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historiaxvanserra · 4 days ago

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All That is Dark Within Me | Chapter One

Pairing: Azriel x Hewn!city reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Summary: In the wake of rising tensions between the two warring factions of the Night Court, Keir and the High Lord come to terms through a marriage alliance between two high ranking members of their respective courts.

Tags: Forced proximity, political marriage, Night Court lore, abuse (not from Az or IC), discussions of sex work (reader somewhat ignorant to begin with), criticism and discussions of misogyny, sexism, and general abuse in all its forms., eventual smut, corruption kink, d/s dynamics etc.

Hello! I am back trying to write. This isn't my best work but its a good starting point! Please let me know what you think. This chapter and readers powers are heavily inspired by Poppy from From Blood and Ash.

I was born on a night like this, I think.

Storm-streaked my father had once called me.

If only he could see me now; standing at the foothills of the mountain, wind-beaten and with the acrid taste of seafret on my chapped lips. When I was a girl my father told me that I came into the world the way the Old Gods had. Born from the merciless green depths of the sea.

To be cruel and beautiful, and fearless.

Now fear is all I know.

The streets of the great mountain city are plagued by a summer storm and, at the fatal peal of thunder I cast my eyes skyward. A terrible dread coils in the pit of my stomach. The visions come with the storm; fleeting images of an unforgiving tempest as it ravages all in its wake. Of scorched earth and a fire that burns torrid and angry until ash reigns over the world. The dark figure of a man, who whispers my name like a prayer.

The God of plagues and prophecy. He comes to me in those moments when my body is untethered from this plane. Lost somewhere, in the depths of the ether, shrouded in his shadows and a seraphic blue light.

Heat swells beneath the skin’s surface and the murky grey-blue depths of the Sidra turn violent. Pearlescent seafoam coils and contorts violently and for a moment I think of an old story my Grandsire had told me once. Of Scylla, a human Princess from the continent. She had been monstrous. All gnarled talons and twisting tendrils as she rose from her watery tomb to lay waste to the men who had hurt her. Thrashing and writhing as the waves crest over the port.

The crack of forked white lightning against the darkening horizon breaks my reverie and Scylla wails a harrowing cry nestling into my side with a bruising force. I smooth a hand flat on her muzzle. Her lustrous dark mane feels soft under my tender touch and Scylla exhales a hot breath that rises like steam in the wet heat of the Summer storm.

“Calm, Scylla.” I whisper tenderly to the mare I had taken to mount. My forehead rests against Scylla and for a moment I feel our hearts beat in tandem. My lips graze the hair above the horse’s brow and I welcome the earthy fetor as it fills my senses.

“Calm.” I reaffirm, patting the mount affectionately.

“Take her to the stable and see to it that she is fed.” My voice wavers with another rumble of thunder. When I was a girl my Grandsire had told me to count the moments between the cacophony of thunder and the flash of white lightning to work out how many leagues away it might be. At this moment I know that I am standing in the eye of the storm.

I watch as Scylla’s silhouette disappears into the darkness of the lower city.

“My Lady, we must hurry, the storm will be upon us soon.” Leith interjects as a jarring flash of white illuminates the sky.

“It already is, Ser.” I observe, looking to the sky once more as I step into the small carriage sent to retrieve me from my visit to the modiste in the heart of Hewn City. Leith agrees as the heavens open and I hear his chuckle and the wrap of his knuckles against the body of the carriage.

Leith is the son of a minor Lord of Night, and he and I are bound together by solemn oaths. Oaths he had made to my father, all those years ago, to protect me and the power that I possess. I might have married him if not for the vows he made. Or my own vows of obedience to my Protector.

Cloistered in the stifling darkness, I observe the city in flashes of cruel light and sound that permeate the suffocating seclusion of the wheelhouse, as it moves through the cobbled streets. I remove the lavender veil that typically obscures my features and fold it into the pocket of the plain, gray cloak I had stolen from one of the wraiths.

The narrow streets of Hewn City are rife with transgression as night descends over the court.

I hear the echo of it in the lurid shouts of merchants, and the vulgar songs of sailors coming home from the docks at the mouth of the Sidra. I listen to them all; as they beg, barter and brawl in the filthy streets. The fetor of decay lingers in the air like festering fruit flesh in the feverish heat of the carriage and throngs of beggar children chase the wheelhouse as it rolls through the putrid pools of waste upon the wet, cobbled stone. Though, I only catch fleeting glimpses of them each time the cruel, seraphic light cuts through the blanket of the dark.

As we pass through the Streets of Silk, I hear the bawdy rhymes of the painted whores as they call out into the night like a siren song; all sultry-eyed and dressed in lace that billows in the wretched breeze like the tendrils of a monstrous chimera. Fated to lure wayward sailors to their watery tombs.

“Stop the carriage!” I command and the wheelhouse comes to a slow stop.

It is then that panels of the carriage yawn open to reveal a tavern. I step out into the dark, the skirts of my stolen garment sodden with the dark water that collects on the paved roads.

“Is everything alright, My Lady?” Leith asks, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger as he scans the desolate streets for signs of danger.

“What is this place?”

Leith swallows thickly and averts his eyes when he speaks to me, “It is-- it is a pleasure hall, My Lady.”

I consider it for a moment and something like excitement pricks along the base of my spine.

“Do you think we could go in” I bat my lashes prettily at him and I know by the tension in his broad shoulders that he will say yes.

“No -- absolutely not.”He retorts and I curl a fist around the dark cape that drapes over his frame, “The Lord Protector wanted you back hours ago.”

‘Please,” The furrow of my brown deepens and Leiths hand covers my own gently, “One hour, that’s all I ask.”

Leith broods for a few aching moments, only the sound of the rain as it pours from the heavens like a raging tempest until finally he relents.

“One hour -- ONE!” He demands, gesturing the number one with his pointer finger which he turns on me.

“Or I will come looking for you.

The building stands as one of the last unsanctioned pleasure halls in the city; its weary slate facade is cut from the same dark stone as the mountain that oppresses the city and the neglected roof tiles gleam in the pallid silver faelights like moonlight on the murky-green depths of the Sidra.

This place is a den of iniquity, and the pulsing heart of Hewn City.

Above the door, I observe the pillory that bears the establishment's name. The Jade Pearl, painted in varying gaudy shades of green and gold.

“I mean it!” Leith calls again in warning and I nod in return, “and stay out of trouble.”

As I cross the threshold of the tavern the smell of honeyed ale and pomegranates wafts through the stilted air. A heady aroma of festering fruit and wine, undercut with the ferrous scent of arousal.

The pleasure hall on the outer banks of the mountain city is alive with sordid activity. The whores in their fine silks twirl and dance in merry rings like water nymphs, and the serving girls fill up the cups of patrons with a sly smile. The high-arching melody of lyres cuts through the cacophony of carnal sounds; officious laughter, vulgar curses and the honeyed words, whispered into the skin of wind-beaten sailors and fat merchants.

I traverse the narrow corridors that run like veins into the heart of the tavern. It's dark antechamber is bathed in shadow and dying fireglow that casts the word in a pallid light. The emerald bar curves around the hall in the shape of a crescent moon and the tables dapple the room like stars.

“Come Mistress, let me help you.” A beautiful wraith insists, tugging and the long sleeves of my stolen robes until I am left in the thin lavender shift I had worn this morning. She’s a slender looking creature, with pale blue eyes that look almost silver in the dying light of the hearth. Her long, white hair is braided over her shoulder like the tendril of some mythical siren.

Dangerous and inviting.

“A drink and a warm meal perhaps,” She purrs, her voice low and sultry as she looks at me with those pale eyes. She’s dressed in the gauzy, silk robes of a whore. The garment flows like water over the curve of her hip and with a deep slit in its middle that exposes the graceful swell of her breasts beneath. And through her guise of beauty and seduction, I see the chains that bind her.

As I am bound. To this court. To the mountain that we call home.

“A drink would be nice,” I acquiesce, sliding a gold coin across the polished surface of the bar.

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

“It is no trouble at all, mistress- but this far too much coin.” The wraith begins to untether the cracked leather coin purse from her hip. She begins to exchange the gold for smaller coins of silver and bronze, counting them in her open palm.

“Keep it -- I’ve no use for it anyway.” I command, nodding towards the coin in her hand. The wraith shakes her head and tries to protest but a call from the brutish looking owner draws the girl's attention away.

She voices her gratitude again before leaving me to my pitcher of ale. I look up from my spot, across the painted emerald surface of the bar, to the games table.

A voice, thick with mirth and malice, beckons my attention.

“There are rumors amongst the legion that the High Lord will return to Court by the moon's turn.”

Three men are seated around an emerald game table. Crimson cards and dice litter the surface of the table and in its center a collection of coins. The male at the head of the table is dressed in his court robes; a dark overcoat with silver embroidery along the collars and cuffs. The others are dressed in black tunics and pants. It is only through the tendrils of dark that shroud them in shadow that I know who they are.

These men are members of The Night Court’s legion of Darkbringers; and servants of the High Lord’s Steward.

The larger of the three, unsheathes his dagger and places it atop the pile of coins in lieu of money.

A reminder of their lethal potential.

A vein of dark power that speaks to a coming vision plagues me in those spaces between the seconds. Untethered and adrift in the ether I allow my fragile mind to wander. I see a lake from which the dead rise like a devastating tempest. I see a King atop a dias, and a throne of splintered bone. And, through the blanket of the dark, I see the gleam of Illyrian Steel and age worn bone.

And then, that tenuous connection to the Otherworld is severed.

“The commander says that tensions in the lower city are rising.” The deep timbre of the Darkbringer rouses me from thought again.

“I heard that Keir plans to broker an alliance with the Death Lord, if only to free himself of Rhysand’s leash.”

“--bring him and that bitch of his to heel.” The youngest of the three smiles malevolently.

“Enough of that -- We’re in the presence of a Lady.” The leader implies dangerously.

Three heads incline in my direction at once.

The cold, amethyst hilt of a dagger kisses the tender flesh of my thigh beneath the many lawyers of dark fabric that shroud me and I am reminded of my own lethal potential. The dagger had been passed from my grandsire some years ago. Made and forged from the ancient power that dwells beneath the mountain that we call home. The dagger itself had been set in a hilt of dark wood, trimmed with silver and precious gems; amethyst, sapphire and onyx. Its blade was fashioned of Illyrian steel and honed to a fatal sharpness.

There are no Ladies allowed in this part of the city.

Anxiety roils in the pit of my stomach. As he approaches, I pull the hood of the austere, grey cloak to veil my face in shadows. The pale eyes of the Darkbringer meet mine through the din and his smile curls around the sharpness of his teeth.

A predator snarling as its prey.

“What a pretty little bird, she is.” He taunts as he approaches, his manner imposing and vindictive as he takes my chin between his fingers.

“I am no Lady, Ser.” I swallow thickly. It is true, of course. I am no Lady of the Night Court.

My family hailed from The Dusk Court. Before its fall, my father had fled our home and sought refuge in Night, on account of it being his own mother’s native court. The Old High Lord had given us a home here, though I was only a babe then. When he died I had been taken to ward by the High Lord’s Steward.

My own father died not long after. A fever took him, or so I am told.

“Then perhaps you might regale my friends and I with the tale of how a pretty thing like you ends up here.” The Darkbringer replies, sliding a coin across the table. His gaze drops to the rings that adorn my hands; fine rings of onyx and amethyst, mined from the wretched bowels of the mountain that I have come to call home. The mark of my good breeding.

“I assure you Ser, I am no whore either.” I know then that if I am discovered I will suffer for it. The kind of suffering that only exists in the rotting depths of Hewn City’s prisons.

“No, I see that now.” Devilment darkens his pale gaze and the cut of amethyst shines in his dark eyes, he releases me from his bruising grip with a dark laugh.

“Curious little thing.” One of the men whispers.

“This is a terrible place for a gentle creature like you, Lady” He whispers, his pointed finger ghosts the cut of onyx on my hand, “luckily for you I am feeling merciful.”

“I am not as gentle as I look, Ser.” The three Darkbringers laugh before waving me off with a final scrutinizing look.

“Now fly back to your cage, little bird.”

Traversing the narrow aisle of the tavern I find myself adrift amongst the dancing tide of patrons. A throng of women, clad in gauzy robes and underthings, twirl in merry rings like a flock of dancing water nymphs; their garments twisting and contorting like columns of technicolor seafoam.The cruel laughter from the dance floor pulls me deeper into the wretched heart of the pleasure house. Lurid whistles and a series of vulgar gestures rouse my attention. A female; dressed in spider silk and lace coils around a portly merchant at the games table. She slips into his lap with a serpentine grace. I watch as the merchant’s weathered hand traces the line of her throat to the swell of her breasts. Smacking his hand away, the woman laughs, it is a beautiful, false thing that glitters in the pallid light.

“Well, girl I hope you fuck better than you play cards.” The merchant complains, laying down his deck of crimson cards. The female curls a painted hand around the cuffs of his tunic and whispers into his ear and the merchant's mouth curves into a lurid smile. One thick hand draws down her stomach, the other brushes the flesh of her thigh, slipping under the folds of her robe between her legs to get to her --

Oh.

I avert my eyes at the scene as a blush kisses its way along my neck and chest at the intimacy of it.

The merchant rises from his seat at the table, taking the female slender hand in his. The whispered words they exchange are too low for me to hear but her answering smile is enough to know it was something wicked. The female rises leads the merchant towards the sleeping chambers beyond the emerald curtains.

I watch as the merchant's shadowy figure is swallowed by the darkness as the curtain is drawn. My attention lingers far after they are gone, leaving only the smell of salt and jasmine in their wake.

I think about what it must be like. To be desired. To be touched with that kind of reverence.

I am overcome with a strange, prophetic awareness.; dreams of shadowed light and a bleeding star, scarred hands that track the constellations as they reign over the black tapestry of the sky.

The high-arching symphony of strings and lyres blossoms in the feverish heat of the tavern. The soft melody of the lyres seems to echo off of the high, domed ceiling, as the heavy beat of a drum joins the cacophony of sound. It’s a hypnotizing, deeply sensual beat, that is unlike anything I have ever heard. Primal and carnal.

I find myself adrift in the sway of the dancing sea. Slowly, I make my way along the length of the bar, reaching out to touch the gauzy jade curtains, parting them slowly --

“I don’t think you want to go in there, Mistress.” The lilting voice of the wraith warns.

“Why not?” I ask curiously, lowering my hand from the curtain.

The wraith laughs prettily, her cerulean eyes glinting in the dying light of the fire.

“Some don’t appreciate an audience, Sweet girl.”

“An audience?” I ask.

Through the darkness of the antechamber, I see the silhouettes of the whores and their patrons, writhing and undulating with the beat of the drum. Their bodies twisting and contorting like columns of seafoam. The beat of the drum is punctuated by panting breaths and lilting moans, and the vulgar sound of men as they find their pleasure.

“Oh.”

The wraith laughs again, her painted lips curl into a wicked smile.

“Is it your first time here, Pyhtia?” The wraith leans in, the rich tenor of her voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. Fear coils in my stomach and my grip on the emerald surface of the bar tightens.

“What is it that you are accusing me of?” I try to emulate her melodious laughter and my eyes narrow in faux concern.

“You needn't lie to me, Pythia. Your secrets are safe with me.” Her words resound in my head and realization dawns. She’s daemati. It has been so long since I have been in the presence of another that I forgot about maintaining my own mental shields.

“That type of secret is not safe with anyone.”

“What could I gain from exposing it to anyone? I wish you no ill will.” She returns.

“You’d earn the Lord Protector's favor, of that I am certain --.”

The wraith's face twists into a grimace and her sapphire stare hardens to a cold, wicked thing. “I have no need for that viper’s favour.”

The venom laced in her voice speaks to the malice she holds for this place, its patrons and the cruel light of Hewn City. Many within the court resent the way in which we live, clinging to the slivers of power we are allowed, cowering in the darkness of the mountain.

Things are changing as of late, war looms ever closer and whispers of dissent from the continent bring about unrest in the people. Many turn to the High Lord and his Lady for liberation from the dying vestiges and brutal traditions of this court. For many years I myself have lived in servitude and isolation, serving Keir, The Lord Protector and Steward of the ancient mountain city.

As his coveted oracle; a conduit for his own power.

A cruel wind cuts through the heat of the pleasure hall as the doors open to announce an influx of new patrons. Three men, dressed in court robes enter through the archway, each shaded in shadows and dark wisps of power. My heart hammers thunderously in my chest as the men enter the heart of the establishment.

“A flagon of wine and some dice, Arik.” The Darkbringer announces to the man behind the bar. My face pales from where I stand. These men are my personal guard; and though kind, they are truly formidable and unwaveringly loyal to my keeper.

It was Ares who stole back my dagger from the archives when it was taken from me. It was Eros who brought me black dahlia flowers on my birthday last year. And it was Valyrion who told me the histories of the court my father had once been heir to.

These men, these good men, are sworn to a monster, and they must do monstrous things to survive here.

As we all must.

I veil my face with the hood of my stolen cloak, tucking my hair into the collar so that it is concealed from view, and my face obscured almost entirely. I glance back towards the entrance.

Leith will be waiting for me outside and my hour is almost up.

If he comes looking for me and the guard see him…

I take another tentative look across the room and observe the men crowded around the game table with women hanging off them, like a swarm of beautiful and merciless harpies.

“That one’s usual girl looks like you --” The wraith whispers to me, casting her own gaze to Ares who stands alone near the fire.

“She’s busy with her favorite client upstairs. Perhaps you might retrieve her and make your escape.” Slowly, I turn to the wraith who takes my hand gently and leads me along the length of the bar and to the foot of the stairs.

“You will find Aelle on the second floor -- take sanctuary there. I’ll come for you when your friends are occupied.”

I hold her hand fondly and press a gold coin into her palm.

“Thank you.” She presses a chaste kiss to my cheek and ushers me up the stairs. As I descend the steps of the pleasure hall, I slip a hand between the folds of my cloak, fingers ghosting the hilt of the dagger strapped to my thigh.

The upper levels of the house are painted a deep emerald color and the flickering fae lights saturate the long, narrow corridors in onyx wisps of shadow. The room at the end of the corridor is stepped in near darkness, veins of indigo and navy that obscure everything in blue-darkness. The mantle is hung with half-burned candles and a garland of foxglove and jasmine. The furniture looks as though it has been carved from the black wood of ash trees and the armchairs in front of the dying hearth are embroidered with dark floral motifs and silver threads.

I draw in a sharp breath and the scent of pine and night-blooming jasmine shrouds me in its icy kiss.

A flash of seraphic light illuminates the room and a deep voice, shaded in nightshade calls out from the blue-darkness.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

#acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel smut #azriel acotar

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torawro · 8 months ago

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I’D DIE FOR YOU (AND I HAVE). ( s.a. )

sousuke aizen & black!fem!reader.

cw ━━ ! minors, blank and ageless blogs DO NOT INTERACT. reader is portrayed as a black woman but you do not have to imagine her that way. using this map of the seireitei as a reference (i searched high and low for a consistent accurate one but it was hard). the first half is set pre-ryoka invasion / pre-soul society arc. the second half is aizen-centric (from his pov told from the 3rd person) and set post-tybw arc, years after he was sealed away in mugen, also including mention of events from vol. 1 of can't fear your own world (a light novel that's post-tybw & can be considered canonical); so all this being said: SPOILERS i guess???? of course you're welcome to read if you don't care about spoilers! somewhat based on 'die for you' by the weeknd & even more loosely based on 'dark red' by steve lacy. contains themes of heavy-ish angst, existential crises (?) & inner emotional turmoil within reader + aizen (separately). descriptions of character death, blood and violence. descriptions of manipulation/mind games. aizen is an unkind man. proofread (i did my best).

word count ━━ 11k

notes ━━ ! the way this fic was supposed to finished a month ago...but life once more gets in my way. and the way that it's this long....i anticipated the max being 10k but i greatly underestimated how long it would take to flesh out my idea. anywho i'm somewhat reentering my bleach era again. i’m not sure what it is but character analyses in the form of fanfiction is my jam rn like i really enjoyed writing this (i got tired of the length by like... 7k words lmao) but i like how this turned out. i've watched & read quite a bit of content that provide explanations as to why aizen is the way he is so i wanted to try my own portrayal of that in the context of canonical events. how i characterized him here is partially inspired by a fic i read about him last year so shout out to them for their support :D i hope i've depicted and humanized aizen well ♡. reblogs + commentary are heavily appreciated!!!!!

THE PAD OF YOUR THUMB SLOWLY glided against your bottom lip, the lingering aftertaste of jasmine tea still on its surface and on your breath. The absentminded motion of your thumb caressing your mouth, as if in deep contemplation, continued as you stared at the clock hanging on the wall above you.

It was past eleven, and the midnight hour only continued to draw near as time sustained its temporal march. And there you sat at your desk, floating in the limbo of your mind that was filled with hesitancy and admittedly, budding anticipation.

Your gaze lowered to the now empty porcelain cup, nothing remaining of its contents except the shriveled remnants of herbs and a few wayward drops of the brew.

Your senior comrade, captain Sōsuke Aizen, was correct in his prediction that you'd take a liking to its floral and delicate taste when he gifted you a jar full of the jasmine tea leaves as well as other ingredients.

The captain of Squad 5 seemed to be correct about a lot of things.

His intelligence and foresight, along with his kind and politely witty disposition, were qualities that you found somewhat charming, and gradually drew you closer to him.

Being the current third seat of the 9th company, your barracks and those of squad 5's were relatively close to each other's, so often you'd catch glimpses of and run into Captain Aizen on a pretty normal basis. Over the years, the conversations that bounced between the two of you expanded past the realm of formalities between a higher and lower ranking officer, and instead ranged in territories from literature, to art, to food & drink, and even to the politics of the government for which they were soldiers for.

Sometimes, you found it hard to believe that you managed to befriend a man like him. A man who seems to have mastered the balance between being a gentle soul, helpful to others, but also possessed enough refined power and skills to be named a captain within the Gotei 13.

