith.”)

Focus on Your Purpose - They insist that being introspective should lead to picking what you believe, and living it out to make the most of your time.

What Music Should Be For - The lyrics are all about how music should be used to fight darkness, because it can be exorcism of your inner demons, and a rallying cry to gather around and show you that you’re not the only person who has demons. With that in mind, the band is consistently opposed to “heartless,” “mindless” music that’s just there to make you dance or indulge.

Peace Wins, Fear Loses - This theme is where they usually get closest to their Christian roots. The pattern, like I said, is the Romans 7 Cycle: I’m afraid of who I am because the digger I deep, the darker and crazier I am…but I don’t have to act on that fear. I can just throw myself at the mercy of…._____ which brings peace. Peace wins, fear loses. (After signing to the record label, Tyler Joseph went full-on into the idea in Clear of never saying point-blank that Jesus is the answer. He hints and alludes. But from that moment on, he disguises Biblical principles in zombie-and-darkness metaphors. And he hasn’t stopped doing that since 2011.)

Doubt - A recurring theme that actually has nothing to do with the audience is “doubt.” Tyler Joseph exorcises his issues with not being able to physically see God, and doubting His existence (usually because of a lack of feeling), or doubting His ability to wash Tyler clean, in his songs. All the time. Just…constantly. He sings about it so often. Which, on the one hand, is cool, because many Christian artists sing about the resolve to have faith in the face of doubt. They don’t sing so much about the feeling and the addiction to doubt that comes with doubt. If that makes sense. But on the other hand, that’s not cool—because when you only talk about the fact that you have doubts, but you don’t ever resolve them, then what you’re doing is you’re constantly rolling around in the problem without ever introducing the solution.

It’s worth noting that I think their very best song of all time is on this album, and it’s “Holding Onto You.”

It’s their full Romans 7 Cycle in a way that addresses doubt, too. The imagery is everything I love about twenty one pilots, which I would sum up as:

“Use dark imagery to prove how defeatable darkness can be.”

I like that kind of imagery for the same reasons I like Halloween.

People started noticing the band, mainstream, worldwide, in 2015, though. When they released “Blurryface.”

They did it in such a cool way. The band loves giving their fans a sense of “uncovering” what they’re doing next. That gives the fans a sense of ownership—like they’re a part of what the band is creating. And, it makes them want to investigate the concepts in the songs—which is one step closer to examining what they believe. Organically.

Anyway. They accomplished this before Blurryface, is I remember correctly, by making a Twitter account for this mysterious character. They’d livestream Tyler and Josh from the perspective of an unseen, loudly breathing third person. Or the feed would just be a dark shot of the woods. No explanations. At one point I think I remember “he” even started “hacking” popular fans’ accounts and making posts in-character. He always spells things in all caps, with words misspelled or smashed together. And he’d tease new songs that would be on the new album.

And then, BAM, Blurryface the album drops, and it’s a smash hit. Every single song. The band had never seen that level of success before, and all of it is very ironic, because the album concept is this: “Tyler Joseph puts a name to his Insecurities, who want him dead, and battles them.”

So the whole “album cycle,” and all through tour, Tyler Joseph wears inky black paint on his hands and throat, because anxiety gives him the feeling of suffocating. Red is also the signature color of the character representing his dark side, his insecurity: “Blurryface.”

Twenty one pilots have been very intentionally deciding what shirts they wear and what visuals they use from the beginning. Josh was always wearing something alien-associated, and Tyler was always something undead, for example. But this was a whole other level of performance art. During concerts, Tyler Joseph would start out wearing his black paint thick around his neck and hands. But as the live show went on, naturally because of sweat, the paint would get thinner and thinner. So by the end of the show, the feeling is that “Blurryface” has been defeated.

I made a huge post about ranking the Blurryface songs, if you ever have nothing to do for an absurd amount of time and feel like listening to the songs. But those songs are what most people know twenty one pilots by.