Especially a man who wasn’t even of your own squad.

Despite the increasingly friendly relations and generally pleasant conversation, there were few moments where Aizen's words didn't feel quite. . . . real━ he didn't feel real. He spoke eloquently, often relying on figurative language to further illustrate his point and to breathe meaning into seemingly plain and meaningless words. But at times those words, his tone felt stained; stained with some substance or color you couldn't quite place. An enigmatic façade was painted over his speech, and it took too much mental capacity to try and find your own meaning in it.

So you'd often brush it off. Your over-reliance on your own reasoning that 'you weren’t able to come to a conclusion because there is no problem a conclusion could be generated from' successfully quieted your mind’s voice. You'd also frequently blame exhaustion, or your newfound hobby of watching human psychological crime shows during your off days for these subconscious ideas you had.

But you feared that the request Aizen made of you yesterday, the source of your current predicament, couldn't be blamed on any of those things. You looked at the clock again before returning to stare at your empty tea cup. For what reason could Sōsuke Aizen wish to meet you outside of the 1st division barracks? Specifically at this hour? You immediately thought of his question as uncharacteristic of him but prevented yourself from jumping to any further conclusions.

Aizen was a reasonable man, and you were sure there was a reasonable explanation.

With a final sigh of acquiescence, you stood up from your sitting position to retie your yukata before slipping a thicker, dark colored haori on top. You were unsure how cold it was this late at night or how long you'd be out, but it was better to be safe than sorry.

You paused for a moment, glancing longingly at your vanity mirror a few times, clearly torn between a decision, before giving in with a soft groan. Grabbing your favorite perfume, you quickly spritzed the spray onto both your inner wrists, either sides of your neck, and stray areas on your clothes. You’d proceed to make sure your hair was in order and your lips were as moisturized and glossy as a pair of tear-filled eyes before making your way to the door and slipping on your sandals.

Meeting with a captain— with Aizen of all people— in the dead of night resembled too closely to forbidden lovers rendezvousing under a fruit tree to fulfill their desires of embracing one another, with no one but the moon as their witness. The comparison alone caused the apples of your cheeks to burst aflame with embarrassment, and you lightly chastised yourself for even indulging in such an inappropriate train of thought. Such a scenario seemed far too deluded to even be considered ‘wishful thinking’.

But those delusions still seemed to make more sense than whatever other conclusion you have yet to reach.

Making your way out of your personal quarters, you activated your shunpo technique, stealthily hopping from one rooftop to the other in an effort to make it to Squad 1 barracks quicker.

After several minutes, your mind mostly engulfed with the 'what if's', the soles of your sandals finally touched ground, and you stood a few feet away from the massive walls and bridges that connected to and from the barracks. Even at night you were able to make out the bold-printed kanji for the number 1 that was painted on the building.

When you arrived, even from a nearby rooftop, you didn't see anyone around. Feelings of confusion and worry began to creep up and flicker to life in your mind.

But, as if your thoughts were as audible, you felt a light breeze of wind behind you, a familiar sound that indicated someone had made their presence known.

Startled, you reflexively reached for your zanpakuto, when you remembered that you hadn't even brought it with you. It still laid against the wall near your bed, just where you placed it earlier when you were relieved of your duties for the day.

You didn't think you needed it necessarily if you were just going to meet with Aizen, hence why taking it with you slipped your mind.

The flickers of concern were swiftly extinguished as your brain caught up with your body upon realizing who just appeared. A relieved sigh left your lips, a breath of air that seemed to release all the tension that had a grip on your heart and wound tight within your muscles. "Ah! Good evening Captain Aizen. You caught me off guard for a moment there."

"My apologies, that was not at all my intention." The Fifth Division Captain sported a dark colored scarf, his long captain's coat and the standard shihakushō all Gotei officers were supposed to wear. In the sash around his waist resided his own sheathed zanpakuto. His tawny hair maintained its usual part but looked slightly tousled, yet still remaining so in a meticulous fashion that made it look intentional.

The state of his hair alone, and his current facial expression made Aizen look more . . . approachable if that’s how you were to describe it. There was a glint in his eyes that you had seldom seen before.

"Thank you, for making your way down here to accommodate my rather. . . . atypical request. I again extend my apologies if I have inconvenienced you in any way."

You shook your head in reply, "It's alright, I wasn't doing anything too important anyway. Just having a cup of tea and delighting myself in a book before bed."

You glanced downwards at the foot or so of space that was wedged in between the two of you. You forced away the murmurs of your lingering thoughts that took note of how the moonlight and shadows danced across the surface of Aizen's face just right, and emphasized his decidedly handsome features.

"But having a complete and good night's rest is important to be fully functional in all areas of one's performance. Wouldn't you agree?"

You couldn't help but chuckle softly. "Yes, I do agree with that sentiment."

Aizen all but hummed in acknowledgement, letting a moment of silence fill the air before speaking again.

"Shall we be on our way?"

You nodded in agreement, following him as the both of you walked about the First Division grounds. From what you could tell based on your position, your aimless nightly stroll drew you closer to where Sokyoku Hill was located. The area became increasingly more grassy and contained less buildings.

Although Squad 1 grounds weren't terribly far from either of your barracks, you still weren't sure as to why Captain Aizen wished to meet out here. Initially you thought that perhaps he was just fond of this particular scenery, but really it could have been anything.

But still, you believed Aizen always had a purpose for everything he did.

After several moments, his warm voice replaced the evening silence, vocalizing your current thoughts. “I assume you are contemplating why it is I have asked you here, and I’m afraid the reason is quite benign. Truthfully, I just wished for your company. I often go on night walks to clear my head after a long day and thought I might invite you to join me this time, and have a conversation with each other."

Your brows shifted upwards, for that was not quite the answer you were expecting. It seemed too . . . simple. “Really? You just . . . wanted to talk with me? Plainly?”

The Squad 5 captain let out a short, soft laugh at the disbelief that was painted on your face. There was an expression of fondness present in his eyes and in the light smile he offered you. “Yes, exactly. I quite enjoy our discussions actually, they’re intellectually stimulating and relatively pleasant. You crossed my mind, and before yesterday, it has been quite some time since we’ve had the opportunity to unwind and talk.”

You hummed an mhmm in agreement, tearing your eyes away from Aizen’s side profile in favor of the hem of his captain’s haori, watching how it danced in the soft breeze. It seemed to be less distracting than the way Aizen peered down at you from time to time.

"I see. I am. . . . truly flattered by your words, Captain Aizen; you're too kind. Forgive me for asking but," you took longer strides so that you could fall into step next to him━ as if to speak to him more directly, "Why at this time? To talk with me, I mean. It couldn't wait until more . . . . . conventional hours?"

He chuckled again, and answered as smoothly as if he were awaiting you to ask him that. "Unfortunately, today's tasks ran a little long today, so I had to stay at my office later than usual." The spectacled man paused for a moment, before setting his soft gaze on you, "And besides, that completely defeats the purpose of inviting you on a night stroll, doesn't it?"

You ignored the heat flaring up in your cheeks again. Your mind refused to move past the fact that you had crossed Sōsuke Aizen's mind enough times━ or the times that he thought about you were significant enough━ and highly enough to invite you into his realm and indulge in these moments with him, when he very much could have done that alone.

A tender smile appeared on your lips, more towards yourself than the man next to you. "I. . . suppose it does."

The ashen-white moon only rose higher in the sky, providing an ambiance of tranquility as the both of you talked about whatever crossed the surface of your minds. Other times, the stillness of the night did the talking, and you'd listen to the leaves, and the wind, and the crickets sing together in harmony. Gradually as you walked and the beaten path grew more narrow, your figures drew closer together, until you could feel the long sleeves of his haori brush against your own.

You hadn't noticed that the two of you eventually stopped walking and paused under a tree until Aizen struck up conversation once more. When he called out your name in that gentle, velvety voice, you swore your heart was going to lurch out of your chest. The sound of your name rolled of his tongue so smoothly, the desire to hear it again grew within you.

"Uh━ yes, Captain Aizen?"

"Are you satisfied with way things are at the moment?"

You stood next to him, perplexed at his inquiry due to its vague nature. "Um, what. . . . things? I'm afraid I don't understand what you're asking."

The wind brushed Aizen's dark ochre tresses across his face as he took a step towards you, like the breeze itself was pushing him towards you. "Hm, perhaps I should be more clear then. Are you content with being a soul reaper? Are you satisfied with being a soldier for the Soul Society?"

With your brows slightly furrowed in thought, you remained silent for several seconds and overanalyzed his every word, trying to predict where he might be steering the conversation now. The longer you thought it over, the stronger that nagging feeling from within your soul became. The one that often told you what he was asking wasn't exactly . . . it didn't quite feel . . . . .

"This feels like a prelude to another insightful discussion on Shinigami━ and by extension━ Seiretei politics." Your words cut off your own thoughts, as if your mind was trying to sweep something under the proverbial rug.

Aizen huffed in amusement, before lightly shrugging, leaving your statement definitively unanswered.

You sighed as you seriously considered his question this time. "I mean sure, I guess. I'm somewhat satisfied with my job and all of . . . this," gesturing your hands in the air around you to emphasize your point. The 5th Division Captain made another humming noise, indicating that you still had his full attention. He inched a little closer into your personal space.

The mere action caused your next words to die in your throat and a quiet chuckle resounded from his, before your thoughts revived themselves again.

"Of course things could always be better but. . . . y'know. This is just how it is." You weren't quite sure if you should voice negative opinions about the Soul Society so plainly to a senior officer, even if he was the one who asked you in the first place, so you treaded lightly.

The same plainly relaxed smile from earlier remained painted across his lips, held in his chestnut irises was an emotion akin to affection. He seemed somewhat pleased that you were expressing your thoughts with him.

“And you? Are you satisfied, Captain Aizen?” You were unable to keep the teasing endearment out of your tone as you returned his gaze, casting aside the notions of Gotei officer seating and ranks for the moment. The air seemed like it shifted━ towards what, you weren't sure of━ but it kind of made you feel like you were adrift, floating in isolation from everything else around you.

It was still hard to process that you were alone with Captain Aizen right now. . . . at night.

A low hum reverberated within his chest, contemplative in nature as he replied, “Perhaps.”

The wind whistled lowly again, erecting goosebumps on whatever part of your skin happened to catch the midnight breeze. You fought the instinctual urge to twitch towards the nearest source of heat, which happened to be Aizen. Now that would be even more wholly inappropriate than the 'lovers meeting at midnight' scenario.

The silence between the both of you was brief, but comfortable nonetheless. Once more his mellifluous voice cut through the quiet, leveled and calm, like still ocean waters.

“Come. I want to show you something,” Aizen reached his arm out towards you, your spine as straight as if someone stuck a metal rod dipped in ice water down your robes.

The captain's movements seemed steady and slow━ it had felt like time itself had hesitated for several moments. You thought he was going to . . . . well you weren't sure what he was going to do, and that's what you made you nervous.

Was he going to touch you? Cradle your cheek? Remove a stray leaf that happened to land on your head? You were left somewhat dangling in anticipation, not daring to flinch backwards because you felt it would be disrespectful or offensive. You hadn't even blinked, subconsciously fearing that this was only a very vivid daydream.

But alas, when his arm drew near it extended past your head, slightly above you, and held a small branch in his palm it like a delicate flower. You released a breath you didn't know you were holding, but that breath drew short again when your gaze was eye level with his lower neck and chin.

He seemed . . . . closer.

“I think that regarding the condition of the Soul Society," Aizen began in a quiet voice, referencing his own reply to his earlier question, "and therefore my thoughts about it, is akin to this set of leaves on this branch."

Snapping out of whatever stupor you seemed to have slipped in, you exhaled softly before stepping back a bit to look at what he was talking about. In his palm he cradled a wayward branch that grew from one of the other sturdier branches of the tree. The green foliage of its arms had started to weaken and dull in color. The cold air due to the seasonal transition to autumn caused the leaves become brittle, nearing closer to the edge of death.

The sound of just how brittle they were resounded in the air when Aizen thumbed the leaves in between his fingertips, observing their texture with pity laced in his small movements.

"These leaves will fall off as it gets colder. And soon, the rest of this tree will be bare as well. When the time comes, when the right circumstances fall into place, the old die to make way and usher in the new; it's simply the way things are. I think of the Soul Society government is structured in a similar manner."

You hung onto his every word, like he were imparting crucial wisdom to you. Even though you were a bit confused on the last part, and on the connection between dying leaves and Soul Society, you still listened intently, waiting for him bridge the gap between the two.

"The Soul Society as it is now can be thought of as a season. And this particular season, this climate has remained so for several centuries. How can nature continue━ how can we continue to progress when the old have yet to be washed away by the currents of time? It defies that of nature, yes?" He directed this question at you specifically, in search of your agreement.

You nodded your head, tearing your gaze away from the branch and directed it at the grass beneath your feet. Your brows furrowed a little as you mused over Aizen's words. He gave a rather ambiguous answer before but now, his words sounded like vague displeasure and muted criticism. Everyone was entitled to their opinion, and on some fronts, you'd sometimes agreed with the 5th Division Captain. The Soul Society was far from perfect, too much emphasis on nobility and status, the government resembled too closely to an oligarchy . . . But you didn't━ wouldn't voice these thoughts, though.

Instead you hummed quietly under your breath. There was that tugging sensation again. This time it told you that there was something deeper to this conversation than meets the eye. But what could there be? Was there anything at all or were you just overthinking it?

The voice-like sensation in your soul was calling out to you, but you couldn't hear it that well or quite make out what it was saying. It's as if someone was calling out to you in a crowded room that had music playing on the speakers: you felt like if you listened hard enough you could make it out but ultimately, the result would fruitless.

"And when that happens," Aizen continued, "sometimes nature has to be gently nudged back on track to keep things moving smoothly. That may require . . . shaking the tree. Pulling a few harmful weeds from one's garden, so to speak."

"Weeds?" You echoed. You felt like you understood this analogy and therefore what he was trying to say, but at the same time you didn't. Or was it . . . . you didn't want to understand what he was implying?

Because if you were interpreting his words correctly, if he were inconspicuously comparing the higher-ups and the government itself to dying leaves and harmful plants that needed to be removed, then . . . .

"You, dear child, are a mere weed in this scenario."

Wait, what did he just━

Your thoughts were cut short when a gush of air that smelt strongly of Aizen━ warm oak, vanilla, and a kind of musk that you weren't sure how to describe but was still pleasant all the same━ brushed against your face and took you by surprise.

But there was another aroma that arose, steadily becoming more apparent alongside the increasingly painful throbbing feeling you felt in your abdomen.

It smelt metallic. And it was something that you've smelt all too many times before.

It was blood.

Your gaze that was initially narrowed in confusion lowered as it followed the source of this pain. Your eyes slowly widened in as you struggled to comprehend the blade that was currently ran through your torso.

Aizen's blade.

"Actually, instead of weeds, a more accurate and befitting analogy perhaps would be blades of grass. You unfortunately have to step on them in order to reach the weeds you want to remove."

You couldn't really focus on what the captain was saying, because your brain was still struggling to process what the hell just happened. Your hands slowly rose from their sides and shakily grazed the zanpakuto, wanting to believe that if you touched it, it would pass right through your fingers like mist. But no, the sensation of cold steel was as real as the robes you wore on your back. You only just now are processing the muffled squelching sound of his sword impaling your flesh.

You wanted to scream, to cry in pain, to vomit, to push him off━ something. But all you could do was stand there, stunned, words completely failing you. "Wh. . . . what? Why did . . . . you . . . . "

A cough replaced your attempt at a comprehensive sentence, and you tasted iron in your mouth.

Fuck....was this really happening?

"Please don't push yourself trying to talk," His voice was like an index finger to one's lips, similar to a parent's gentle caress to quiet and sooth their child, "You'll only hasten your death. And I'm sure you wish to know the reason for my killing you, yes? You'd have to be alive for that."

'Killing me?' 'My death?' The certainty that rang in his words chilled the blood in your veins, and they confirmed the one conclusion you hoped wouldn’t come true: that you were going to die.

The frigid embrace of fear and dread engulfed you from behind and you shivered, causing the blade snugly lodged in your organs to shift. The pain of that foreign object moving even a little bit shot through your entire body, causing a groan to emerge from your throat.

Desperate to conserve your energy and the oxygen that was becoming a little harder to take in, your breathing became uneven and a little wheezed. Even then, you couldn’t bring yourself to meet the gaze of Captain Aizen to confirm if this was really happening or just an extremely realistic and vivid nightmare. The sight you might be greeted with could be more frightening than the actual impaling of his sword.

As if his betrayal couldn’t actually or figuratively cut you any deeper, just then there was a noise that grew louder and louder within a matter of seconds until it was almost deafening. You’ve distinguished it to be the sound of glass crackling.

Your surroundings formed cracks everywhere on its surface, like it was just an oversized window. Even on the grass you stood on, or what you thought was grass, began to crumble away.

A dumbfounded but panicked look was plastered on your face when your world literally shattered around you, the only remnants of it being you and the Captain.

What was underneath the mirage━ or you should say, the fact that it was a mirage at all━ only disturbed you and increased your perplexity.

Slightly hunched over and breathing heavily, it took a minute to process where you were, but you noticed that now the two of you stood in a formal room that looked like it was used for important meetings. The lights in the room slowly started to brighten, most likely due to motion sensors. Even with Aizen's scent lingering in your nose, you could still pick out a rather stale aroma that hung in the air like dead fruit that hadn't fallen off the tree.

"Is . . . this Cen . . . tral━ "

"You are correct. Where we currently stand is the assembly hall for Central 46, the judicial power of the Soul Society. All judiciary as well as legislative trials and proceedings are held here."

All around the room were seats with partitions, the kanji for 1 through 46 printed on them. In the seat for the 19th member, your gaze caught onto something on the translucent barrier. It was a little farther up so you had to squint your already blurring vision to see it properly.

You saw, and your heart promptly sank as a result, eyes widening once more.

There were splatters of a dark colored substance on the partition━ undeniably blood. And the lithe, bony fingers of an older man laid lifeless, peeking out from the side of the screen like the appendages themselves were trying to escape from the body they were attached to.

That man . . . was dead. That stale aroma you smelt was the stench of death.

It was only after that unsettling epiphany did your eyes dart frantically around the room and realize that every member of Central 46 was dead.

The disturbed expression on your face only intensified as your stare was pulled back down to where Aizen's blade still resided in your body.

" Cap.....Aizen," you uttered, swift to correct yourself. All the moisture in your throat dried up like water underneath the unrelenting rays of the sun. You kept gulping your saliva in an attempt to assuage the sensation, but relief only last for a fleeting few seconds. "Did you ━ you killed them . . . didn't you?" Your question was laced with shaky hesitance and swelled with apprehension, fearing that you already knew his reply even before he answered.

There was a moment of silence and a hum before he replied. "Smart girl."

The muted mirthful tone in his voice sounded like sarcasm, and it was enough to finally draw your attention away from everything else and directly look at him. Almost instantly, you regretted it.

His umber tinted gaze was colder than you remembered. You couldn't find anything in his eyes that hinted that all of this was just a big misunderstanding, or a dream, or that Aizen had a secret sense dark and complex humor.

This was your first, and apparently your last time, that you have ever felt a fear such as this. Your mind was struggling to comprehend this was the same Aizen that spoke with you so gently, full of encouragement and wisdom. The same man that recommended you books to read and gifted you tea to drink and gazed upon you like . . .

Well, none of that mattered now. In this moment, Sōsuke Aizen wasn't the same man anymore. This Sōsuke Aizen was someone else, and it frightened you.

"When?" you croaked, your voice no longer sounding like your own. Nothing felt real anymore. "W-When did you . . . . . how? Why?"

Another noncommittal hum resounded from the spectacled man as he closed his eyes, feigning the action of thinking of an answer. When he reopened them, his narrow gaze returned to you.

"Everyone in the Thirteen Court Guard Squads was previously aware that the ability of my zanpakuto, Kyoka Suigetsu, allowed me to confuse the enemy using bodies of water, mist and even moisture in the air in order to attack. However, that is not my zanpakuto's actual power; there is more to it than just simple confusion. Kyoka Suigetsu's true power is Complete Hypnosis. Essentially, when someone looks at my blade, I am then able to take control of that person’s five senses, causing them to believe that something is real ━ or that something isn't real. In a way, once glancing at my unsheathed zanpakuto, that person forfeits their sense of existence to me. Kyoka Suigetsu is quite flawless in its deceptive abilities."

A heavy silence, aside from your uneven breaths, endured in the space between both of you. You didn't need him to spell out what he was trying to say.

It was all . . . . an illusion. A convoluted, premeditated illusion. And you walked right into it without even knowing or considering, that it was all fake.

The Fifth Division Captain inwardly smiled at the despair clearly written on your face as he watched you mentally put the pieces together. He took your lack of reply as a sign to continue. "The members of Central 46 have unfortunately been dead for quite some time now. And as for your question of why......"

The taller man stepped towards you which inadvertently (or purposely, you began to fear), drove his sword deeper into your abdomen without warning and slight force. You bit down on your bottom lip hard to stifle your exclamation of pain. In an attempt to somehow resist him, with the little strength you had left, your hands automatically took purchase in his oversized sleeves, but it did nothing. You found it ironic that you could feel how warm Aizen was underneath his robes, but his soul was anything but.

" . . . . I believe I already mentioned it earlier, yes? All flowers die eventually and the weeds......must be removed."

At that moment you remembered that tugging sensation that told you something felt off in some instances whenever you talked with Aizen. This must have been what it was. Damn it all. You still didn't understand exactly what bad things Central 46 and the Soul Society have done to cause his actions, but based on what you've been told and your current position, it must have been heinous. Again, you actively swallowed the urge to vomit.

"You . . . you lied. I can't believe━ how could it have all b-been a lie?" Another nasty cough rattled your body, followed by a shiver and a groan.

The brown-haired man slightly tilted his head, like he was truly confused. "Lied? Hmm, well. I suppose you could put it that way based on your limited knowledge of the circumstances, but I wouldn't put it that way. Besides, this isn't really about truth or lies. It is, and always has been, only about the reality of what is. And what is, is that you were unable to anticipate my deception. No one could, because it was outside the domain of your thoughts. What is, is that the current way the Soul Society operates is tainted, and I shall be the one to remedy it."

You drew another shuddering breath and looked down at the ground with a grim expression as your blood continued to pool at your feet. Briefly, you even considered unsheathing yourself from his blade and take the chance to make a run for it, but the chances of you making it to the outside world, let alone coming across someone before you bled out and died were slim. Besides, it was clear that you couldn't even trust your own senses anymore after Aizen demonstrated that he had complete control of your reality.

Which reminded you of something else.

" . . . when?" you asked the same question again, but much quieter than before, despair palpable in your voice. 'When and how did you subject me to your zanpakuto's Complete Hypnosis?', is what you were really asking. And being as intelligent as he was, the spectacled man understood.

Abruptly, with a large palm on the small of your back, Aizen used his gentle hold grip to pull you towards him in order to close the remaining distance, causing him to drive the remaining length of his zanpakuto all the way through until the tsuba of his blade rested against your stomach. You looked like a skewered piece of meat.

You didn't have the willpower to hold back the piercing shriek of agony and physical anguish as tears sprung forth from your eyes. You could no longer tell if your blurry vision was due to your tears obstructing your sight or if it was from being a step away from death's door.

"Do you remember . . . the first time we met?"

The hand that rested on your lower back slowly glided upwards until his fingers found your jaw. With a tenderness that reminded you of a time before his betrayal, he lifted your chin and guided your gaze to look at him directly. His thumb moved to graze your bottom lip just as you've done mere hours ago━ as if he knew that, as if he watched you do it. His thumb was dangerously close to slipping inside your mouth and that both excited and scared you. Your breasts against his, your breaths synchronized with his, your body and his were fully pressed against each other and it made focusing on his question more difficult.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. The first time . . . we met? Sure, with a little bit of effort you could easily recall the first time you formally met Aizen. It was sometime in the spring, and you remembered him running through combat formations with his lieutenant and the rest of his squad. But why d━

A silent gasp left you. Another epiphany, another figurative blade piercing your heart.

Battle formations, and he . . . offered you to join them . . . his zanpakuto . . . . .

Confusion crumbled away, and was replaced with vacant horror and sadness. It seems you've already been defeated, for many, many years now.

Aizen seemed to murmur something under his breath, a pleased sound you couldn't quite decipher. His mouth brushed over yours, rendering you literally speechless, before he closed the distance and brought your lips together. You could barely process what was happening.

It was ironically tragic how soft and skillfully gentle his lips were against yours. The kiss felt longing, like a departure between two sweethearts and their last meeting together. It also felt heavy and final, making you want to cry.

And you did. Silent tears streamed from your eyes and rolled onto the fingers that still held your face so affectionately. The captain reacted by guiding your chin up a little further, dipping his head a little lower, so he could deepen the kiss. You weakly scorned yourself for thinking about how the two of you must really look like lovers now, sans the sword sticking out from your back.

Oh, how cruel this was; how cruel he was. It was cruel for him to kiss you like this, hand still splayed on your back like he needed to touch you stay sane. And how cruel it was that still managed to enjoy it, even as you stood there dying. Your lips moved together in tandem, slow and almost passionate, all while tears stained the apples of your cheeks, drying up the plush youth that once resided in them.

Aizen's tongue had slithered its way into your mouth, and you suddenly felt like crying harder. There was a tart, sweet flavor lingering on his tastebuds, and you absently wondered what is was. Perhaps hibiscus from tea, you surmised. And he too tasted the sweet jasmine and citrus that clung your tongue and lips. At this, he chuckled quietly into your mouth, humming before retracting from you by a few inches so he could speak.

"I knew you would like the tea. It's sweet and flavorful, isn't it?" You hated how low his voice was, how its timbre pleasurably vibrated and rumbled against your lips, and you hated that lidded stare he gave you. You again thought it unfair that you couldn't even revel in the rare sight of Aizen's lips slightly wet because your lips were intertwined with his.

"I have to thank you for humoring me and my recommendations. I really appreciated it. And I also," you winced loudly and cried out in affliction as Aizen finally began to withdraw the sword from your body, "must to bid you farewell now. It seems you don't have any more time left, and this has dragged on for longer than it needed. I'm not surprised you've held out for this long, as I already knew you possessed commendable strength. But alas it wasn't enough. I am sorry that you have to die; it's rather regrettable that you happened to be that blade of grass that ended up underneath my foot."

Another wail was yanked from your chest as he steadily removed his sword from your abdomen. The pain was becoming excruciating, you would have collapsed by now if the taller man weren't holding you.

You saw two things before the light in your eyes had all but faded away. The first were the colors of faux pity and apathy that swirled in Sōsuke Aizen's irises, spiraling like a storm that was certain to wreak havoc in its wake. His gaze was devoid of any regret or remorse; the final metaphorical nail on the coffin. The second was a small smile.

But this wasn't one of his smiles you were familiar with. No wait . . . . the one you knew was simply a veneer of what is.

This smile was slanted, the corners of his lips tilted upwards and was sharp. Sharp enough to cut open your already gaping wound further and completely tear you apart, spelling out your demise. It looked insidious as if it were hiding razor-edged fangs. This was what is; Aizen's real smile.

"I. . . I see. Aize. . . ." were the last words you were able to manage. You didn't have the strength to be upset or hurt any longer, so you gave in to the exhaustion.

Your body permanently relaxed, long lashes veiling your now empty eyes as your arms lifelessly dropped to your sides. The captain found a disturbing amount of pleasure in his name being the final word you attempted to speak before succumbing to the sleep of death.

And even after the fact, the facade of doomed, star-crossed lovers persisted as your body slumped backwards. Aizen's strong forearm wrapped tightly around your waist being the only reason you didn't fall to the ground in a puddle of your own blood.

That day was the last anyone saw of you, your zanpakuto still laid idly in your room, its spirit destined to forever wander in the afterlife between worlds alone, eventually fading from existence without ever feeling the presence of its master again.

They had declared you missing by the end of the next day. Lieutenant Hisagi was probably the most perturbed about your sudden disappearance. Days, weeks passed, and they never located you. The Gotei 13 was left unsettled by the lack of progress, but ultimately had to rule your case inconclusive. Some believed that you were simply killed by a stray hollow, or even ran away from your duties because of the stress.

The news of what happened spread like wildfire across all the squads, that a high-ranked officer just up and vanished without a trace. The spirits and morale of the thirteen companies dampened, sorrow and worry swelling like a festering boil.

And that boil burst when Ryoka infiltrated the Soul Society, and when it was revealed that all of it was carefully orchestrated by Sōsuke Aizen.

Like a blade of grass that somehow snuck into one's sandals or in between their toes, during his time in Hueco Mundo, images of you flashed in his head at unexpected times when his mind was quiet. He'd remove the grass, tossed you aside, and moved on with his day. There was no room for you in the grand scheme of things. Such reminisces were beneath someone like him.

And yet.

He'd always find another piece of grass from the greenery he stepped on whenever he advanced a step in his plans. There you were again.

It was common knowledge that if you kept repeating the same action over and over, it will eventually wear you down.

━━━━━━ 鏡 ━━━━━━━

It was dark, and there was nothing.

There had been nothing for quite a long time now. Utter darkness and the abyssal shade of black engulfed every inch of Aizen's body and surroundings.

He saw nothing, the seals over his eyes too opaque to let anything through. And even if they weren't obscuring his vision, he would barely be able to see three feet in front of him; there was seldom a few lanterns in his cell to begin with. He felt nothing but the bindings that kept him imprisoned in one of the deepest pits of the Seireitei. At times it felt like even his internal organs had stilled in their functions. He heard nothing but the unrelenting quiet of his cell within Mugen's maw. The only thing that served as proof that he hasn't spontaneously grown deaf yet was the occasional muffled noise that originated from outside of the entrance. And even then, he could hardly hear much of anything.

Such is an ironic fate for someone who, with a stray thought and a glint of his blade, could control someone's senses and take away their free will to experience those senses in their reality. And now, he was stripped away of all of his in nearly every capacity.

Sōsuke Aizen was rendered stationary and stagnant, qualities he detested and were the antithesis of his ambitions and plans, perhaps even his existence.

Aizen had always believed in being in control of your own destiny and making your own choices; if you had the opportunity and the power to change something━ especially if it was something that was wrong, unfair or immoral━ then one should be able to move towards that goal by making change, even if by force. The former captain had always been intentional about his actions and his desires right from the start.

And yet, here he ended up.

Spending years strapped to a chair in this dark, cloistered hole, Aizen had nothing but time to reflect the reason for his arrest: that orange haired Ryoka boy, Ichigo Kurosaki. He had nothing but time to admit to himself and settle on the conclusion that his last battle with the substitute Shinigami . . . did something to him.

Fighting the Ryoka boy ignited something inside him that he previously believed would forever lay dormant.

The thrill of a challenge.

Adrenaline was injected into his veins with each clash of their swords, spreading far and wide across every inch of his body. It no longer reacted in the measured, calculative manner he had programmed it to, but with unadulterated, pure instinct and raw power━ all in an effort to not only withstand such potent spirit energy from his opponent, but to come out on top and win.

It made him feel alive.

Aizen's desire to be the victor in battle and in his philosophy━ to prove himself right━ both fueled him and consumed him so thoroughly it led to his own downfall. That was a rather difficult fact to acknowledge; so much so his head started to pulsate intensely whenever it crossed his mind one time too often.

All of it unfolded right in front of his eyes and yet . . . he didn't really see it happen.

As time passed during his perpetual incarceration, with hooded eyes, the former captain spent an unfathomable amount of time tossing and turning every single event that led him to this underground prison, even pondering his temporary release by the Head Captain Kyōraku to fight in the war. Scenarios both minor and significant displayed itself in front of his mind's eye as if he were watching a film.

Every so often, a blurred visage of your image would make a brief appearance, like the flickering sparks of a match before they were able to come to light, fading away into the void and were overshadowed by his other thoughts. It was as if his own consciousness and intentionally muted any manifestations of your existence in his memories. As if he wasn't able to or allowed to see them━ to remember you for too long.

Mentally reliving moments from the last several months, years, decades, centuries━ trying to analyze each moment and decipher where it could have went wrong━ turned out to be quite an exhausting task. His mind and body would grow heavier with inertia, and eventually he would succumb to the alluring pull of slumber. After some time he would rouse from his sleep, and continued from where he left off.

These were his daily activities day in and day out (even though he had trouble distinguishing day and night in his chambers) for years. He saw a positive side to it though. He'd instead think of it has him getting stronger because he had spent so long . . . thinking. Ruminating. Contemplating every possibility in the past, present, and future. His mind would become as sharp as his zanpakuto.

Aizen had always been intentional about what he did, what he said, and how he conducted himself. He was sure in his abilities to orchestrate an image━ a belief for others to have faith in, and act on it in order to further his goals. He was always sure in that image, knowing who he was and what he stood for.

Or at least, that's what he thought.

Aizen wasn't consciously aware that his certainty in this crafted image had already begun to waver. He could not and was unable to anticipate how severe these small fractures had become until after a certain lieutenant paid him a visit outside his cell of confinement, right before he was scheduled to be thrown back into that dark hole of the Mugen.

Lieutenant Shuhei Hisagi was quite emotive when he burst through the doors. His expressions were contorted in volatile mixture of frustration, anger and sadness. His emotions were every which way, directed at everything that has happened so far, including himself. He was especially emotive at Aizen specifically for what he did to former captain Kaname Tosen and 'corrupting him with his twisted ideals.'

Aizen found amusement in that.

Before he was rolled away by the punishment force and therefore out of earshot, a particular set of Hisagi's words caused the small, content smile on his lips to uncurl ever so slightly. "Everything . . . and everyone that has ever gotten themselves involved with you has been trampled on by you and your ideals one way or another, and they all end up dead. If you think what you did to Captain Tosen was justified━ to call it mercy . . . . . then there is truly no justice in this world. You will . . . forever be the enemy in my eyes."

There was a trembling anger in his voice. Pain that wanted to cry out and be set free but, the thin lid of reason prevented it from doing so. And after a moment of silence, the corners of Aizen's lips curved upwards once more. A little bemused, a little more wolfish this time. He maliciously imagined Hisagi's reaction if he ever discovered the true reason for your disappearance.

But instead, all he said was. "What an interesting thing to say, Shuhei Hisagi. Your conviction is admirable." Any evidence of emotion that might have been reflected in his sepia irises was swallowed up and obscured by the darkness of the Mugen's jaw.

The cracks in Aizen's sense of self, in his beliefs, in the image he invented started to cave under the weight of Hisagi's words before he himself realized it was happening. They were like stains in the fabric of his mind that refused to come out.

What puzzled him more, was that with each attempt to figure out just why Hisagi's words echoed in his mind, they all lead back to you, the third seat of the 9th squad. Annoyingly so.

The tattooed lieutenant hadn’t said anything particularly profound ━ at least, Aizen didn't think so. Your name didn’t even fall from his lips. So why were memories of you and your likeness the only clear thoughts he could make of Hisagi's speech? Was it because he was aware of how close the two of you were? He doubted the reason were that trivial and insignificant.

His thoughts grew more discordant by the day, his soul a little more weighted than usual. Perhaps these new seals that Urahara had fashioned actually had an effect on him, Aizen thought. It made sense. His intellect, other than his own, were the only ones capable of creating such effective restraints.

After a while, he had a revelation. This was a different kind of weight.

This heaviness, the closest word he knew to describe it as . . . . was loneliness.

Time taunted him as it seemed to drag on━ Aizen grew even less sure of how much━ when he came to this realization. Hisagi's words were a clear mirror to the loneliness that echoed within him after what happened to you and to Tosen. It was so . . . potent, that it seemed to strike some chord in Aizen he had never heard before.

Such a chord, this sound of loneliness, it was strange and uncomfortable; he wasn't very fond of this sensation. He'd try to scrub it away, but it was all for naught.

His eyes had slid shut at some point, his ruminations leading to dead ends and wearing him down. And, almost as expected, there you were again, in all your translucent glory. The hem, the sleeves, and even the smell of your yukata slowly dragged across his dreams, haunting his thoughts like a lonely wraith.

And Aizen hardly dreamt of anything.

When he regained consciousness he was plagued with yet another epiphany. An additional reason behind this newfound depth.

Aizen's own loneliness. Guilt. Much to his own quiet horror.

How foreign and unusual a thing like guilt is. It was like looking into a mirror and not recognizing something you had never noticed before, but wondered if it had always been there.

But the thing Aizen did recognize, how lonely he actually felt, was something he had hoped would never resurface again. It was a notion he hadn't had the time or regard to consider━ 'loneliness'. Its only purpose, if any, was solely to serve as a motivator. At times though, it was more like a hindrance.

Something akin to nausea slowly started to bubble up in the pit of his stomach, but he suppressed the sensation before it became any more intense.

What of his previous actions did he need to feel guilty for? He hadn't felt it then, so why would he feel it now? Again he ruminated such a question endlessly into oblivion.

The former captain had no doubts that his plan to remove the Soul King, and therefore the Soul Society's sins, were necessary.

Nor did any hesitancy about removing the opposition or dead weight━ whether shinigami or arrancar━ existed.

He certainly had no reservations against killing Kaname Tosen, for he knew the man well enough to know that Tosen would have been so thoroughly appalled with what he had become, it would have drove him mad.

So what was it, then? Why were such useless emotions as guilt and loneliness being amplified n━

"Y....know, S....."

Even covered by the seals, Aizen's eyes widened and his brows were slightly furrowed in distress. Had his mind finally tipped the scales of sanity and madness, to the point where he was hearing things?

It was quiet for several moments longer, before his senses caught onto the sound of water dripping onto a hard surface.

One drop at a time.

Its cadence a little too rhythmic to be natural. And for a second time, he heard that soft, ominous sounding whisper. Its voice a little clearer this time.

"You...know.....Sōsuke."

In the second it took for his eyes to flutter shut behind its seals to blink, when he reopened them, he was no longer sealed to the walls and floors of the Mugen, nor was he surrounded by every shade of darkness imaginable. His limbs and senses were finally freed to breathe for the first time in what felt like ages.

That relief was short-lived when his senses absorbed the unending landscape of water underneath his feet, water lilies lifelessly floating on its surface, and the dim sky illuminated by a full pale moon.

Aizen was in his inner world, and now he was aware of how he got here, or rather who brought him here.

"You . . . already know the answer to that question, Sōsuke." The voice was even more clear, its sentences more comprehensible. And it sounded it eerily like you.

Why the voice was impersonating your likeness had caught him off guard for half a second, but he realized it was only the work of his zanpakuto, Kyoka Suigetsu.

An illusion it may be, there was an untouchable quality about your voice and how you spoke that even Kyoka Suigetsu couldn't replicate.

A few feet away from him, the water was disturbed by a being emerging from the depths. Ripples formed around a manifested version of his zanpakuto, who took the form of you, smiling ever so gently. The smile felt airy, and it didn't seem like the same one that haunted his dreams and every waking thought as of late. It felt....knowing.

Still, the former captain couldn't be bothered to maintain eye contact with his sword spirit, so he turned around and opted to keep his unreadable stare trained on the vast expanse of water and white lilies.

"It's been quite a while since I have stepped foot into this realm. There must be something you want . . . Kyoka."

The zanpakuto chuckled, it sounded like the way you would softly laugh at one of his clever quips. But this wasn't you.

He didn’t want to admit that something about that fact didn’t sit right with him.

"Judging from your tone, would I be correct in assuming you don't want to be here?"

Silence rang out within the soul scape, before Aizen interrupted it, his gentle voice colored a shade darker, and a little rigid. "And I fail to see the reason why you must take that form when you revealed yourself to me. Is your aim to get a reaction out of me? Or something along those lines?"

Your eyes━ the eyes of Kyoka Suigetsu━ narrowed at its master's back, as if they were trying to create concavities in his skull. But the expression was washed away the moment it appeared, the serene smile from before was back in place.

"You know . . . it's considered quite rude to not look at someone when you're addressing them. That, and when you deliberately ignore things they say. Your manners have been deteriorating, Sōsuke. Tsk, tsk."

Kyoka-dressed-as-you suddenly appeared before him, as if they had teleported. Even when they were in his peripheral vision, Aizen still maintained his stare off into the distant nothingness.

"Unless, you can't find it in yourself to look at me. . . that's correct, isn't it? It's because I look exactly like her, right?" The zanpakuto continued to provoke him, taking a step closer into his personal space.

With an exasperated sigh, his eyelids fell shut for a second, using that time to gather the strength he didn't know he needed, and directed his gaze to meet his spirit's. Aizen's face gave nothing away, but his heart lurched about his chest when his bronze eyes met with yours, or what was made to look like yours. The undesired affect it had on him was all the same.

"If you wish to chastise me about manners, I suggest you take your own advice. You didn't answer my first question, either: what is it you want? Why am I here?" Again the former captain chose to not address the other parts of Kyoka's statement. For the sake of his sanity and his thinning patience━ or was it to preserve his resolve?

Its smile widened a bit, moving another step closer to their master. God, Kyoka even smelled like you, mimicking your signature honeyed scent that Aizen didn't realize he found so intoxicating until this very moment.

"I called you here to save you from yourself."

Aizen remained silent, only narrowing his eyes in speculation. "Meaning?"

"Didn't I already say it earlier? I think you already know what I'm talking about, Sōsuke. You've always known."

Fate's pairing of Kyoka Suigetsu with Aizen was a match crafted from the spindles of heaven, but also a maddening curse pulled from the depths of hell, for they complimented each other a little too well. The zanpakuto was too perfect a reflection of Aizen and his soul, looking at it started to hurt his eyes.

His sword spirit insisted that he already knew the reason for his coming here, and perhaps he did have an inkling the moment the light of epiphany was shone on his profound loneliness and guilt. But that couldn't have been what it was referring to . . . . could it?

"You cannot feign ignorance here, my dear Sōsuke, however I do find it rather humorous you bother trying. If you'd like, I don't mind humoring you by spelling it out for you. I'd be glad to unearth the truth that you have buried in the most neglected corner of your heart."

"When you were . . . . subjecting yourself to such mental torment, it had an affect on this world as well. The ripples, the waves in this scape become quite . . . tumultuous." The nuances in your voice were perfected by his zanpakuto, but the way it talked sounded like a fog that was gradually closing in from over the horizon. The uneasy feeling that resided in his chest traveled down to his stomach, but Aizen's face remained steely, even when Kyoka Suigetsu took that final step to close the gap in between them. "And the reason for that, the reason why Hisagi's words rattled you so is because you regret killing that woman."

The creased line in Aizen's brow grew more prominent as he stared down his sentient sword spirit. With its breast pressed against his, they placed a hand on his clothed chest in a tantalizing manner, but he felt nothing. There was no warmth from its palm, much unlike when your hand touched him. There wasn't even a cool sensation either. Even minutes before your death, your touch brought a soothing heat that permeated through his shihakusho and penetrated his skin.

Kyoka's face grew nearer, their smile━ although still tender looking━ grew cold at its edges, nearly resembling that of a predator eager to see despair reflected in the eyes of its prey. It didn't fit the graceful allure of your face at all, and seeing this expression deeply unsettled the former captain more than he would like to admit.

"You regret . . . killing me."

A chill tore through Aizen's body, the weight of Kyoka's words adding onto the heaviness that still hasn't been alleviated from his heart; he was hardly able to suppress the involuntary shiver.

Without warning, Kyoka's mouth suddenly became dangerously close to their master's, its lips brushing against his in a provocative manner. Aizen's expression darkened when he realized that it was reenacting his last encounter with you when you were alive. His mouth started to grow uncomfortably dry, despite his soul scape being full of moisture, and there was a taste on the back of his tongue that's been lingering there since he arrived.