Then they took an intensely long hiatus, (I mean. One year of no public appearances.) after the success of Blurryface. I remember wondering if they were ever going to make music again, and thinking “maybe they’re the perfect band” because in my high-school-entering-college opinion, they’d never written a bad song or done anything remotely uncool or worth hating from 2009-2016, so if they never made music again they’d have gone out on top. Plus, at that point, Tyler had married, and, feeling a Christian kinship with him, I had a vague biased opinion that maybe he’d want to settle in with his family and quit the fame game.

But NO. They weren’t done! In 2018, the fans discovered this hidden website associated with the band, and you could read letters written by a new character named Clancy. They were about this whole new world Tyler Joseph created, called “Trench,” which consequently became the name of their next album. This was a full-blown concept album. It was a deeper exploration, not of the Romans 7 Cycle that always made me love their lyrics…but more like an exploration of “how do suicidal thoughts and self-focus captivate you, and what lies do they use…and can you ever really escape them?”

There was also a much tighter focus on suicide being the big idealogical villain, the antithesis, of the band. “Stay alive” and the topic of suicide were always discussed in the rest of the band’s songs. But the momentum of this album seemed very, very specifically targeted at the issue this time. There’s a whole song dedicated to it called Neon Gravestones in the smack middle of the album.

Which is great. I’m glad. It’s awesome. But it’s like…”what’s the answer?” Way back in “Time to Say Goodbye,” the answer is “replace physical life-taking with spiritual self-sacrifice and rebirth.” But Trench, and its whole concept, was specifically engineered to leave you with no clear answer to the problem presented.

Worst of all, Tyler Joseph mentioned, in his vague noncommittal way, that this album saw him flirting with the idea of “a world with no God” and “loss of faith.” But he never really said he wasn’t a Christian anymore, and songs like Morph seem to suggest the opposite.

Anyway. The album’s excellent “story,” with its notes of Shawshank Redemption and The Village and 1984 ended on a cliffhanger. The character Clancy kept trying to escape with the help of a rebellion, and kept getting captured, but he always had this sort of confused resolve to “keep going.”

The next album was weird. They flipped all of their usual imagery on it’s head, from marketing style choices to the literal clothes they wore to tiny things, like whether or not Tyler was standing on Josh’s left or Josh’s right in promotional material. And all of that was intentional. Which is why I’m obsessed with them.

I love this album because I love them and their intentionality. I don’t love it for any other reason; there’s nothing about this album that is “twenty one pilots” aside from what I just said; they are doing all of that reverse-psychology stuff intentionally. In-story, this is still a continuation of Trench; the idea is that Clancy has been captured and the whole album is propaganda from the villains. So that’s neat. But anyone who didn’t know that, and just remembered twenty one pilots from Stressed Out and punk rock were like, “what happened to twenty one pilots? What’s wrong with them?”

The album does this thing that they used to do a lot as like a meta-nod at music—they would make songs with upbeat melodies and happy sounds, but the lyrics would be about insecurity and darkness and doubt. They did that on purpose. But Scaled and Icy took that tongue-in-cheek style and made it the whole album. Plus, it released during COVID. So on top of all the chaos going on in the world, this band that usually releases music that slaps you upside the head and says, “THINK. THINK ABOUT HOW SELF-CONTRADICTORY YOU ARE. THINK ABOUT THE DARKNESS AND HOW TO GET OUT OF IT.” suddenly releases an album that’s more like, “Hey everything is fiiiine.”

This album is pretty godless. But again, this was also the album that has nothing to do with anything serious or real—on purpose—except in a reverse-psychology way. It was all on purpose.

Fast-forward to today. Clancy just released. It’s supposed to be the end of this “story” that started with Blurryface overtly, and the concepts that started in Vessel. Musically, concept-wise, it’s a return to form. They do that thing where they switch up the tempo when you’re not expecting it. You can’t pin it down to any one genre. There’s deep, dark imagery. And the story is back, not with hidden clues, but with in-your-face costumes and a music video for every song.