The lilt in Kyoka's tone continued to taunt him. "That is the reason for your guilt: regret. You have been in denial. And in the spirit of unearthing truths, I suppose I can admit that perhaps . . . . I've been . . . . encouraging said delusions, adding drops of fuel into the flames of your emotions and ambitions. But after all that's happened, when it comes down to it there's no point in continuing this hallucination any longer. I've grown tired of this game, so it's time to for you wake up now, Sōsuke. I've brought you here to release you from your own illusion, to completely shatter it."

Aizen's back was as stiff as a board, not moving a millimeter when Kyoka's lips grazed his again. They were breathing softly onto his mouth, but he hardly felt any puffs of air.

The former captain was having a rather difficult time processing the fact that his zanpakuto had its own agenda and had been manipulating his emotions without him noticing. Specifically the emotions he felt towards you.

He never truly believed that such a thing was possible, one's own blade having such a deep-rooted influence━ no, control over their master. Or would it be more accurate to say that he never expected himself to be controlled to such a degree? He that prided himself on being freed from the marionette strings of fate that were tied to his limbs and mind, he that relished being able to do what he wanted, think what he wanted, feel what he wanted━ or what he didn't want━ it was hard to believe that none of that mattered in the end.

Kyoka Suigetsu's deceptive abilities were indeed undeniably perfect. No one, not even Aizen himself could have anticipated that Kyoka's most absolute and complete hypnosis would be enacted on himself.

"Do you know now, Sōsuke? Do you understand?" Kyoka's voice was as soft as a whisper, but it couldn't hide the edges of its tone that were still sharpened from finding amusement of seeing the truth flash across its master's face. "You had destroyed the solution to your existential question of loneliness, before you could fully understand the question itself."

Yes . . . . . Aizen understood now.

He didn't bother acknowledging what Kyoka had said. His grim facial expression━ still, tinged with dolor, and paired with an indescribable, distant look his eyes━ said all that it needed to. His silence was as much as an admission as any.

Kyoka-dressed-as-you leaned forward again to fully close the gap between their lips and Aizen's. Tenderly, like the intentions of a lover, it spoke against his nearly closed mouth. "Have you figured it out yet?"

Nothing but quiet could be heard between them, as Kyoka's mouth moved about their master's face and placed something like kisses upon its surface, but not quite.

Aizen's cocoa-shaded eyes slide down to stare at his sword spirit pressed up against him. His gaze was hard, and yet something swam underneath its surface that his zanpakuto had never seen before. Melancholy, it guessed? They weren't quite sure.

Kyoka pressed on when Aizen remained quiet. "The taste in the back of your mouth. Have you figured out what it was? You know it quite well....."

Aizen's tongue grazed the roof of his mouth, sensing the rather unpleasant taste that has coated the inside of it. And within a moment, because he was faced with the current circumstances, Aizen had finally placed a name associated this particular taste. How unfortunate this was.

Upon his realization, Aizen's head lowered, and his brown tresses hung freely over his lashes. Perhaps it was so Kyoka couldn't properly see whatever remorseful expression painted their master's face, but it mattered not. Even from here, the sword spirit could already sense exactly what it was he was feeling.

And they loved it.

"It's a sweet and flavorful taste, isn't it? Quite lovely." Kyoka Suigetsu mimicked the exact words he uttered against your lips all those years ago when he tasted jasmine tea on your tongue, and sealed your death with a kiss. "It's too bad you don't seem to enjoy it anymore."

Aizen's chest continued to rise and fall calmly, and the hands of his sword spirit that rested there glided upwards to cup his strong jaw, caressing his skin with its thumb. Its phantasmic touch did nothing to stir their master.

"Sōsuke, do you know what the jasmine flower from that tea symbolizes?"

Aizen's lips were slightly parted, but again he didn't say anything. Instead, its corners twitched and lifted upwards by an inch, and he huffed softly.

Kyoka Suigetsu grinned in reply. "Good."

The next time Aizen blinked, he was plunged in darkness yet again. The restrictive feeling that swallowed his being whole had returned, and was an indicator that his zanpakuto had released him from his inner world. He was consciously back in the Mugen, back in this abyss they called a prison cell.

Kyoka was indeed as much as a formidable force in its own right, as much as, if not greater than Aizen himself.

The conversation he had with his sword spirit would be cemented in his head for all eternity. When he grew senile and began to physically wither away, the one thing that would remain vital like a young heart, was this epiphany that he had. This realization that he actually . . . .

As the chains of despair bound him tighter to the bottom of the metaphorical pit, regret and his loneliness corroding his flesh and spirit like metal exposed to moisture, a stray memory of his time in Hueco Mundo flashed in his mind. He recalled having tea prepared for meetings with his Espadas and he could not pinpoint when, but at some point, Aizen developed an aversion for jasmine flavored tea. For one reason or another, he no longer found its taste appealing; whenever he drank it, it always tasted bitter.

Now that reason had become painstakingly clear.

The binding on his mouth muffled a rueful chuckle at the though, and it trapped the flavor of jasmine on his lips.

(#) @soaringmirror @stygianoir @ryukenzz @blkjupiters @chrissie2003 @nymphoheretic @dejwrld @triangularz @souyaszn @kuujo @honeybleed @valentineluvu . let me know if you’d like to be apart of my tag list ♡♡.

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qwimblenorrisstan · 1 month ago

Text

Found Pt. 2 | 141 & Reader

Summary: Your second day at the new foster home is eventful, to say the least. Kyle shows you the chickens, and teaches you some harpy biology.

Word Count: ~ 5.9k

Warnings: old religious trauma (homophobia), reader having a lil girl crush, implied gazsoap, past trauma, baths, stealing, little panic attack, non sexual shirtless kyle, trauma, mentions of old parents and counselors

A/N: well, here’s part two, a very gaz-centric one. i think the next part will have more of the other boys, but pretty boy kyle is too temptinggg, hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

Previous | Masterlist | Next

You didn’t sleep well in new places.

It was a common thing you’d come to accept by now, the fact that you never slept well in new homes. Whether it be the little grandma who’d welcomed you into her warm and stuffy house full of cats, and the thick blankets she’d ushered you under, or the lawyer-man who’d been looking for a child to replace his late wife. It didn’t matter who it was.

The walls still felt like they were closing on, hot breaths still felt like they were behind you, whispers and creaks in the night that you weren’t sure if you were imagining or not. Houses all seemed to have a life of their own in the night.

The animals, wandering around, the windows breathing while the floor groaned and rubbed its aching bones and joints. The doors muttered to themselves as the fans spun round and round, singing their own clunky melody. ACs or heaters hummed to themselves.

Every house had its own chorus of sounds in the night when things that were too shy to come out in the morning dared to venture out. It was just a matter of how long it took you to get used to it without being frightened. Without thinking someone was in the walls or floors.

You had curled up in the corner of the bed, blankets thrown haphazardly around, an old hoodie that still dwarfed you even now on your figure as you’d glanced around until your eyes closed on their own. You hadn’t slept well. You blamed it on the house.

People you’d seen a long time ago drifted through dreams, with strange things accompanying them. A flying fish. A man-sized axolotl with a talking triangle. A strangely round man in a jumper. A ghoulish mask that had been worn before in completely different parts of the world, but the two had never met.

Your dreams were always vivid. Maybe that was why you kept a dream journal still, if not inspired by the strange movie you’d seen in the cat-queen grandma’s house with a girl dressed in red and a boy with sharp, spiky hair. Your old school’s counselor had also suggested it.

“For processing old traumatic memories,”

She’d tried to explain, but you’d been more focused on the framed pictures on the wall. Faces. Bodies. Her family, probably.

They weren’t pretty.

But you’d remembered that one sentence, and so, opening the little book while the sun began peeking through the window’s curtains, you’d pulled a black crayola marker from your backpack and began scribbling down in the worn, tattered book. It was small, smaller than your average little diary, but not small enough to where you needed to get a new one because of filling it up. You could squeeze words in somewhere.

As you put down all you could recall, you wondered what school you’d be going to next. The switch was always somewhat jarring, and most of the time you ended up going to the closest public school.

The lawyer-man had tried to send you to a private school. It hadn’t ended well.

Since you were in a completely new county, it would be another new school, you assumed. You might make a few new friends before you switched again. Maybe not. Friends were usually made with you when an extrovert saw you hiding in a corner and decided to pick you up and drag you along into their friend groups. Not that you were complaining.

Today was a Sunday.

They might send you tomorrow for the first day. The school year was already a month in, late enough for a few friend groups to have formed, but not too late for you to join in.

You decided to focus on today.

John and Johnny had been praying at the table, Kyle had muttered something, making you wonder if they went to Church or not. You’d gone to a Church once. It had been old and tall with lots of delicate carvings and colorful windows with the woman in blue and the man in white.

There had been a lot of kneeling and standing and sitting while they repeated phrases and things you hadn’t understood at the time. They’d given you a thin piece of bread and a small glass of grape juice that you’d eaten and drank. It tasted old.

And that had been the first and only Mass you ever went to.

Then there had been the second time you’d gone to a Church. It had been on a Wednesday, in a rectangle-shaped building that was old and hummed like a refrigerator. There had been a lot of older kids there, a girl your age named Carol, but with a K.

Karol had been nice. Her hair had been flat and short and brown, like a mouse, you thought. Her eyes had been a chocolate brown like Simon’s, but she hadn’t had the same blond lashes he had.

All the kids had gathered in a circle, holding hands. Your palms had been sweaty, but Karol hadn’t minded, giving you a reassuring smile as they began reciting verses from their Bibles, verses you didn’t know. You didn’t bother to look at the Bible Karol had borrowed to you. You were more focused on the fact that her hand was in yours, and you couldn’t stop looking at her, and you’d felt warm and fuzzy.

And that was when you understood something was wrong with you.

There was a reason you’d never seen two women holding hands in a Church, whether it was shaped like a rectangle, or tall, old, and sharp. Your then-mom had stopped taking you to Church on Wednesday after you’d told her about it.

The sun had gotten tired of peeking over the ledge of the window and fully emerged when you were done sitting and thinking. You held the journal pages up to study, to see your handiwork.

Your handwriting was messy but recognizable. The one thing that remained constant in your life. There was a doodle of the fish-man, a messy skull pattern, a triangle with a bowtie, a big axolotl head, and the fat man in the rainbow jumper. You decided you liked this page.

But the sun was up, so the journal was closed, marker cap out back on, and both were shoved deep into your backpack, covered with clothes and headphones you hadn’t taken out yet. You’d do it tomorrow, you thought, despite knowing you wouldn’t do it tomorrow. Maybe the day after, then.

The floor was a bit cold when your feet pressed against it. It didn’t creak under your weight as it had under Johnny’s, which made sense since you were considerably lighter. You took light steps, feet rolling to be quieter. You wouldn’t want to wake any of them up.

The smell of something hit your nose as you opened the door, it quietly creaking. Eggs. Bacon, maybe? Some kind of meat. With how large they were, they probably ate a huge amount of food. No wonder the fridge was so large.

You heard voices from the kitchen as you slowly padded down the hallway, sticking close to one wall, hoping they didn’t see your shadow or notice you.

“I wanna do it—“

“You’ll scare her, Soap.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you wanna wake the lass up!”

“No, I’m just concerned for her best interests.”

A low growl that made you stiffen. You couldn’t tell whether it was friendly or aggressive.

“Ye sayin’ I ain’t in her best interests?”

He was mad. You heard Kyle’s exasperated sigh, you could’ve heard it from a mile away.

“You know that’s not what I meant. You’re just…”

A beat of silence.

“Just what?”

Another beat of silence.

“Loud. Really loud. I’m just scared you’ll scare her off, okay? I’ve gotten her to warm up a little bit—“

“—I’ve helped too—“

“—right, like your claws are so heartwarming—“

“You’re burnin’ the bacon and scarin’ the kid.”

The newspaper rustled after Simon interrupted their argument, and you felt blood rush to your cheeks as Kyle peeked out of the kitchen from the stove where he’d been standing, seeing you standing in the hallway, just around the corner from the kitchen.

Johnny peeked over next, seeing the slightly guilty look on your voice, and exchanging a reluctant glance with Kyle. How Simon had noticed you wasn’t clear.

“Nosy,”

Kyle said in amusement, a glimmer of worry in his eyes as he took in your tired look.

You walked into the kitchen, seeing Simon and John sitting at the table, the wraith giving a little grunt in acknowledgment as he read the newspaper next to John, the bear-hybrid working on a crossword puzzle with an old pen.

John raised his brows, patting the seat next to him in an invitation, and after glancing at Kyle, who gave a little nod, you padded over and crawled into the wooden seat, settling, eyes going to the crossword.

“How’d you sleep?”

He rumbled.

You made a little sideways thumbs up. Or a sideways thumbs down. Same difference, really.

The crossword had lots of names of celebrities you didn’t know and didn’t care to know. Random things, too. There were a few in Morse code that John had filled in.

“Figured. No one sleeps too well in a brand new place.”

He answered, chuckling at something he found funny that you didn’t. Johnny and Kyle were now speaking in hushed whispers over at the stove, seemingly having gotten over their earlier disagreement, Kyle standing behind Johnny, his arms wrapped around the werewolf’s hips, chin resting on his shoulder.

They looked like a couple.

You must’ve been staring too long, because John glanced over, letting out a hum at the sight. Johnny flipped the pieces of bacon, the plate of cooked pieces lying to the right. Simon glanced over as well, and you couldn’t tell whether he was jealous at the sight, or happy. Maybe both.

“We gonna show ‘er around the farm today, Cap?”

Another pet name. They seemed to have a lot of them around here. Simon was occasionally called ‘Lt.’, an abbreviation you hadn’t figured out yet. Kyle was ‘Gaz’. John was ‘Cap’ or ‘Price’. Johnny was ‘Soap’. You assumed they were just inside jokes.

John seemed to consider Simon’s question before nodding.

“Don’t see why not. Kyle can show her the chickens.”

You perked up at that. Simon noticed.

“You like chickens?”

He asked, his gruff tone holding a mild amount of curiosity. You gave a little nod. They might be a little bit stupid, but you liked all their feathers and their beaks. You’d had a few friends that were chicken hybrids, they’d been very social and been followers and not leaders, but you’d liked them.

Pack animals were usually the friendlier hybrids.

Johnny carried two plates in his thick hands, one full of sausage, the other full of eggs. Half of the eggs were fried, and the other half were scrambled.

Kyle came next with the bacon and toast plates. Some of the toast was buttered, some bare.

The plates were set out on the table, as well as fresh ones for everyone, silverware, and cups. They had their usual tea, Johnny preferring his morning coffee, you having a glass of water.

Everyone grabbed their food, Johnny and John getting a large serving of fried eggs, buttered toast, and sausage. Kyle got himself scrambled eggs, a helping of bacon, and buttered toast.

You and Simon were the last to get food, waiting for everyone else to get their food. Willing to take the scraps that were left. It was just something you did without thinking now, not wanting to look rude or selfish.

He made eye contact with you across the table, glancing down at the plates of food to gesture for you to get something. He was bigger. He’d need more food. You were human and hardly even up to his ribs, you could survive with the leftovers. You glanced down at the plates to gesture for him to go first.

Both of you recognized the strategy. Maybe you and him weren’t so different.

John shared a glance with Kyle, before Kyle elbowed Johnny, giving the werewolf a look. Johnny quickly began filling Simon’s plate up at the same time as Kyle, who started filling your plate up.

The next glance you and Simon shared was one of bewilderment as the food was piled on high.

“Never thought I’d meet a lass as stubborn as you, Lt.”

Johnny said with a loud chuckle, while Simon didn’t look amused, giving him the look only an angry wet cat could muster.

You looked at the bacon piled on your plate, picking up a piece and maintaining eye contact with Simon while nibbling on it, the wraith picked up a sausage, took a bite, and slowly chewed, staring dead at you, slowly blinking as you did it back.

“Like two kittens, they are.”

John muttered while Gaz let out a hum of agreement, chewing on some sausage.

They eventually moved on, laughing about a joke you didn’t understand, something about missions, and a lot of code words you didn’t even bother to decode. Maybe you’d figure it out the longer you stayed here. If you stay here long.

Everyone devoured their food, plates being deposited in the sink with silverware, Simon wiping the table off with his superior wingspan.

You lingered, not sure whether to help with dishes or not. John was on them.

Kyle took one look at you, before waving a hand for you to follow him out the door. You followed.

The air outside was crisp but also a bit cold. Winter was coming in. You wondered if they got snow around here, you hoped so.

His wings tucked in as he led you out of the crunchy grass and into the chicken coop, where his feathered friends were clucking and chirping away. There were a few little ones, but most were large and fluffy, different colors from white to black, some a brown like Kyle’s feathers, some had speckles of color and some had gradients.

He watched your eyes light up before you crouched down and picked up some seed from the ground, holding it out in your hand until a few of them approached. They were friendly; and well domesticated after years of providing eggs. You winced as their sharp beaks reached your skin, picking up the seeds through the process, but didn’t move to take your hand away.

Kyle smiled warmly in a way that almost made you sick, before moving into the actual coop area. He shifted the chickens that were warming their eggs up gently, picking up the eggs as quickly as he could to place them in the little basket he held. He managed to gather a total of 9 eggs, a good amount for the day.

When he emerged, you’d managed to get a chicken on your lap, now fully sitting on the ground despite the sawdust and droppings there. It was one of the older chickens, more docile than the rest, who’d decided to plop down on your lap. Her beady eyes blinked while you let gentle fingers smooth through her white speckles feathers.

“You like her?”

Kyle asked, glancing down at you.

You nodded.

“Fluffy.”

You stated, tone too matter-of-factly for him to keep a straight face as he laughed a bit, head tilting back.

“We’ve got some cows and goats if you want to see them?”

He offered, watching as you thought the offer over, gears turning in your mind. You gave a nod, giving the chicken one final pat until you gently picked her up, placing her back on the ground and getting up.

The sawdust and strands of hay clung to the backs of your thighs and shorts, but you didn’t seem to care. It we then that Kyle realized you hadn’t changed out of the clothes you’d been wearing yesterday. As he took a look at your matted hair, hay, and feathers also in it, he realized that they hadn’t done the greatest job of ensuring your hygiene.

But that was something to worry about after the cows and goats.

You followed eagerly as he walked to the barn. It was a good fifty feet from the coop, not too long, nothing you seemed to mind despite the chill in the air.

The chill.

You were tiny. Of course, he hadn’t noticed it, his feathers keeping him warm. But you were in shorts and that thin shirt and raggedy jacket couldn’t be doing much.

He didn’t want to push boundaries, but he didn’t feel like he had much of a choice.

You didn’t notice when he slowed down the pace of his walking, long strides shortening to keep up with your tiny ones. But you did notice when his wing slowly began to extend, feathers puffing out a bit and flattening, stretching out until the first feather brushed your shoulder.

It didn’t make you uncomfortable like most touches did. It might’ve been because instead of the skin-to-skin or fur-to-skin contact you usually had bad memories with, it was just fluffy, silky feathers.

The wing curled slowly around you, Kyle watching as you tensed at first, before relaxing into it.

You both reached the barn, hearing the goats bellowing as the smell of wet, soiled hay and animals reached you. Familiar. Too familiar.

You stopped.

Kyle’s wing immediately retracted, thinking it was him. He thought he’d overstepped boundaries and pushed too far too soon, but when he looked into your eyes he saw the look. One he’d seen before in one or two of their past fosters, some of the more “damaged” ones.

Something was reminding you of something unpleasant. He’d been there before. Whether it was the barn, the animal sounds, the smell, or anything else, he didn’t care, he would let you process it, and get away from it if you wanted.

A beat of silence.

When you took a hesitant step back, he went into action, trying to redirect your thoughts. His wing flexed to cover the sight of the barn from your eyes, your vision being that of golden brown feathers speckled with blond parts instead.

“How about we go inside and get cleaned up?”

He asked, voice smooth as butter, purposefully a bit deeper than normal, just barely, an instinctual thing that only worked to soothe other hybrids. But it seemed to work well enough on you, as you dazedly nodded, stumbling to follow him when he turned.

His wing slowly spread again, curling once again around your shoulder to guide you, steps slowly growing more certain as you two reached the house. Johnny was out digging in his garden, Simon was tending to the cows in the fields (cuddling with them), and John was taking stock of everything for the next grocery trip.

Kyle opened the door, letting you step in, watching as you almost tripped over the step, catching yourself, and continuing to walk.

“Careful,”

He murmured, walking up and carefully closing the door to not let it slam. The hinge had broken a few days ago. He really should remind Price to fix it.

His wing continued guiding you until you both reached a bathroom that was next to Price’s room. The one that the older man usually used. His talons clicked against the floor as he walked into the room, hands reaching for the tub’s knob to turn on the water before realizing he didn’t know what you wanted.

“Shower or bath?”

He asked. You pointed to the shower head. Fair enough.

“Alright,”

He replied.

“This is for the hot, this is for the cold, but the cold can be a bit finicky during the colder seasons, so you might have to turn a bit harder.”

He explained, watching as your eyes slowly took everything in. All of John’s beard care products were in the shower in one little shower rack that was in the corner. The second layer of the shower rack held shampoo and conditioner. The third held all the body wash components with a rag and sponge hanging from it.

“Here’s shampoo, conditioner, and the body wash. You got it?”

John was usually the one to give all the bathroom tours, considering he was the more fatherly figure in the household. But Kyle didn’t mind, it was just new, was all.

“You want me to wait outside?”

It was a basic assumption that you wouldn’t want him in the bathroom with you showering, but he didn’t want to leave you completely alone. What if you fell, or had some sort of accident? He could wait behind the door.

You nodded, watching as he stepped outside, closing the door. You turned the handles of the faucet, the colder one being a bit stiff like he’d mentioned. But after putting a good bit of muscle into it, the thing obeyed and turned, and you turned the hot water knob as well. They mixed into a good warm temperature that rained down from the shower head.

You quickly stripped out of your old clothes, covering your underwear and little bra with the other clothes. It wasn’t like someone would be digging through your things, but still.

Stepping into the shower, the hay and sawdust and everything that had been clinging to your skin and hair began melting away and falling off, meeting the drain and washing down if not just getting stuck there. You’d pull it out later.

You pulled the shower curtain out and used it to cover yourself, feeling just a bit too exposed without it, and you didn’t want to get water outside the tub, anyway.

You reached for the shampoo first, wanting to get the nightmare of a hair cleaning over with. Your hair was matted and knitted and hadn’t been brushed thoroughly in at least a week, but you’d at least try to wash it.

Clicking open the bottle, you squirted the thick product out, rubbing it together in your hands before moving the lathered-up product in your hands to your hair, rubbing it in, before letting it dissolve away under the water. The conditioner was next, being put in the rest of your hair, and you let it sit there as you used the liquid soap from the bottle and scrubbed it into your skin, washing it away.

The shower hadn’t felt long.

You washed the conditioner out, turned the water off, and grabbed a towel that Kyle must’ve put on the bathroom counter right before stepping out. You unfolded the towel, wrapping it around yourself, before opening the door.

Kyle was there, holding some clothes that had been in your bag.

“Here, I just grabbed the first ones I saw, I didn’t go through it.”

He reassured, probably having seen the way your face had soured slightly, before relaxing again. It still wasn’t the greatest knowing this man had been touching all your personal belongings, but you could get over it.

Stepping into the bathroom, you changed into the much warmer clothes he picked out. A pair of grey sweatpants, and a shirt that had thicker material. Hell, even the bra was one of your thicker ones.

When you were done, you opened the door again, and he made a little happy bird noise, almost like a chirping purr, at seeing you all bundled up and cozy. Johnny, whose hands were covered in dirt, claws out, had been walking past and heard the noise. He’d poked his head around the corner, grinning when he saw the scene.

“Mother hen!”

He called as he continued down the hall, hopefully, to wash himself off. Kyle rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it, particularly because he knew it was true.

He was a mother hen, but they had bigger issues to be handled.

Such as your hair.

“Do you want me to help with your hair? I’ll be gentle, I promise.”

You figured that nothing could make your mess of hair worse at this point, and nodded. Kyle preened at the confirmation, almost literally. Something warm and gooey, like the center of a freshly baked brownie, filled his eyes as he led you to his room, practically beaming.

You figured it must be the bird in him talking. Maybe helping with hair was considered grooming and preening to him? It made sense, now that you thought about it. It could be why he acted so weird when you pulled that pin feather out after just meeting him, he’d been surprised because he hadn’t considered you family yet, and it was a family activity.

When you both arrived at the door you assumed was into his room, he opened it, leading you inside, leaving the door just a little bit cracked open. His room was warm and smelt like lavender and jasmine.

He had a lot of pictures on the walls, some being obviously family photos, others being him in a military uniform with other men in uniform.

He led you over to a little chair in the middle of the room with a low back, having you sit in it, and he pulled out a detangling brush from a bag on the floor full of jars and brushes and razors that he used often. He pulled out a jar next, taking a scoop of the thick white cream and spreading it across his hands, before applying it on the outside of your hair, trying the best he could to get it all in there.

“My mom used to do my hair like this when I was little.”

He said, talking to you, but also somewhat to himself. You weren’t much of a talker, anyway. He knew that.

He began using the detangling brush, starting at the ends of your hair, immediately meeting resistance and melting right through it as he worked his magic with the brush and cream.

“I could never sit still, though, so she’d always have to talk to me or tell me a story while I sat down to keep me there long enough.”

Oh. So that was what he was doing.

His hands worked through your hair, applying more cream, rubbing it in, and brushing through the matted and tangled areas of the damp hair. Soon enough, he was in the middle of it. Then, he had reached your scalp. Then he was brushing out all of it.

He’d been rambling on about something the entire time. You hadn’t minded. You might not need the entertainment or distraction, but he was just doing what he’d seen his mother doing before.

“It was worse when she had to help me clean my wings, it was too ticklish at the time. Of course, I’ve gotten used to it now, and well—I guess I should clean them today, huh?”

That caught your attention.

You’d heard your hybrid friends mentioning preening and grooming their wings before, but never actually seen it. You swallowed, hoping to not be rejected, as you spoke.

“Can I help?”

His heart nearly melted in his chest at your tiny little voice, or it was at least tiny compared to what he was used to. He wouldn’t mind an extra hand in cleaning his wings, he usually had Price or Soap help, but the way they touched his wings was certainly not a way he wanted you touching them.

There was a joint bathroom connected to his room for this exact reason.

He closed the lid on the cream, placing it and the brush back into what you now thought was probably a makeup bag. You followed him into the bathroom, letting out an undignified squeak when he pulled his shirt off. Your hands covered your eyes, and he giggled for a moment.

“I’m just taking my shirt off, honey, you can open your eyes.”

You peeked out, still trying not to let your eyes wander to his now-exposed chest and torso. Hell, he had a bigger chest than you. His honey-brown skin was muscled despite how lean he was. You’d seen boy’s bare skin before, like when they would pull their shirts up to wipe the sweat off of their foreheads in gym class, but you’d never exactly enjoyed it.

His wing bases looked exactly how you thought they would under the shirt. Feathers spread over the base, fanning out slowly as it melded into his normal skin.

He got in the tub, turning around to have his wings face you as they untucked from his back and slowly relaxed. He pulled the shower head down, turning on the water but to a very low pressure so it wasn’t spraying everywhere, and offered it to you.

“Just spray down my wings, from the base, then the top, then the very bottom.”

He instructed. You took the shower head and tried as he said, starting at the base, where the feathers were reluctant to get wet, but eventually obeyed, then slowly moving to the top, watching as he shuddered slightly when the warm water trickled down to the bottom of his wings. The feathers looked almost black when they were wet, and his wings looked much skinnier now. Still pretty, just a lot less dramatic now.

After a few minutes of soaking the feathers, he nodded, hand reaching for the shower head to turn it off and put it back up.

“Good, now we can dry it off, then apply the oils.”

You didn’t really know what he was on about. You were just happy to know you’d done a good job.

“Grab the hairdryer out of the cabinet. It’s bright pink, and has a few doodles on it.”

You moved over to the cabinets under the sink, opening it, and shuffling around before finding a bright pink hairdryer just like promised. It had a few stains from past hair dye, which made you imagine the men in bright pink hair (an image you quickly tried to forget). There was a doodle of a little skull face and a rectangle with a few bubbles next to it.

You plugged it into the outlet next to the toilet, and turned it on low heat, not wanting to accidentally burn or hurt Kyle. You started with the top of his wings, figuring that it would be most efficient. Next, you made sweeping motions over the base of his wings, gradually moving to the bottom of the wings, the feathers puffing back up fluffier than ever before.

You watched as he gave a few test flaps, deciding that it was good enough, as he nodded once again. He was smiling again.

“Good, now I’ll help you with the oil part. You can put the hairdryer on the counter.”

You unplugged the hairdryer, setting it down on the pearly white counter, watching as Kyle got up and opened the secret cabinet that was behind the bathroom mirror. There were jars and medicines inside, and the harpy grabbed a jar saying something in a cursive font you couldn’t read.

“See,”

He began.

“Normally, a harpy has a gland that produces the oils for them, it keeps their feathers waterproof, clean, and healthy.”

You understood the basic concept he was explaining. He sat down on the edge of the tub, and you sat down on the carpet, ignoring the wet fuzz soaking into your knees.

“But mine is damaged, and doesn’t produce those oils, so I have to manually do it, which is very….annoying.”

You cocked your head to the side, wondering what had damaged his special gland so badly, but he didn’t answer your silent question. Instead, he opened the container, which had a sticky, thin brown fluid in it. It almost looked like a thinner, stickier version of Vegemite.

He dipped two fingers in, rubbing it over both hands.

“I’ll show you how to do it first.”

He said, as his hands began fluffing up and rubbing the feathers nearest to the base of his wings first, rubbing the thin substance in, patting it to ensure it wasn’t still sticky, before moving on to the next round of feathers. You thought you understood the basics of it.

Dipping a finger into the strange thing, you also rubbed it on your hands, tentatively rubbing and fluffing it into the bottom feathers of his wings like you’d seen him doing. He let out a hum of approval, and you continued, slowly getting more confident.

A few minutes of silence passed, all of his feathers being oiled appropriately until your hand moved to his inner wing, and this time he was the one to let out a squeak.

You pulled your hand away almost immediately, and he turned a shade of bright red in the cheeks.

“Don’t touch there, that’s really sensitive.”

He said, trying to wave it off with a grin and a little awkward laugh. You raised a single brow.

“Johnny touched you there.”

A single statement, but one that was correct. Johnny had his hands all up in Kyle’s inner wings this morning when they’d been making breakfast together. You had noticed.

Kyle turned a brighter shade of red. He didn’t seem to know what to say.

“It’s…different, for different pack members—“

“Dinner!”

“Yup. Yeah. Dinner time, let’s go, kiddo.”

He led you out of the room, newly washed and oiled feathers puffed up in what you assumed was mild embarrassment. You didn’t know why he wasn’t explaining it to you, considering you were just going to look it up later.

John raised an eyebrow at Kyle’s behavior, watching as he sat down while fidgeting, staring into his plate. Simon and Johnny both took one look at Kyle’s fresh wings, then at you and guessed what happened. A smirk pulled at Simon’s lips. Johnny snorted. Kyle had forgotten to put his shirt back on.

Dinner passed quickly. It was the leftovers of the pot roast. They were tired from whatever work they’d done today but still lively. You watched.

When it was over, you slid your plate into the sink, not sure what activity was coming next.

“Bedtime for you, cub.”

John rumbled, leading you back to your room, listening to Kyle accuse Johnny or Simon of stealing his shirt, not able to find it after taking it off in the bathroom while they both insisted he’d lost it.

You crawled into your bed, with clean hair, a clean body, and mildly clean clothes. John took the blanket and tucked you in, even as you lay down in a strange position.

“Sleep good, and sneak me that shirt in the mornin’, I’ll tell Kyle I found it in the bin.”

He said, smiling with a wink, giving you an Eskimo kiss while his beard tickles your face. You found that strangely, you didn’t mind the closeness. You smiled back at him, returning the wink, pulling out Kyle’s missing shirt that was bundled under your shirt, and bunching it up.

You held it against your chest, curling up around it and the familiar scent of honey and apple pie that it held. The scent of Kyle.

No, you didn’t usually sleep well in new places, but as the light turned off and John closed the door behind him, you found that you couldn’t help but drift into a surprisingly peaceful sleep.

Tags:

@theartgremlin

@thriving-n-jiving

@simonrileysown

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rosewaterandivy · 3 months ago

Text

answer July— ah, said July—

summary: from Summersong Request-athon, inspired by "July, July!" as requested by marvelous Meg aka @courtingchaos 💜 || The soft pad of your index finger trails down the scar of his jaw, lingering there as you smile, a little different from before.

Softer, somehow. As if it’s just for him.

w.c.: 4700

pairing: e.m. x f!reader

themes: prosaic summer feels, the ephemeral nature of time, processing trauma, mention of previous bodily harm & its aftermath, insecurities and the like, body worship

a/n: long time, no see my fellow fiends. did i let this run away from me? maybe. do i care? not a wit! thanks for tagging along with the team, aka let eddie have a nice, normal summer for once - hope you enjoy! title from "Answer July" by Emily Dickinson.

Summer slipped by syrupy slow, lingering around the edges. All honey-coated and sweet, so much so in fact, that it struck one Eddie Munson as rather strange.

Granted, his spring had been touch and go what with being the town pariah and nearly bleeding his ever-loving guts out in the Upside Down and all. So maybe a slow uneventful summer was well-warranted after all of that.

May sprinted past with its final school bells ringing and a quick dash across the stage at graduation to snatch a diploma from Higgins before the school board could think better of it. He hastily threw together a quick campaign to welcome Will Byers back to town and only somewhat regretfully passed the mantle of Hellfire over to Henderson.

He got himself a job, nothing to write home about, but certainly something to pass the time and get him out of the house. Wayne insisted Eddie didn’t need to work and Eddie said the same for him, the never-ending cycle rearing its head once more.

The government hush money was, after all, nothing if not generous.

Still, he felt ill at ease in the new house. Liable to crawl out of his skin at times.

Besides, if it weren’t for the job, he’d have never set his sorry sights on the newbie behind the counter at the soda fountain.

Yes, of fucking course Hawkins, Indiana had an old-fashioned soda shop pharmacy combo.

Which did nothing to help his sweet tooth.

So, on the days he happened to close the record store, Eddie would peer across the street searching for a familiar head of hair, usually swept up onto a bun or ponytail by day’s end, and a smile that could melt the cockles of his cold, black heart.

The bell chimed as you rung up a sale for a customer at the register, the cash drawer grazing a bit of skin at your hip as you turned.

“Be with you in a sec!”

Eddie settled himself on a well-worn stool and drummed his fingers along the polished counter. He watched as you counted change for one of the old biddies who all but forced casserole down the throats of the Munson men after he’d been discharged from the hospital.

She thanks you and shoves a dollar in the tip jar as she makes to leave.

“Looking lovely as ever Pearl,” A low familiar voice says.

“Oh, you sweet talker,” The older woman swats at Munson still perched on his stool. She tsks and tugs at a lock of hair that’s fallen from where he’d tied it back in frustration. “One of these days I’ll come at you with my scissors, young man.”

Eddie sighs dramatically and swivels on the stool as she reaches the door, “Promises, promises. And yet…”

Pearl pushes the door open and says with a wink, “You’ll never see me coming.”

The door falls shut behind her, allowing him to return his attention to you behind the counter.

At the far end of the shop, you’re hefting open freezer doors and scooping out near perfect spheres of ice cream onto sugar and waffle cones, scoffing when someone requests a cup instead.

He’s surprised to see no one else behind the counter, there’s usually at least one person to man the counter with during the busier hours, the after dinner rush.

The door keeps chiming as people join the line, eyeing the offerings— campfire marshmallow, french toast, vanilla, strawberry, rainbow sherbert— the list goes on and on. Some lean over and whisper to their dates, earning a tittering giggle here and there. Sticky hands of children smack against the glass pointing out their selection as you shove another scoop onto a towering waffle cone.

And it’s then that Eddie decides he’s had quite enough of this.

Tossing his bag behind the counter and hopping over it, all long limbs and pointy elbows. His knees pop slightly as he passes behind you to grab a scoop from the water trough.

“What’re you doing?”

“Uh, helping out?”

And without another word, he turns to the next customer and takes their order, only stepping on the toes of your Keds once or twice before locating the correct flavor.

“God,” He mutters under his breath, the tendons of his forearm prominent as he scoops a glob of pink cotton candy ice cream onto a sugar cone. “People actually like this crap?”

You merely shrug in response before sliding the freezer door shut and opening the next. It goes like this for nearly half and hour before Vickie stumbles in from the service entrance, her cheeks tinged pink and accompanied by a dazed look in her eye.

“Sorry, sorry!” She frantically apologizes, clocking in with her punch card.

Tying on an apron, which Eddie never bothered to do, she greets the customers at the till and rings them up while you make what could very well be the hundredth shake ordered that day, the mixer revving loudly over your retort.

“I’ll allow it,” You turn with a knowing smirk to Vickie, “But you owe me big time, Little Red.”

“Details?” She squeaks.

“Oh, that and more Vic,” You laugh as the machine whirs to a stop.

Deftly, you pour the shake into a cup and shake the canister of whipped cream vigorously. Eddie tries and fails to hide the blush coloring his cheeks as your shirt rides up with the motion. The ‘JERK’ emblazoned on your chest pulling taut against the swell of your breasts from the movement.

He nearly chokes on his own spit.

“Shit,” He rasps as his throat pulls tight.

Passing the shake over with a polite smile to a customer, you thump him forcefully on the back.

Which would be all well and good, if not for the fact that he wasn’t expecting it, and, as a result, falls bodily into your chest, legs tangling with yours, and takes the pair of you down to the mat behind the counter.

“Ow.”

Peering open an eye, he finds Vickie, arms crossed and toe tapping the tile floor, looking down at the both of you with a bemused pull of her lips.

“See, this is why it’s employees only behind the counter,” You say with a grunt as you peel yourself from the floor. “You’re not OSHA certified, Munson.”

Eddie digs the heel of his palms into his eye sockets, hoping that maybe he can just sink into the floor and forget this ever happened.

Because you’re warm, what with having worked up a sweat manning the counter single-handedly and your legs are nice; too nice maybe, with the way his heart is kicking up in his chest, to say nothing of what’s kicking up in his pants.

“Sorry,” He sighs, coming to a seated position. “Are you okay?”

Dusting your hands against the denim cutoffs you’re sporting, you turn and give him a smile. “Never better.”

Legs still tangled, you unwind your limbs from his, crisp white Keds knocking against scuffed Reeboks. He takes the hand you offer and allows himself to be pulled up, only to be greeted by six beatific smiles and less than subtle winks or nods.

“Sooooo,” Dustin drawls, fingers drumming against the glass of the freezer, “Fun trip?”

The ensuing laughter and taunts from what was formerly his favorite group of high schoolers, is enough to make Eddie miss the solitude of Reefer Rick’s cabin.

If May was a sprint, then June was a dive into cool water.

Rope swings lassoed around tree branches, splashing into a placid lake from great heights. Blankets spread on rocks and grass for makeshift picnics. The hum of cicadas as lips wrapped around lifted bottles of booze from the Harrington’s liquor cabinet.

Nearly a month gone and Eddie still hadn’t worked up the courage.

Which is how he found himself perched on rock formation that bordered Lover’s Lake with the boys— Harrington, Byers, and Argyle— playing barely tipsy lifeguard as you swam circles around Nancy, Robin, and Vickie. The latter two had somehow wound themselves into a Gordian Knot of limbs and had earned an eagle-eyed glare from one former captain of the swim team.

“Go to the shallows!” Steve called out, a half-empty bottle of whiskey at his feet. “No, Rob,” He huffed and stood up, “You gotta use your arms, like this!” He demonstrated with a perfect backstroke that Robin seemed woefully unequipped to replicate.

“What?!”

Robin’s befuddled call echoed against the rocks lining the shore and spurned Steve into action.

“Jesus Christ,” He muttered, passing the bottle off to Eddie. “Stay there ya dingus!”

Steve’s body elegantly cut into the water and he surfaced to a smattering of applause from those still perched on the rock.

“Good form, I’d give it a solid 8.5,” Eddie decreed before taking long pull from the bottle.

“Now way man,” Argyle piped up, “That’s at least a 9.The way he slipped into the water like that? Some top tier stuff right there.”

He elbowed Jonathan who was preoccupied with blowing rings from his joint.

“Huh? Oh, uh. 5?”

Steve merely rolled his eyes and swam toward Robin and Vickie, who where no closer to shore now than they were when this whole charade began.

“You’re shitting me dude. A 5 out of 10?”

“Oh, fuck.” Jonathan completed one rather slow blink in Eddie’s direction. “I thought it was like, out of five. My bad.”

Argyle called out the new score from the judges to Steve, who had his hands full with Robin and Vickie’s frantically kicking and thrashing limbs, so much so, that he was rather relieved when you swam up beside him to help.

Eddie placed the bottle between his feet and leaned back on his hands, face turned toward the night sky.

Stars littered the inky blue like so many twinkling lights. A few lightning bugs buzzed further along the edge of the wood, a soft yellow glow to guide through the dark. The lake grew calm again, small lapping waves skirting the shore as distant voices grew closer.

“Hey man,” Argyle nudged Eddie’s shoulder with his, knocking him from his reverie. “How’s our favorite soda jerk?”

He smiled despite himself, “She’s fine, I guess.”

“Hmm. And Operation Meatball?”

Eddie groaned and rolled his eyes, “Henderson got to you too, I see. That kid needs to get a hobby.”

Dustin, and the rest of his band of hellions, had gotten it into their heads that Eddie and you were destined to be. Had an entire notebook dedicated to plans and named the whole endeavor after a scene from Lady and the Tramp, which Eddie couldn’t even bring himself to protest.

“I dunno dude,” Argyle shrugged, “She’s schmokin and I may have seen her eye you a time or two.”

He was glad for the cover of night, because his face felt positively on fire.

“You know, if you’d—” Argyle began, only to get cut off by the sound of approaching footfalls.

“Hey guys,” You greeted, stepping onto the rock and dripping water onto Eddie’s arm. “Oh, shit, sorry Ed!” You take a step back and grab a towel from a nearby bag. Tying your hair up in the striped towel, you settle back at his side. “Ooh, got any more of that?”

He follows your eyes to the bottle at his feet, and stretches to grab it. Your damp fingers brush his along the neck of the bottle, and he, impossibly, blushes all the more.

“S’all yours.”

“Much obliged,” You say with a nod toward him.

Your lips wrap around the bottle, and Eddie can’t help but watch a rivulet of water trickle its way down your throat. His fingers itch to chase it, his tongue longs to taste it.

Jonathan deploys a well-timed cough and pointed glance in Eddie’s direction to excuse himself and Argyle.

“Catch you later chica,” Argyle promises with a grasp to your shoulder, “Lemme know when that horchata flavor comes in!”

You promise to do so with a laugh and a wave, before turning your attention back to the water. Eddie sits at your side, quiet, save for the movemnt of his fingers as he fiddles with his rings. There’s a few sounds from Steve dutifully pouring Robin and Vickie into the BMW with conferring with Nancy as she wrangles Jonathan and Argyle into the station wagon.

“You good?”

Turning at the sound of Nancy’s voice, Eddie can see your mouth pull into a smile, the white of your teeth bringing to mind a cheshire cat. Your elbow knocks into his as you duck toward him conspiratorially.

“Whaddya say, Eddie?”

“Hmm?”

Lightning bugs float around your damp hair that’s fallen from its turban, water slick waves drying slowly in the summer heat. A halo blurry gold around your head, Eddie loses all faculty of language, lost in the soft glow cast against your sun warmed skin.

“Take me home?”

He merely nods in response, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“I’m good!” You call back to Nancy and take another pull from the bottle.

“Call me when you’re home!”