But the problem is, it won’t end. They said this was the end, and I thought, “if anything forces an artist to use clarity, it’s the end of a story. You have to commit to an ending. You have to say what you believe.” And that’s all I’ve been wishing would happen since 2017, when I started feeling less like “I relate to those dark thoughts and doubts,” and more like, “I’m worried about them.” Because clarity denotes security in what you believe. And the whole “battle” has been against insecurity. And to that extent, doubt.

It’s not happening, though. They released the last music video, and it really looks like the end of the story is, “and the cycle continues.” Now, there’s been hints that they’ll end the story after tour season, maybe by releasing an additional single, or some wishful thinkers are even saying “DELUXE ALBUM!!” But for now, it’s another cliffhanger-maybe-unsatisfying-ending.

The further away they’ve gotten from releasing the song “Clear,” the further away the focus seems to get from “darkness is defeatable.” And they left “it’s defeatable specifically by God” in the rear view mirror first.

And the thing is…I worry about that. Because it really looks like he’s just playing the field. That he started off with the intent to share Christ with people very genuinely, through the gift he was given in writing and music and even the gift he was given in struggling through darkness. And his strategy was, “I’ll use art to help people trust me, and then I’ll share what I’ve learned about the Truth (Jesus.)” But then…I mean, from the outside, it looks like they got popular. And they got popular by talking about their struggles. So how do I know he hasn’t just slipped into a cycle of doubting, then instead of letting brokenness and doubt drive him back to Christ, and pull others along with him, he sits in brokenness and doubt because he’s relying on the people who relate? He’s choosing to lean on crowds of people who feel the same way he does, cheering his songs back at him, as his support, when he used to lean on Christ?

And now he can’t even see his way back to what looked like (to me) the original intent—he says things like “I don’t think I’ll ever come out and say, ‘hey I found the answers, here they are, follow me,” in interviews. He skirts. He says, “stay alive, find your purpose, decide what you believe,” but he doesn’t say “here’s why you should stay alive, here’s what your purpose is, here’s what’s worth believing in, here’s where genuine life comes from.”

So now he gets to tell all his original (and several largely Christian) fans, “I haven’t abandoned Christ, I just struggle with doubt and I don’t want to alienate my friends (the point of the song Heathens.)” But he turns right around and says to his non-believing fan base, “I’m not telling you what to believe—in fact, maybe I’m not even sure of what I believe.”

And at some point, that stops being genuine. I think. I don’t think he’s reached the point where he’s not genuine yet. I don’t believe that of Tyler Joseph. I think he’s still not sure he wants to sing, with all the conviction it would take, about how Jesus is the ONLY way, when he himself feels like he struggles so much with doubt. How do you lead people where you’re imperfectly going? He has a handle on not committing suicide. So he leads them there, as far as he can. But…still. There’s life beyond this life. There’s EITHER life or death beyond this death. At some point, does he believe that, or not? Is he going to keep using his gift to supply bandaids to cannonball wounds, or not?

But I have basically been a nervous wreck whenever I think about them, the backing soundtrack of my growing years, since 2017.

I have enormous amounts of respect and this familial loyalty-feeling for both Tyler Joseph and Josh Dun (Tyler more so, because of his impact on me through his individually-released songs when I was in high school and then up through college.) I look at them on like, MTV and junk and have the same familiar, adoring, well-wishing feeling I did when a friend I knew went on to be moderately famous.

And all that to say, I love them, I don’t think any other band can do what they do or has done what they’ve done, and they’re my unmatched favorite. But I can acknowledge that there’s something that might be rotting in there, now. Something that didn’t used to be this way. And you just can’t keep going so long, claiming you’re talking about hope, without standing up for the Source of Hope. That’s all probably way more than you wanted to know. But thank you for letting me vent it all, even if you didn’t get to the bottom!