The sound of car engines turning over fills the air, tires crunching over gravel and dried pine needles littering the forest floor. The heat of the day quickly dissipates, replaced with a soft breeze that alleviates a bit of the humidity. And it’s quiet on the shore, save for the clinking of the bottle as you take sips every so often.

For all his gregarious and dramatic antics, truth be told, Eddie didn’t quite know how to simply be. At least, not since spring break with the nearly dying and all of that. He’d returned to the land of the living a little more somber, recovering in the hospital between hushed tones from doctors and nurses, louder exclamations from Henderson and his brood, the comforting weight of Wayne’s hand at his shoulder.

Sure, he’d rallied.

Put on a brave face for the kids, found familiarity in a strained smile mirrored in Steve. Noticed his own body jerking in time with Robin’s at the sound of an unanticipated loud noise. Was quick to cover his discomfort with a joke buoyed by Argyle’s raucous laugh. Found himself helping Nancy plan outings to take everyone’s mind off of things. Sought out Jonathan to share a smoke when it all got to be too much.

But you—

He never minded the quiet with you.

Eddie could maybe, for a moment, let it fall away.

A clink of a glass bottle broke his reverie as it joined the others discarded on the ground.

“This is nice,” You said with a languid stretch, arms raised above your head and falling in a graceful arc as you settled back against the rock.

He had to agree.

“Can I uh, ask you something?”

Your voice had taken on an unfamiliar tone, almost as if you made yourself smaller and unsure. It wasn’t his favorite, he had to admit. Eddie preferred the unapologetic way you carried yourself, a royal flush of confidence which you bandied about with no inhibitions.

Timid didn’t suit you, at least, not in his humble opinion.

He knocked shoulders with you, tried to inject some levity into his voice.

“Shoot.”

“Well,” You squirmed next to him, “And you don’t have to answer this if like, it makes you uncomfortable— the last thing I wanna do is offend you, swear to God.” You take a breath to steel yourself. “I just, I noticed you weren’t swimming today.”

“Ah.”

“I mean,” You clear your throat, “You really never swim, not at Steve’s pool, not here. So.”

“Are you asking if I can swim?” He jokes, “Because, I’m definitely capable. Dear old Dad threw me into a creek,” crick, “And told me to get on with it.”

A hushed laugh falls from your lips, “So, you can but you don’t. Any reason why?”

“Well that,” He says, softer now, “Is quite the story.”

You hum, content with the response not pushing for more than he’s willing to share.

“Tell me someday?”

And oh, is he in trouble. Because the odds of that are more far likely than you’d think.

You’re quick to pack up after that. Eddie trails after you, tossing an odd can or cigarette butt into a trash bag and hauling it to the van. He scratches the light stubble of his jaw, nail catching along the scar decorating his cheek. It’s not as bad as it had been, mostly white with pink tinged edges, and receding into his jawline enough to slip most notice.

It’s not that Eddie regrets the scars, he did what he had to do— the whorls of pink and white puckered skin that now embellished him from hip to shoulder were a simple reminder of that.

Just not one that he’s keen to advertise.

He lets you fiddle with the radio, static crackling through the speakers before the opening riff of Cream’s “Sunshine of Your Love” sails through. An easy smile lights up your face as you lean back in the seat and sing along.

I’ll be with you my darling, soon, I’ll be with you when the stars start falling

His grip tightens on the wheel and he wills himself to focus on the road ahead and not the soft croon of your voice. Which is kind of difficult given how sweet you sound, how desperate he is for your touch.

He rolls up to your apartment complex by the song’s end, having had the pleasure of your signing for the duration of the drive. And Eddie’s probably biased, but he thinks you could give Jack Bruce a run for his money.

He parks the van in front of your building, letting it idle as you unbuckle your seatbelt. You’re grooving a little bit in your seat, and Eddie allows himself a moment to be selfish— gazing as you shake out your mostly dry hair and sway in time to the song, a secret smile pulling at his lips.

Opening your eyes, you meet his gaze. Leaning over the consol, your fingers caress his jaw, turning him to face you fully. The soft pad of your index finger trails down the scar of his jaw, lingering there as you smile, a little different from before.

Softer, somehow. As if it’s just for him.

I’ve been waiting so long, to be where I’m going in the sunshine of your love.

But July—

July passes like a dream, as delightful as the sugary syrup currently crawling its way down your arm. The bomb pop melting all too quickly in the height of the summer sun, trickles of red, white, and blue cascade down your sun hewn skin.

A screech pierces the air as Eddie leans over from his seat on the Harrington’s patio to lick the drips from your arm.

Loud enough to draw the attention of the kids and soon his soft huffs of laughter as replaced with a prolonged “Eeeewwww,” from the girls and an offended scoff of “Gross,” from Henderson.

“Can it!” Steve says, volleying a beach ball at his head, knocking his ever-preset baseball cap into the chlorinated water.

Eddie nods in thanks before continuing his assault of your arm.

“Shit, babe, no teeth!”

He ignores this and elects to dig his teeth into the temptation of your skin. You swat him away and recline back in your chair, Raybans affixed to your face, a pout on your lips.

“You’re no fun,” He grouses, kicking back in his recliner. “You use teeth.”

“Artfully,” You quip back in reply, “Poetry will be written about the exploits of my chompers, the deftness, the skill with which I decorate canvases of skin.”

And well yeah, Eddie would know. He has several bruises blossoming along his torso and thighs from said exploits.

So he really couldn’t complain.

He lets the clubmasters slide back onto his face, the blue polarized lenses giving the scene a cooler, dreamier tint. His hand falls to the side, fingers walking their way over to tangle with yours. You give him a quick squeeze before turning your attention back to your latest bookstore acquisition, The Handmaid’s Tale.

In fact, once Eddie got over himself and blurted out some amalgamation of ‘Can I take you out?’, you’d booped him on the nose in response, much to his horror, and waited a beat to say:

“Sure thing, stud,” — Eddie’s summer had only gotten better.

Was it annoying to have near daily occurrence of high schoolers singing “Summer Lovin’” at him? Yes. Were you worth it? Obviously.

Eddie had attempted to date, briefly and disastrously, in the past. In that respect, maybe he was a little gun shy.

But one night stands? Quickies? Handies after a deal at a party? Bjs in the back of the van?

Yeah, that he’d done. And was definitely the more enthusiastic partner in retrospect. And now, with you?

Well, suffice it to say that your first round in the sack wasn’t exactly picture perfect, and he’d nearly gotten a broken nose for all his effort. But, y’know, learning curve and all that, maybe some lighting was required so he could avoid getting socked in the mouth or something.

“Yuck, what is that?” Dustin says with thinly veiled annoyance, gesturing to your hand clasped in Eddie’s. “Hands Across America?”

“The fuck,” Eddie perks up, squinting as he flips his sunglasses onto his forehead. “Hands doing what now?”

“Pfft,” You blow a raspberry and lazily thumb over to a new page, “You don’t even know what day it is, or what’s going on.”

“Yeah, and I wish I knew even less.”

“Hands Across America was months ago, by the way.”

“Hmm, is that so?”

“Really and truly.”

“So, hey,” Eddie ignores Dustin’s gagging and turns toward you in earnest. “D’ya like sex?”

“Uh huh.”

“And travel, you like that, right?”

“Yep.”

“Well then, sweetheart,” He drops your hand from his, drawing your interest away from the plot.

You huff, perturbed by the interruption and glance his way.

“Then you can fuck right off.”

Eddie raises a solitary finger elegantly, aristocratically even. Something practiced time and time again until it became second nature. It’d be kind of impressive if he weren’t so damned annoying about it, flipping the bird every chance he got.

A trait that, unfortunately, the young Wheeler had adopted as his own.

Despite yourself, a laugh breaks from your lips, loud enough to draw the other’s attention from the pool.

“God, I hate you.”

“Really and truly?”

“Oh, you bet sunshine.”

Unbeknownst to the pair of you, Steve and Robin had corralled the kids out of the pool and lured them away with the promise of pizza. Nancy sidles out from the sliding glass door with the cordless in hand, tossing it over to Eddie.

“We got the usual— cheese, pepperoni, and cheesy bread. But I know you’re particular, so.”

“Right on, Wheels. Good lookin’ out.”

Eddie grabs for you again fingers twining with yours as he rattles off the usual to the pizza guy as Nancy makes her way back inside.

“Hey man, can I get an order of mushroom and black olive with the banana peppers and a shit ton of red pepper flakes? Uh huh, yeah.”

He pulls the phone away from his face, tucking it against his jaw to mouth something to you.

You watch his lips, red from one too many popsicles, form the words.

“Garlic sauce? Hell yeah.”

He returns to the call.

“And the— Oh, you heard that? Cool. Thanks, man.”

He hangs up and tosses the phone onto a rumpled pile of towels, tugging at your arm.

“Ugh, what,” You grouse, finally dropping your book on the patio.

“You’re so far away,” He whines, draping the back of his hand across his forehead to heave a woeful sigh. “Oh, when will my beloved return from the war?”

You roll your eyes and clamber over to his pool chair, straddling his hips. “Okay, calm down Scarlett. Tara is thattaway.” You hike a thumb somewhere in the general vicinity of what you’re pretty sure is south. You laugh and crawl your way into his lap.

And, here’s the thing:

It’s easy.

A foreign concept in Eddie’s life up until this particular point.

Which is to say, that since the advent of your relationship with him, Eddie found himself spending more time on his knees than he ever had amongst the pews.

While there’s no catechism for for this particular piety, he’ll take this act of communion for what it is—

His lips and tongue spouting devotionals as he kneels between your thighs. And he’d never been one for God, but maybe He’d made it so two bodies can fit holy wholly together.

After all, he’d been penitent enough.

You twine a streamer of his hair around your finger, head slotting into the cul-de-sac of his throat. His arms wind about your hips, anchoring you in place.

Steve sticks his head out to say he’s forcing the kids on a field-trip to get the pizza, Nance and Robin are grabbing some drinks from the store.

You hum in idle contentment and sink further into Eddie, as if he could consume you entire.

If my body is of your body and your body is of mine, can ever the two be parted? What lies in me now does in you, a reflection in kind.

The marks that decorate his skin, both intentional and accidental, fail to define him.

If they ever really could.

You’d traced their shape, plotted their paths, and transmuted them before his very eyes. The weight, the lead sinking and skittering and pulling him down was no more.

“If I could,” you’d said softly one night, a riot of arms and legs tangled against his own, a lone finger rhapsodizing against his ribs, travelling a familiar continent. “I’d paint you golden.”

No, not gilt.

But gold.

It still daunts Eddie how freely he fell— for you and the effervescent joy that flourished in your wake. It used to unnerve him, if he thought about it too much. For the longest time, he wasn’t sure if what he felt was real, or simply a facsimile of love.

He learned not to dawdle in his darker moods.

He’d hummed at your declaration, so much more accustomed to gloomier comparisons. You’d turned up at him, cleaving your chin across the ladder of his ribs, eyes big and brighter than any star he’d ever seen.

And he hadn’t known what to say.

Weeks had passed and he still hadn’t a clue how to respond.

“Hey,” Dustin yells, striding out of the sliding glass door. “Dinner’s ready!” He waits impatiently, striking a similar pose to that of Steve when he’s at his wit’s end.

“Yeah, yeah,” Eddie says, shooing him away and slinging a leg off of the recliner.

He takes you with him, much to your protest.

“Noooo,” you whine, “Eddie, the physical therapist said—”

“That I’m fine,” He reminds you, securing his grip under your thighs as he carries you inside the house.

Your petulant pout demands satisfaction, and he acquiesces, dipping his head to yours in a quick kiss.

“Y’know,” he says, voice rumbling and low as everyone fixes up their plates in the kitchen. He sets you on the island counter, his hands spread just past your thighs, arms loosely caging you in.

He smells like summer— sugar and chlorine and salt and the tell-tale wisp of a cigarette. His hair is loose and wild, sheltering you from prying eyes as he rests his head against yours.

It hits him like a thunderclap and descends as quickly as revelation.

“I’d follow you into the sun.”

It’s not a declaration, but a simple fact.

Love.

He’d tell you someday, but not quite yet.

For now, he’ll watch your lips kick up in that adorable smile of yours, the kind that crinkles the corner of your eyes from the sheer amount of joy packed in it. Allowing himself to float on the thinnest of air just for a moment.

This summer, you’ve been his North Star, always there.

And he hopes you always will be.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #cee's summersong request-athon

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lunarforager · 6 months ago

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Beginner Witch's Guide: The Basics

Hello friends and all my beginner witches! Welcome to my Beginner Witch's Guide where I will be sharing my wisdom in regards to the craft! This series of posts will be a set of guides to all sorts of aspects in the witchy world from crystals to tarot to baneful magic.

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Beginner Materials:

(Keep in mind that none of these are necessary materials to practice witchcraft! These are just some ideas for what you can start practicing with!)

Crystals

Not only are crystals insanely beautiful, but they are also super useful for your practice. Some great beginner crystals include rose quartz, amethyst, citrine, and obsidian! Crystals can be somewhat expensive, but these tend to be ones you can find for fairly cheap!

Herbs

So many herbs can be used for the practice, and the best thing is that so many herbs can be easily purchased for relatively little from the local grocery store. Yes! The herbs in those little jars on the shelf can be used in magic no problem!

Salt

Salt has been used in many different cultures in many different forms of witchcraft as protection from negative energies and curses. Salt is a priceless thing in the witchy world!

Candles

Candles aren't necessary (technically nothing on this list is) but many spells will call for candles of various colors but the good thing is, candles can be found for super cheap in places like dollar stores or thift stores! And colors don't matter as much as people might tell you. White candles can used in place of others for pretty much any spell that calls for colored candles.

Tarot Deck (or deck of cards)

Tarot is a great way to start getting into divination and so getting a tarot deck can start you on that path of learning. They can be somewhat expensive, so a normal deck of cards can also be used! There are so many guides online of how to use a normal deck of cards for tarot readings and there are also great guides on how to start getting into tarot.

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Thank you for taking time to read over this post! I absolutely love sharing my knowledge about the craft with people and would love to share more with anyone reading!

Feel free to send me messages or asks about the practice and I'll try my best to answer them, but I also just love talking to people in general haha!

Valete my friends!

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sinful-mind-joyful-thoughts · 7 months ago

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sᴡᴇᴀᴛʏ

screencaps and gifs: @din-jarring They're truly amazing, the best! Their inspiring presence sparked the creation of this story, bringing characters to life in a remarkable way. I highly recommend checking them out—they're a beacon of talent and inspiration! 💕✨️💕

Pairing: Jaiver Peña x fem!reader

Summary: In hot weather, Javier and you get cozy on his couch. The broken AC doesn't stop the heat between you two in any way, shape or form.

Warnings/tags: MDNI 18+, degradation, praise, male moaning, breeding kink, kissing, oral M and F receiving, face sitting, alcohol consumption, power dynamics, explicit language,Unprotected sex wrap it before you tap it, kids. THIS IS A WORK OF FICTION, YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE CONTENT YOU CONSUME

WC: 2.7K

The midday sun bore down relentlessly upon Javier's apartment, defying any hopes of cool respite. Despite his efforts, the small space offered little relief from the Colombian heat. Javier reclined on the worn tan couch, a cold beer in hand, his brow glistening with sweat. You surrendered to the stifling atmosphere, abandoning any notion of productivity to join Javier on the couch.

With a sigh of relief, Javier popped the top off a cold beer, the droplets of condensation offering a tantalizing promise of refreshment amidst the stifling heat. As you fanned yourself with a magazine, attempting to alleviate the oppressive warmth, a complaint about the temperature slipped from your lips. "It's so hot I can barely breathe," you remarked, turning to face Javier.

Despite the discomfort, Javier remained effortlessly attractive, even with sweat causing his hair to cling to his forehead. You met his gaze before setting the magazine aside and peeling off your sweater, revealing the tank top underneath. The relief of shedding layers was immediate, the cool fabric offering a welcome change from the heat of the sweater.

You sighed deeply, closing your eyes as you leaned back, resting your head against the soft cushion of Javier's couch. Beads of sweat trickled down your forehead, tracing a path down to your chest and seeping into the fabric of your tank top. You were almost certain that your nipples were poking through the fabric of your tank top. Bras felt like torture chambers for your breasts, so you rarely wore them, and today was no exception.

You heard some movement beside you and opened your eyes to find Javi had taken his shirt off. He was fit, but not fit enough to deny cake, that was for sure. A blush crept onto your cheeks at the sight, and Javi, catching your reaction, quipped, "What? Can I not take my shirt off as well?”

Your cheeks flamed even hotter, and you stuttered, "N-no, I mean, yeah, of course you can..." Your words trailed off as you struggled to regain your composure, feeling the heat rise to your face. Javi chuckled at your flustered state, his easy grin melting any lingering tension. "Relax, it's just too damn hot," he said, gesturing towards the sweltering room.

Feeling somewhat relieved by his casual response, you managed to compose yourself enough to ask, "Um, is the AC on?"

Javi nodded, understanding your concern, and got up to check the air conditioning unit. After a moment, he returned, frustration etched on his face.

"It's broken," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Guess we'll have to tough it out until I can get someone to fix it."

You groaned inwardly, feeling a fresh wave of heat wash over you at the news. "Great," you muttered, resigning yourself to the sweltering heat that seemed determined to cling to every corner of the apartment.

Javi began by slipping off his shoes, followed by the removal of his pants. "Well, I'm getting comfortable," he stated casually, his voice echoing in the room. Your cheeks flushed as Javi continued to undress before you, each movement captivating your attention. As he started to take off his pants, you couldn't resist stealing a glance at the prominent outline in his boxers.

Looking up at him from your seated position, you found yourself mesmerized by his presence. Standing before you, Javi exuded an aura of confidence that was almost intoxicating. His demeanor sent a shiver down your spine, stirring a heat within you that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room.

Standing before you in just his boxers, Javi's half-hard dick was unmistakably visible, his smirk betraying his bold intentions. Without a hint of shame, he openly admired your breasts, his gaze filled with desire. "You have no idea how much I want you right now," he confessed, his voice husky with longing.

In response, you met Javi's gaze with a coy expression, your hands gently resting on your thigh. "Javi?" you murmured, seeking clarity or perhaps a moment of hesitation in his eyes.

Meeting your gaze with unbridled lust, Javi's response was unapologetically direct. "Do you know how much I would pay to fuck right now?" he whispered, the intensity of his desire palpable in the air between you.

You brought one of your hands up to his thigh, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips. "How much?" you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. With a daring move, your hand traced the line of his boxers, pushing the fabric lower exposing more of his curly little happy trail. Your gaze met his with an intensity that mirrored your desire, those same sweet eyes inviting him closer.

In response, Javi's hand moved to caress the back of your head, his touch sending a shiver down your spine. The air between you crackled with anticipation, each touch igniting a fiery longing that begged to be quenched.

As his soft touch swiftly changed, Javi's demeanor shifted, his grip on your hair becoming firmer, almost commanding. With a forceful tug, he compelled your head to tilt back, exposing the vulnerable curve of your throat. Leaning in closer, his face mere inches from yours, he exuded an intensity that left you breathless.

In the charged silence that followed, Javi's voice was a low, husky whisper against your ear. "How much? Enough to make you forget your own name, baby," he declared, his words a potent blend of desire and possession. And with that declaration hanging in the air, your lips finally crashed with his, igniting a fiery passion that consumed you both.

Lost in the heat of the moment, you melted into each other on the couch, the world outside fading into obscurity as you surrendered to the intoxicating rhythm of desire. Every touch, every kiss was an affirmation of the intense connection between you, each moment building upon the next until you were both consumed by an insatiable hunger for one another.

He lowered you onto your back, his weight pressing deliciously against you as he moved over the top of you, his lips trailing soft kisses along your neck. But as his advances intensified, you pushed him off gently, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes as you rose to your feet, leaving Javi looking confused.

"If you're paying..." you began, a smirk playing at the corners of your lips as you dropped to your knees before him, your hands caressing his thighs and stomach teasingly. "I should be extra caring towards you," you continued, your voice dripping with playful seduction. "You know, Javi, you're just..."

Before you could finish your sentence, Javi cut you off abruptly, his grip on your hair tight as he pulled you closer. "Suck my dick or I'm not paying you anything," he commanded, his tone firm and demanding. With a silent nod, you complied, reaching to pull Javi's dick out of his boxers.

Javi may have been a cocky asshole, but he had good reason to be. His dick was at least the size of a coke can, a fact that was impossible to ignore. With a small spit into your hand, you began to stroke his impressive length softly, feeling the weight of it in your palm. Drawing closer to him, you licked his shaft a few times before softly sucking on the pinkish tip, humming as you did so.

Javi, eager for more, used his hand to guide your mouth further down his dick. Taking the hint, you accepted the challenge, taking as much of him into your mouth as you could manage, even if it felt like your mouth might split in half. With one hand still working his shaft, you moved the other to his balls, gently fondling them as you continued to please him. A sweet sound escaped Javi's lips in response, spurring you on to suck a little more of him into your mouth.

As your lips enveloped him, Javi's hips instinctively lifted, driving himself deeper into your mouth. The sudden intrusion made you gag slightly, but you fought to maintain your composure, meeting his gaze with glossy eyes filled with a mixture of desire and determination. Sensing your reaction, Javi's movements became more deliberate, his thrusts growing softer and more controlled as he found a rhythm that suited both of you.

With each movement, you adjusted, finding your own pace to match his, the sensation of him filling your mouth and sending shivers of pleasure down your spine. As he continued to thrust, you shifted your focus, using one hand to gently massage and fondle his balls, adding an extra layer of stimulation that drove him wild with desire.

As Javi's hips stilled, he let out a low, guttural moan, the sound sending a thrill coursing through you. "God damn," he muttered, his voice thick with desire. "Get on my dick. If I'm paying, I'm cumming inside of you."

You continued to softly suck on his dick, your lips trailing teasingly along his length as you listened to his words. His moans were like music to your ears, each sound fueling the fire burning between you. With a deliberate pop, you released his dick from your mouth, a mischievous glint dancing in your eyes as you shed your pants and underwear, revealing the extent of your arousal. You were soaked, the evidence of your desire glistening on your skin.

Noticing the hunger in Javi's gaze, you felt a surge of excitement rush through you. He leaned forward, his lips pressing against your stomach in a hungry kiss before his hands gripped your upper thighs, guiding you to straddle his face. Your pussy hovered tantalizingly over his mouth, the anticipation sending shivers down your spine as you felt the tickle of his mustache against your inner thighs.

"Ready to forget your name?" Javi said smugly, his words sending a thrill of anticipation through you. Without waiting for a response, he placed a direct kiss on your clit, his tongue expertly finding the sensitive area with ease.

Javi's tongue worked its magic on your clit, setting off an explosion of pleasure that made you arch your back in ecstasy. Waves of sensation rippled through your entire body, leaving you gasping for air as Javi's precise movements brought you closer to the edge.

With each passing second, you felt yourself unraveling under the intensity of Javi's touch. The world around you faded away as you surrendered to the pleasure he bestowed upon you. His lips and tongue moved with a rhythm that matched the pounding of your heart, pushing you toward the brink of desire-fueled madness.

As the heat between you intensified, a primal need for release consumed your every thought. Your fingers gripped the fabric of the couch as you rode the wave of pleasure, feeling it threaten to overwhelm you completely.

In a final, desperate cry of ecstasy, you shattered into a million pieces, consumed by the overwhelming bliss of climax. Javi's name escaped your lips in a breathless whisper as you succumbed to the ecstasy that washed over you, your body trembling with the force of your release.

With a smirk playing on his now arousal-covered face, Javi gently lowered your legs before positioning you to straddle him. There was a fleeting moment of pure bliss in his gaze as he looked at you, his eyes filled with desire. Your lips met in a passionate kiss as he began to insert his sizable cock into you, eliciting a moan from your lips at the delicious stretch.

You weren't a stranger to intimacy, but the sheer girth of him made you gasp in pleasure. Javi's reputation was well-deserved, and as he filled you, you couldn't help but marvel at the intensity of sensation coursing through your body. Once you were fully seated on his dick, a deep, guttural moan escaped your lips, the sound muffled as Javi pulled you close to his chest.

The scent of sweat and sex hung heavy in the air, the room's humidity rising with each passionate movement shared between you and Javi. It was as if the very atmosphere around you was charged with the heat of your desire, amplifying the intensity of your connection.

You started to move your hips a little faster, grinding against him as your breasts pressed tantalizingly against his chest. Each movement sent waves of pleasure coursing through you, aching to find that perfect spot inside of you that promised pure ecstasy. Javi held you close, his grip firm yet gentle as he guided your movements, his desire evident in the way he met your rhythm.

With a low groan, Javi shifted his legs to rest on the coffee table in front of him, angling himself to better thrust into you. The change in position sent a shiver of anticipation down your spine as you felt him plunge deeper inside you, the sensation overwhelming yet utterly intoxicating. Javi's groan mingled with your moans of pleasure.

Javi released his hold on you, his hands moving to your hips, ensuring you were perfectly settled upright on his dick. A gasp escaped your lips at the sudden change, the sensation of him hitting that sweet spot sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your entire being. Javi could feel your grip tightening around him, a sure sign that he had found the spot that drove you wild.

With a primal intensity, Javi began to pound up into you, each thrust sending shockwaves of pleasure radiating through your body. His hands held you firmly in place as you braced yourself against his chest, your nails digging into his skin as you clung to him for dear life. Your moans grew louder with each passing moment, a symphony of desire that filled the room.

As the coil of pleasure tightened in your stomach, you felt yourself teetering on the edge of ecstasy. With a loud cry, you felt the wave of orgasm crashing over you, your body trembling with the force of it. You buried your face in Javi's shoulder, overcome with the intensity of sensation coursing through you.

Javi, sensing your release, slowed his thrusts, not wanting to overstimulate you. "Awe, giving up so soon?" he teased, his voice husky with desire. "What am I paying you for?" But even as he spoke, the desire in his eyes burned brightly.

As Javi's hips drove upwards with a relentless urgency, the sheer force of his movements sent you spiraling further into ecstasy. Your head fell back, exposing your neck to the heated air as waves of pleasure washed over you, leaving you trembling in their wake. With each thrust, your senses were overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the pleasure coursing through your veins.

His voice, thick with desire, reached your ears like a primal growl, stirring something deep within you. "You like that, huh?" Javi's words were more of a statement than a question, his tone dripping with satisfaction as he watched your reactions with hungry eyes. The way he took you, possessing you with every thrust, ignited a fire within you that burned hotter with each passing moment.

Unable to form coherent words, you could only manage a breathless nod in response, your body responding to his touch with a fervor that bordered on desperation. With each thrust, the coil of pleasure tightened in your stomach, the anticipation of release driving you to the brink of oblivion.

As the intensity of your connection reached its peak, Javi's movements became more frenzied, driving you both toward the edge of ecstasy. With a final, desperate cry, you felt the wave of orgasm crashing over you, your body convulsing with the force of it as you surrender yourself fully to the pleasure.

And then, in that moment of pure bliss, you felt him release inside you, his hot seed spilling deep within your core. The sensation of him pulsing within you sent shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body, amplifying the intensity of your climax until you were both consumed by the sheer ecstasy of it all.

He slid out of you, his movements slow and deliberate, before pulling you into his arms on the couch. You couldn't help but giggle at the playful exchange as he reached for his wallet. "So, how much?" he asked, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

"100 dollars," you replied with a mischievous grin, teasing him with the modest amount.

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he regarded you fondly. "You're worth more than that," he murmured, his voice filled with genuine affection. With a playful flick of his wrist, he tossed his wallet in your direction before leaning back against the cushions, a smirk playing on his lips.

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upsidedownwithsteve · 2 years ago

Text

Eddie Munson x fem!reader [33K] summer camp, a few almost kisses, that friends to lovers shit and your own personal rule: no boys.

I want you to want me.

The man in front of you seemed stressed.

The fax machine was whirring, the phone was ringing and there was a large glass jar on the desk that was stuffed full of dollar bills, a faded label on the front that said “therapy kayak money.”

Jim Hopper, your new boss and camp leader, handed you a set of keys and a shirt, sighing as he scrubbed a hand over his moustached face.

“Michigan? Right?”

You weren’t sure if the man was asking where you were from or blessing you with a new name because he couldn’t remember your real one. But either way, you nodded.

“Look kid, I’m sorry but things are crazy here today. The dumbass delivery truck is lost and we’re already a few counsellors down until the road through Martinsville opens back up.”

You raised your brows, confused.

“Fallen tree,” Hopper waved his hand, “it’s fine. Listen, the campers don’t arrive for another three days anyway. Can you get yourself settled? I’ll find someone to show you the ropes soon, I just gotta answer some calls.”

You nodded again, clutching your faded shirt in your hands. The collar and cuffs matched the same sun bleached green that the word “staff” was printed in and the keys had a tab with “cabin thirty one” attached.

Hopper must’ve seen your worried face because he sighed again, softening a little despite the way he was desperately shuffling papers and files.

“You’ll be fine,” the man told you. It was almost reassuring. “The rest of the counsellors are great - well, the majority of them at least. Don’t talk to Billy. Anyway, the kids are easy enough and Bob actually makes some decent food in that old kitchen.”

Jim looked at you with kind eyes and his voice softened even further, despite the way the phone was still ringing. “Grab some breakfast, tell him I sent you, yeah? And take the morning to explore.”

It was alarming, the way you’d found yourself in the middle of Yellowwood State Forest, a whole other state away from home. But after graduating high school almost two years ago with absolutely zero idea of what you were supposed to do next, and an ex-boyfriend you so desperately wanted to avoid, you figured a few months in the wilderness wouldn’t do you any harm. Especially if you were getting paid for it.

And besides, you were good with children.

“Welcome to Camp Upside Down, kid, don’t eat the mushrooms,” Hopper smiled somewhat tiredly and then you were on your own.

Fuck.

Stepping out of the cabin, the warmth and smell of a new summer washed over you. The forest was quiet in the early morning but still very much alive, soft chirps and buzzes from hidden animals, insects that lurked in the too long grass by the edges of the lake. Something splashed by the dock, and in the distance, you could hear a car approaching, maybe two, one louder than the other.

The dirt paths were empty, the lack of kids running around making Camp Upside Down seem almost serene. It was still early, the sun a little golden, the sky a little hazy and the light that shone through the tree canopy made pretty dappled patterns on the forest floor. Everything smelled like morning dew, damp grass and tree moss.

And then your stomach grumbled. Deciding that your bags could stay in your car for a little while longer, you took Hopper’s advice and headed towards what you assumed was the mess hall. The dirt paths led the way through trees, past the unlit camp fire that sat proud in the middle of the forest clearing.

You could smell coffee as you approached, maybe bacon, some maple syrup too. It cut through the scent of pine and leftover rain but then there was smoke and the familiar smell of weed and then - fuck - the solid frame of someone slamming into you.

“Oh shit.”

Or did you walk into them? You weren’t sure, but whoever it was had been hiding around the corner you were turning, their back pressed to the old, moss covered wood of an unused cabin. You dropped your keys in surprise, catching your staff shirt before it fell into something that looked more like sludge than mud.

But the person, the boy, you’d ran into picked up your keys before you could, your eyes a little wild because the forest had been so quiet and you hadn’t expected to see anyone. Not yet.

“Cabin thirty one?” the boy asked you, holding the silver back out by the keyring. He was smiling, kind, wide, a slow and warm stretch that showed off the dimples in his cheeks.

Oh fuck, he was pretty, and he was a lot more man than boy.

You took the keys from his hand, smiling in thanks but your breath was stuck in your throat because this guy in front of you was far, far too nice to look at. Dark, messy curls, bangs that were falling into the biggest, brown eyes you’d ever seen. They looked a little soulful, bright, full of mischief and they blinked at you when you didn’t say anything.

“Fuck, thanks,” you managed and then you gestured back to the the corner you’d turned, “m’sorry, I must’ve not been paying attention, I didn’t even s-”

The boy grinned, brushed away your apology with a hand that was still holding a lit joint. He winced and stubbed it out on the side of the cabin, winking at you as he did.

“Nah, s’fine, don’t worry about it,” he told you. “I was totally lurking. Definitely in places I shouldn’t be.”

He wasn’t wearing a staff shirt, you noticed. Instead, his was black with a band logo for Metallica on the front. The sleeves had been entirely cut off, the sides of the cotton gaping around his waist, tattoos showing through the slashes and there was so much bare skin.

It didn’t look like a counsellor uniform. Nothing about the way this boy looked like it was by the book. More tattoos littered his arms: some bats, a spider, some kind of dragon, a scary looking puppet. His black jeans were ripped, his belt too long and the end of it hung by his knee. His big boots were creased and worn, black and already layered with mud and pine needles from the forest.

And then he tucked what was left of his joint behind his ear and he was smiling at you in the softest way; big, brown eyes and dimples too. He suddenly wasn’t as scary as you thought he was trying to be.

“You're the new girl, right?”

You twisted your lips, nodded, because you had to be right? No one else stood with you at orientation - if you could call it that - and Hopper hadn’t mentioned any other new counsellors. In fact, he hadn’t mentioned anyone.

“I guess?” You replied, smiling a little more warmly when the boy grinned, tucked a curl behind his other ear and shoving his hands in his back pockets.

His arms flexed and you swallowed hard.

You told him your name, clutched your keys and your shirt a little closer to your chest because the boy was looking at you with those eyes that seemed to see through your fucking bones. Did you have a soul? You were sure he could see it if you did.

“I’m Eddie,” he told you, kicking stray rock. Was he blushing? “Eddie Munson, I teach music here.”

“So you do work here,” you squinted at him, eyes narrowed on the slashed up shirt, the ripped denim. “I was starting to wonder if I was just talking to some random dude in the middle of the forest.”

He laughed, tilting his head to look at you, “well that just tells me you’re far too trusting.”

“Or just up for a little trouble,” you replied too quickly.

His answering grin was nothing short of scandalous.

“Where’re you from?” Eddie asked, moving in a way that told you he had a problem staying still. He walked into a burst of sunlight that lit the forest floor, came alive under the glow of it, his dark hair turning a little lighter, his pale skin showing a little more signs of being touched by summer.

“Michigan, a small town you probably wouldn’t have heard of,” you told him. “You from around here?”

“Nah, Philly,” he replied, still smiling at you like he’d found his new favourite thing to do.

You gasped, all faux shock like you’d stumbled across a celebrity. “Ooh, a city boy, in the woods? Do the papers know?”

Eddie laughed again, a proper, lovely laugh that made your cheeks heat up ‘cause you felt like you’d achieved something.

He hummed, leaned against the cabin he’d been using for his hiding spot and crossed his arms over his chest. You tried not to stare at the way his muscles moved, or how the collar of his shirt shifted to show off a glinting, silver chain around his neck.

“Sometimes it’s nice to just touch a tree, you know?” He smiled, almost flirtatiously if it weren’t for the fact his cheeks were rosy and his eyes were downcast shyly. “Plus, my parole officer says I gotta do at least another four summers here.”

“Par- what?” You tried not to let the shock show on your face. You weren’t sure you’d succeeded. “Oh.”

That grin was back, that wide, slow spreading one that showed off the dimple on his right cheek. It made his eyes flash, made them look darker than they were when he stood in the sun and Christ, fuck, he was a menace.

“I’m kidding.”

“Oh.”

“Or am I?”

You stood, slack jawed and unsure because this boy was still a stranger and even though he had nice eyes and a pretty smile, you didn’t really know him.

He must’ve sensed your hesitation though, because he was suddenly stricken looking, curls bouncing as he shook his head at his own last words. “No, no - shit - I really was kidding.”

Maybe it was something in his face that made you believe him, that awfully earnest shine in his eyes. He looked concerned, worried that he’d scared you away so quickly but then you were snorting, not the most attractive sound, but it made the boy light back up.

He was watching you carefully after that, your little sound of amusement leaving a pretty smile on your lips and he mirrored it, swaying a little on the spot like he was too excited to stay still. Then, a hand, not really offered for you to hold, but a gesture for you to follow him. Silver rings flashed in the sun, skulls and demons and was that a pig?

It didn’t matter, your feet were moving and you were following him.

He seemed as surprised as you were, looking over his shoulder at you with a big smile, catching your elbow when you tripped on a root. You would’ve been embarrassed if he didn’t do the same almost five seconds later, both of you snorting as his boots slid on some damp moss.

“First time at camp?” he asked as a way of distraction, hands shoved back into his jean pockets, like he had to stop himself from reaching out to guide you through the forest.

You nodded, finding your footing with him as he led you onto a narrow pathway, the wooden signposts pointing you both towards the mess hall.

“Uh, yeah, figured I’d try something new,” you said.

Eddie grinned like he’d heard that answer before. “What’re you running from?�� he asked.

His words made you stop, shoes pushed to the pine needles and you felt a little warm, a little shocked, that he’d figured you out so quickly. And if Eddie sensed your surprise, he didn’t show it, he just leaned up against a tree trunk and waited for you to say something, even if it was to tell him to fuck off and mind his own business.

But instead, you shrugged and told him the truth.

“Tiny town with not much to do and nowhere to go,” you squinted at him in the sun, a humourless smile on your lips. “And maybe some people that get hard to avoid in a place that has a population of like, seven hundred.”

“A boy?” Eddie smiled knowingly.

“Presumptuous,” you shot back but he saw the heat on your cheeks and the way you stared at the tree behind him.

“But not wrong,” he countered. That smile was still there. He didn’t push at your silence though, just tilted his head further down the bath and said, “c’mon, trouble.”

“Have you worked here before?” You asked, scrambling to keep up with his long strides. It was obvious from the way he was leading you that he had, but you didn’t know what else to say. You winced in embarrassment. “Of course you have, I meant how ma-”

“This’ll be my fourth,” Eddie told you, putting you out of your misery by ignoring the way your cheeks were warm. “Started off as a lifeguard before I realised I can’t really save myself in the water, never mind some kids, and then Hop let me run my own music workshop instead.”

You were impressed, even though you tried to hide it. “A whole workshop, huh?”

Eddie smiled as he led you round another corner, passing empty cabins that would soon be filled with sticky handed kids. A larger building was finally in sight, with big windows and a pitched roof, a wooden sign with ‘mess hall’ above the door and the smell of fresh coffee coming from inside.

He hummed, a sound of confirmation and as you both strolled towards the hall, Eddie told you all about his job.

“A whole workshop,” he repeated, “I teach guitar, drums, a little piano and I’m working on getting some more percussion stuff in for the kids who are… lacking rhythm.”

“Oh, I’m definitely a percussion girl,” you cracked. “A triangle would be a challenge.”

“I give private lessons, if you need them,” Eddie murmured and you weren’t sure if you imagined the way his voice dropped a little lower, the way he seemed to be looking at you through his lashes.

You stalled, stumbled, close enough to the mess hall now that you could hear the hushed hisses of coffee machines, the clatter of some dishes. If your cheeks hadn’t been pink before, they certainly were now. You could feel the heat there, a rosy beam you were sure.

“Uh-”

“Ohmygodno,” Eddie rushed out, eyes wide and hands in front of him, like he was warding off a cornered animal. “No, no! I actually do give lessons. Private lessons.”

You were still staring, lips parted. The whole forest was quiet, like it was listening in too.

“Guitar.” Eddie’s voice was short. Strained. God, his cheeks were pink too.

“Oh.”

You were both silent. A beat passed, maybe another, and somewhere above, a bird called out, mocking. It suddenly felt so much warmer than it already had, the sun climbing, Eddie’s eyes trained on your shoulder, too shy to meet your eye.

The air felt thicker than it should’ve.

But then the boy was clapping his hands together, the noise sharp enough that it made a squirrel leap from a nearby bush and disappear up a tree. Eddie swung his arms, limbs clumsy, a little on edge and finally, finally, he looked at you again.

“So, this is the, uh, the mess hall.” He pointed to the sign that said as exactly such and clicked his tongue, closing his eyes in more awkward embarrassment. “Yup.”

You nodded, clutching your shirt a little tighter in your hand, keys clinking as you have an equally pathetic thumbs up to the boy. “Yeah, that’s great, yeah… thanks, Eddie.”

He clicked his fingers, pointed them at you like a fake gun and then he was groaning, thumbs pressed into his closed eyes as he stumbled blindly away from you. You couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled in your chest, tried to hide it with a twist of your lips but it made your cheeks sore, in the nicest sort of way.

“Uh, yeah, so roll call’s at eleven sharp, Hop hates it when we’re late and uh-” Eddie stood a little away, what he seemed to deem a safe distance from you. “I’d offer to help you find your cabin but I’ve already proven myself to be an absolute sex pest, so-”

You really did laugh then, a choked off sound that made Eddie grin and you smothered your own behind you fist.

He was sweet, cute. Really pretty. Even sweeter when he smiled at you like that, eyes sincere and so bright, his lips stretched out soft like he was amazed he’d gotten you to laugh at all.

“They’re back past the firepit, right?”

The boy nodded, hooked a thumb over his shoulder and told you, “yeah, just follow the path that veers off towards the lake. You’re not that far from mine. If you come to a, like, massive cliff, you’ve gone too far.”

You tried to hide another grin, squinted at him in the sun and wondered how you were going to get through the summer with Eddie Munson and your own self appointed rule:

No boys.

—————

Hopper's office was packed when you slipped back inside just before eleven o’clock. The fax machine was still whirring but the phone had stopped and you realised as you sat down, that a man you hadn’t seen before was holding the cable for it in his hand, unplugged and blissfully silent.

He stared at you through thick framed glasses, clipboard in his other hand and he scanned his paper.

“Michigan, right?” He asked you.

You mumbled your own name, nervous to speak too loud with so many new faces staring at you. You spotted Eddie across the room, lazing on an old couch next to a pretty boy with wild hair and an even prettier girl on his lap. Eddie grinned at you, lifted his hand from his lap and wiggled his fingers in a wave.

But the older man was huffing, scanning what you realised was your staff file and he brushed off your reply.

“Yeah, uhuh, Michigan, that’s what I said.”

You didn’t argue, didn't dare, ‘cause every pair of eyes was set upon you, so you dropped to an almost empty sofa and stared at your feet. Next to you, a girl with short hair and a backwards cap leaned in. She had a warm smile, sleepy eyes and freckles across her cheeks, and knee nudged yours.

She felt like a friend.

“Unless you wanna be known as ‘new girl’ for the next six weeks, I’d let Murray call you Michigan.” She grinned, voice soft. “I’m Robin.”

Before you could reply, Hopper was standing back up, clapping his hands together and motioning to his camp assistant. “Okay kids, let’s go. Murray?”

“Roll call, shitheads, look alive!” Murray barked, grinning wildly like this was his favourite hobby. “Chrissy, welcome back, we missed you last year. You’re back on gymnastics, but we’re gonna need you to report to Joyce for a first aid refresher, okay?”

A blonde by the window grinned and nodded, eyes wide and bright, features perky and flushed pink.

“Steve, Hawkins,” Murray pointed to the two on the sofa, neither really paying attention to him as they whispered to each other. “You’re both on games too if you can promise to behave-”

“-and to not break anymore goddamn kayaks,” Hopper cut in. The room snickered and the couple rolled their eyes, grumbling something about the quality of boats at camp.

“-and Harrington, you’re off the lifeguard rota since you and Hargrove can’t play nice. We want you on orienteering and Jason, you’re on lake duty now.”

Two blonde boys who stood by the window fist bumped, and from the way one of them wore all denim and sunglasses indoors, you had a feeling that he was the Billy your boss had warned you about.

“Argyle,” Murray barked and a long haired boy jerked awake from where he sat sleeping against the back wall. “Woodshop…let's keep it to bird boxes and kitchen utensils, yeah? Mrs Harlaw didn’t appreciate her son coming home with a custom rolling tray last summer.”

“Sure thing, my dude,” Argyle nodded, smiling happily.

“Buckley, you’re back in the kitchens with Bob, the kids love your sloppy joes, who’d have thought it, huh?”

Robin gave an unenthusiastic salute, spinning her hat the right way around so she could pull the brim of it low enough to close her eyes and not be seen.

“Munson, we’re gonna need your workshop schedule by tomorrow, please and thank you,” Murray handed Eddie some sheets of paper, “and you have seventeen new sign ups for private lessons. If you can make it twenty by the time the first week is out, we’ll look at negotiating pay.”

“Yessir,” Eddie murmured, flicking through the list he’d been handed. His eyes found yours and you warmed at the realisation you’d been caught staring.

He tilted his head towards the sheet, smiled and mouthed, “wanna sign up?”

But then Murray stepped in front of him, barely looking as he said, “Edward, stop flirting with the newbie,” you burned at the laughter, looking at the wall that held a mess of Polaroids and crayon drawings, paintings that were dated back ten years plus. “Nancy and Jonathan should hopefully arrive tomorrow, once the road has opened back up, so in the meantime, please for the love of god, don’t make me have to babysit you all.”

The man turned back to you and grinned, almost menacingly, eyebrows raised in a challenge. “New kid, Michigan, whatever your name is…” Murray searched down the list for your information, a finger scanning over the page. “Okay we’ve got you on arts and crafts with Nancy and if Chrissy needs help in the gym, you’ll be working Fridays there too, got it?”

You nodded, smiling a little tight ‘cause everyone in the room was still staring at you.

And just like that, Hopper plugged the phone back into the wall and Murray clapped his hands together, a signal for everyone to gather their things, schedules clutched in their hands as they stood. The ringing started again, the fax machine whirred and you were pushed outside with the rush of the small crowd.

The morning sun caught you the same time a hand did, just as warm on the small of your back, right before you stumbled over old roots that had grown too wild. You turned to find Eddie, smiling kindly, a little shyly, holding you until you found your footing again.

“Doing okay there?”

You let out a sigh that you hoped he couldn’t hear shake, squinting a little in the sun. “Yeah! Yeah— just, just a little overwhelmed.”

He nodded like he understood, taking his hand away but you still felt the burn over your shirt, cheeks feeling just as warm as he kept smiling that smile. There was a boy hovering behind him, smirking a little, brown eyes on both of you as he pretended that he wasn’t listening.

“Just wait until the kids arrive, you really gotta watch out for the ones that bite,” Eddie grinned when you laughed, hands shoved in his pockets and he hoped he didn’t look as flushed as he felt.

“Are you speaking from experience?” You asked him, feeling lighter than you had inside the cabin. The air smelled like pine and the creek you knew that flowed nearby. “Should I have made sure my shots were up to date before I came?”

“Oh yeah, rookie error, sweetheart,” Eddie grinned wolfishly, “it’s the little ones that’ll get you, the five year olds that can still reach your ankles.”

You snorted and suddenly you were pushing at his shoulder, hand on his bare skin and he was warm and soft under the tattoo ink and nonono, you weren’t supposed to be flirting.

So you cleared your throat and took a step back, eyes searching the moss at your feet and the forest seemed so much warmer than it was before. Before you could say anything else though - before you could dig yourself any deeper - the boy that seemed to be waiting for Eddie interrupted.

He had wild hair and a staff hoodie that had a girl's name stitched on the chest instead of his own and he was smirking.

“Uh, not to interrupt this little,” he waved a hand between the two of you, “thing, but if you want my help moving the amps, Eds, we gotta get it done soon.”

“I hope you can sense the irony in that, Harrington,” Eddie shot back and the other boy - Steve, you were sure - just grinned. “But yeah, I’ll get you at the van.” Eddie threw a set of keys at his friend and then it was just the two of you once more.

“So, uh, there’s a staff party tonight,” Eddie explained, bringing one arm up to mess with the curls at the back of his head, squinting down at you like the sun was too bright and he was too casual to care about the words he was saying. “S’usually down by the dock, the beer is shit but it’s free. I’ll see you there?”

The boy was looking at you so earnestly that you couldn’t possibly have said no. Big, brown eyes, lined with impossibly thick lashes that blinked prettily at you as he waited for an answer. It wasn’t until you heard too much birdsong from the tree canopy that you realised you were staring at him, lips parted and saying absolutely nothing.

Then you were nodding, trying hard not to smile too much because the boy’s grin was contagious and he was too pretty with the way the sun shone on him.

“Yeah,” you told him. “I’ll see you there.”

—————

The lake was framed with the stacked kayaks, the sand so much cooler now that the sun had dipped below the mountains along the horizon. There was a din of music, laughter, conversation dulled with the sound of the lake lapping at the shoreline and the idea of this space in the forest being your home for six weeks, didn’t seem so bad.

You wandered closer with arms crossed across your chest, wary and unsure of the unfamiliar faces and the smell of weed in the air that mixed with the pine needles. But a blonde girl that you recognised from the morning meeting caught your eye and waved, ponytail swinging as she walked over to you.

“Hey! Michigan, right?” She smiled, cheeks and lips a matching bubblegum pink.

“Uh, yeah. Apparently,” you smiled, not bothering to correct her, especially when she was handing you a red cup of something strong. You sipped, grimacing at the taste of cheap beer, lukewarm at best. “You’re Chrissy?”

You prayed you’d remembered right and when the girl grinned and nodded, you let out a sigh of relief.

“How’re you finding things?” Chrissy asked, nodding towards the small fire that someone had made on the sandy knoll, to the group of counsellors sprawled around it. “Did you get settled okay?”

You walked with her, edging around an old dock that seemed ready to sink into the bottom of the lake, waving shyly to the people who greeted you, the music too loud to really exchange anything more. You leaned into the blonde, mouth near her ear as you replied.

“Yeah, yeah— it’s been good!” You shrugged, somewhat unsure. “It’s different. Quiet.”

And it was. Your cabin was the last one in the row of counsellor homes, far away from the main offices and mess halls, almost hidden by the overgrown shrubs, wildflowers growing up the sides of the porch stairs. Everything outside was birdsong and the buzz of insects you couldn’t see, a tiny trickle of water from a creek that ran by the back wall window.

Chrissy smiled and patted your arm, “enjoy it while it lasts, the kids will destroy the peace soon.”

“Looking forward to it,” you said wryly and just as you went to take another long sip from your cup, the girl's eyebrows shot up and she tilted her chin to something behind you.

“Someone’s waiting on you.”

You turned, heart picking up in an embarrassing fashion as you spotted Eddie lingering by the dockside, a matching red cup in his hand as he spoke with Steve and another girl, who were debating animatedly about something you couldn’t hear. But he was watching you.

You looked from the boy and back to Chrissy, hoping you didn’t look as flustered as you felt and Chrissy grinned, nudging at your arm with her elbow.

“Go say hi,” she said and her voice was too sweet and small to sound commanding, but you did so anyway. “I’ll see you tomorrow? We can go over the gym schedule.”

You nodded, already walking across the sand to where Eddie was standing and you wondered if you imagined the way he pulled himself up a little straighter at your approach. He met you halfway, seemingly eager to get away from his two friends who were now too busy making out, hands pulling at each other's belt loops.

“Hi,” you smiled, wondering how he looked as pretty in the moonlight as he did under the sun.

“You made it,” Eddie greeted, tapping his cup against your own. “Makin’ friends?”

Eddie waved at Chrissy over your shoulder, ignoring how she looked at your back and winked, shooting him a thumbs up in response to a question he didn’t ask.

“Uh, yeah,” you nodded, following him as he led you both over to a dried out log that sat a little away from the fire - and an apparent audience. “Yeah, Chrissy seems nice.”

“She is,” Eddie agreed, sitting close enough to you that your legs brushed. It seemed to be accidental, ‘cause he flinched and moved a little, leaving enough room between you both that you felt the cooler nip of the night air. “Most of the guys here are.”

“Most?”

Eddie scrunched his nose in a very endearing show of disdain. “Jason is questionable,” he stage whispered to you, leaning back in so you could smell his cologne and campfire smoke that clung to him. “And Hargrove is more than questionable.”

You snorted, eyeing the boy in question. Billy Hargrove was lit up by firelight, a can of beer held to his lips and his denim jacket was almost too tight across his shoulders. He was blonde, blue eyed and dangerous looking, the kind of pretty that was too good to be true, the kind your mother told you to stay away from.

And with good reason, you noted, ‘cause the boy caught your gaze and even though he grinned, you realised there wasn’t much kindness behind those pretty baby blues.

“Yeah,” you agreed mildly, “I’ve been well warned about him. I’m not interested in knowing more.”

Eddie seemed a little surprised, hiding his smile behind his cup as he took a sip. There was a rolled up joint tucked behind his ear that he seemed to have forgotten about, curls less wild than earlier now the heat in the air has fizzled out, a too big sweater on top of his previously slashed up shirt.

“Not your type?” Eddie asked, aiming for casual. He was staring out at the lake, taking quick glances at you from the corner of his eyes as he waited for a reply.

You huffed out a laugh and it sounded more like a sigh, the boy noted and the smile you gave him was a tired around the edges. You dug the heel of your sneaker into the sand, kicked at a rock you unearthed and tried not to sound too self deprecating when you explained:

“No one’s really my type, right now.”

“Oh?”

You wondered if you misheard the disappointment in the boy’s voice, if Eddie really did look a little sadder than before when your gaze met his again. He was smiling, soft, eyebrows raised in question and his knee nudged your own.

“I’ve sworn off relationships,” you explained, shrugging. The memory of a boy you wanted to forget was still lingering in the corners of your thoughts and it made your skin itch. “Kinda over boys, nothing but trouble, unfortunately.”

Eddie grinned wryly, placing his empty cup at his feet and fiddling with the silver rings on his fingers instead. You tried not to stare but the moon and the surface of the lake was glinting off of them, making you gawk at long fingers and wide palms, tiny silver scars that lit up in the low light.

“Trouble, huh?” Eddie asked, head turned to you so you could see just how brown his eyes really were. “That’s a shame. I’m good at trouble.”

You inhaled on your drink, beer hitting the back of your throat at his words and you could feel the heat in your cheeks as you spluttered. Eddie was laughing quietly when you swiped the back of your hand across your lips and glared at him, embarrassment making your chest tight.

“No boys,” you told him, choosing to ignore his reply. You didn’t really know what to say to that, not without being able to drag him back to your bunk afterwards — and that was the opposite of the plan. “I need a summer to just… recalibrate.”

Eddie was still smiling and he nodded, everything about his soft and gentle and lit up by the stars. There was a dimple on his right cheek you wanted to put your lips on.

“Seems like a good plan,” he murmured, eyes flickering down to your lips and Jesus Christ, the night seemed as warm as the day next to Eddie. He brought a thumb to your chin, sliding upupup until the pad of it swiped at the corner of your mouth, wiping away a little drop of beer you’d missed.

You swallowed, hard.

“Still a shame though,” the boy told you, sighing dramatically, letting his hand drop away. Eddie stared back out to the lake, grinning when you frowned.

“It is?” You weren’t sure where he was going with this.

“Oh yeah,” Eddie assured you, nodding emphatically. Everything the boy said and did seemed to be dripping in drama, glitter and theatrics. It made you smile even when you didn’t mean to. “I had a plan, you see.”

It was your turn to seem intrigued, brows raised, shoulders leaning into him. “Oh?”

Eddie sighed again, just as playful as before, heavy and over exaggerated. “We were totally gonna fall in love,” the boy explained, trying hard to keep the smile off of his face, but his lips were turning up at the corners and his eyes looked like brown sugar, glittering and warm.

You scoffed, a sharp noise of surprise bursting from your chest and it made Eddie beam. He was all soft edges and softer eyes as he looked at you, ignoring the way his friends were watching, his gaze trained on the way you were grinning for him.

“We were?” You laughed — you’d forgotten to be shy, you’d forgotten you didn’t really know this boy, not yet.

But Eddie nodded again, curls springing, bangs falling into his eyes with the movement and you were closer again, knees brushing, toes of your shoes touching his in the sand.

“Totally,” he told you solemnly. “Was gonna be a whole thing, we had the meet cute, right?”

Your cheeks hurt from smiling, a lovely ache that reached your chest. You nodded, aiming to look as serious as the boy did but failing miserably. You remembered the way you’d slammed into each other, morning sun and a tumbling in your stomach that you didn't want to acknowledge. “Oh, of course,” you agreed.

“And then we were gonna spend all summer doing that totally annoying ‘will they, won't they’ thing, y’know? Maybe a couple of almost kisses, an interrupted moment or two—”

“—wow, you’re a real romantic, huh?”

Eddie ignored you, but his smile grew bigger. “—but I guess we’re gonna have to change up the script. Start off as friends, do that slow burn kinda shit.”

“We are?” You hated that you were still playing along. You hated that you were so close to the boy, that you liked the way he smelled, like smoke and cologne and cheap beer and the way the lake smelled at night. “Do I need to learn lines?”

Eddie’s grin changed to something softer, gaze falling from your eyes to your lips and back again, his cheeks pink and his dimples deepening. He shook his head. “Nah, you’re a natural.”

Eddie was all pink cheeks and soft smiles, honey brown eyes and curls that made him seem like he’d just rolled out of bed. But he was looking at you like a new friend, a new something and the smell of campfire smoke and damp moss was the new scent of home. It clung to Eddie like it did you and it made your brain a little fuzzy, it made you forget about home and ruined plans and nine to five jobs in brick buildings and boys who broke your heart.

This summer tasted like cheap beer and it felt like sand in your shoes, like sunburnt cheeks and a new kind of boy who seemed to like to make you smile.

For the second time that day - your very first day at Camp Upside Down - you were struggling to remember why swearing off boys had seemed like such a good idea.

I need you to need me.

The kids arrived that Saturday and brought chaos with them.

They poured out of the out of service school buses, sunshine yellow amongst the trees, parents cars filling up the usually empty parking lot. There was luggage everywhere, backpacks abandoned on benches and at the foot of trees, forgotten about as friends greeted old friends.

Chrissy had been right, it was loud. The sounds of the forest drowned out by shouts and chatter, the overlap of parents yelling at their kids about the importance of vitamins and bug spray, all whilst Hopper, Murray and Nancy stood near the unlit fire and tried to yell out names.

It was a little mad and you were clutching your own clipboard, a list of kids on it that you’d never met before and suddenly you were terrified that the bunch of preteens you were responsible for keeping alive would hate you.

The kids ran rampant, already hanging from tree branches and trading god knows what from the hidden depths of their backpacks and Christ, someone was blasting ‘Sex Machine’ by James Brown from a boombox no adult could actually find within the crowd.

As if he could sense your panic, Eddie appeared at your elbow. He greeted you with the same smile he had on the first day, that slow, soft spread of his lips that made you feel too warm. His hair was pulled back today, a haphazard bun that kept the heat away from his curls and you could see more of his face; strong jaw, the slants of his cheekbones, the line of his neck. He wore the same staff shirt as you, long sleeves rolled to the elbow with his name printed on the front of his chest and there were a few patches sewn underneath.

A guitar, a skull and crossbones and a small teddy bear.

You grinned, reaching a finger out to poke at the last one. “Cute,” you said in lieu of a greeting.

Eddie frowned, or at least you think he tried to. His lips were turned up at the corners, nose scrunched as he batted your hand away with no force behind it. He was standing close, close enough that you could smell the shampoo he must have used that morning, close enough that you could hear him over the roar of the camp.

“You couldn’t have noticed the more metal ones, huh, sweetheart?” he acted offended, chin tucked to his chest so he could peer at the red guitar stitched near his name.

“Not a chance,” you laughed and Eddie lifted his head at the sound, gaze landing on your mouth as if he could see your happiness. “Why the bear?”

“Because--” Eddie hummed, scanning his list of names before finding the culprit on your own sheet. “--This little guy called me Teddy for his first two summers.” He pointed to a name on the bottom of your paper, someone called Dustin Henderson.

“Even cuter,” you told him and he shrugged, cheeks pink and seemingly enjoying your attention.

Eddie stretched, all faux bravado and charm his side brushing your own and you tried hard not to stare at the way his shirt lifted, a slice of bare skin peeking out between it and his jeans. “I know,” he sighed dramatically, like it was a hardship. “Fallen in love with me yet?”

You snorted, an awful noise that should’ve made your cheeks flush with heat but Eddie only grinned wider.

“Not yet,” you told him and you rolled your eyes when the boy grabbed at his chest with two hands, as if your rejection wounded him.

“There’s still time,” his reply was quiet and close to your ear, a brush of a stray curl over your cheek that made you shiver. “Anyway, what hellspawn have you been left with? Need help?”

You were grateful for both the change of subject and the assistance, handing Eddie your clipboard when he held out his hand. He chuckled at the list and nodded to himself, scanning through the names before giving it back to you and smiling kindly.

“You’re gonna be fine,” he told you, “you’ve got a good bunch.”

You blew out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, smiling back at him, “yeah?”

“Oh, yeah,” the boy assured and he nudged your arm with his elbow, squinting through the sun and the mess of loud colours at the kids that swarmed the main camp area. “And if they give you any trouble, you can just tell them your friend Eddie will sort them out.”

His words warmed you more than they should and the word ‘friend’ sounded lovely on his lips.

“Friend?”

Eddie peered down at you from behind his bangs, curls hanging messily in front of his eyes and it made him look a little younger than he was. There was that smile again, the wide, slow stretch of his lips and it was warmer than the sun, the summer, the June heat lingering even in the early morning hour.

He looked at you as if you’d told him a joke and he scoffed, “uh, yeah? This summer romance has to start somewhere, sweetheart.” He said it lightly, prettily, soft enough that you didn’t really want to correct him.

Besides, he was joking. Wasn’t he?

But then he was gone, reappearing ten minutes later with a gaggle of kids that were apparently a part of your group, smiling triumphantly when you visibly sagged with relief. The campers were still chattering, but they dutifully raised one hand and yelled out some sort of confirmation when you called out their names.

Dustin Henderson.

Mike Wheeler.

Maxine Mayfield.

Erica Sinclair.

Janie Evans.

Adam Johnstone.

Eddie was walking back into the crowd to find his own kids just as Maxine was telling you that you were to call her Max and only Max. In fact, the redhead pointedly informed you she’d ignore you if you called her anything else. But you caught the boy’s gaze just before he disappeared, returning his wave with your own raised hand and you mouthed a quick ‘thank you.’

He winked and then he was gone, swallowed up by campers, parents with bags of medication and inhalers, lists of allergies and yells of the yearly battle of who had the top bunk.

—————

The second week went as quickly as the first, the kids were happy to get to know you, each one nosy and inquisitive, challenging and entirely too entertaining. You spent the afternoons in one of the wooden cabins by the lake, sheltered from the heat of the sun and covered in paint and glitter, guiding the campers through crafting sessions and hoping Max didn’t glue anyone else’s hand to a table.

(Mike was still cursing a small chemical burn and Murray had insisted you could handle it, ‘cause the man admitted he was quite frankly, terrified of the young girl.)

Breakfasts were rushed in the mess hall, a noisy start to every morning but you got to say hi to Robin as she slid you extra strawberries in your yoghurt and Nancy always saved you a seat beside her and Jonathan. Every now and then lunches could be had in solace, a sandwich and a stolen carton of OJ eaten at the lake, the sun making the water glitter, toes dipped in the shallows.

You got your bearings quickly, six days in and able to navigate the forest easily enough, from the gym hall to the last of the kids' bunks. You got used to the noise of the tannoy each morning, the moss that grew on almost everything you touched, the ever present smell of chlorine, sunscreen and bug spray.

It was best at night, you found, when the kids were asleep - or at least pretending to be - when all the lanterns and torches were off, when the stars were the brightest thing around and you could find fireflies by the shoreline.

And then there was the walk back to your cabin after dinner was done and the benches were cleared, after you and Steve had taken your turn at hosting story time around the fire pit and Robin’s s’mores had been demolished.

Most of the kids were sent to their cabins for down time, to play cards, read books, share mixtapes and swap the candy they’d hoarded from home. Some went to Nancy for summer school classes, learning Spanish and Calculus to make up for failed grades.

Others went to the cabin near your own, a small wooden structure that leaked out sounds and songs, guitar and piano and sometimes drums - some pretty, some questionably out of tune. But if you timed it just right, you’d walk by as the last of the kids were leaving, guitars on their backs and drumsticks in their hands, leaving Eddie on the small porch, lit up by the lamp inside.

And this night, you’d strolled by in the evening heat, warmth still lingering in the air that smelled like cedar and leftover smoke, passing Dustin and his guitar on the pathway. The young boy stopped you with an excited grin, sheet music in his hand and he pointed out each new chord that he was able to play.

It was easy to get caught up in his joy, his pride and you gushed over Dustin as he did his guitar. But you couldn’t ignore the feeling of eyes on your back, a heat that didn’t come from summer that was still trapped in the night.

When you sent Dustin off after messing up his curls with an affectionate hand, you turned to find Eddie, just like you knew you would. He was leaning on the porch railing, a lit cigarette hanging from his lips, an amber glow in the dark.

He wiggled his fingers at you in a wave, a smile hidden behind the smoke he breathed out. His curls were loose and wild, his staff shirt swapped out for a Metallica tee that was cut shorter across his stomach. More skin flashed between his top and his jeans and you couldn’t help the way your gaze faltered, looking down.

“Hey, new girl,” Eddie greeted and his voice was low and raspy from shouting intrusions at his students over the thrashing of bass drums and cymbals.

The air around you buzzed with cicadas and something else, something unknown but not unwanted, fizzed alongside it.

“Hey, city boy,” you called back and you felt admired from where you stood, Eddie a little above you on the porch, towering and broad and pretty. “Lessons over?”

Eddie grinned and stubbed out the cigarette against the wood, swinging himself around the post to come a little closer. He lingered by the door, hands shoved in his pockets. “Don’t have to be,” he smiled.

You told yourself it would be rude to not follow him, that friends could hang out and it didn’t matter that you thought he was too pretty for his own good. It didn’t matter that you liked his curls or his tattoos or the way he smiled at you each morning, it didn’t matter that you liked his silly teddy bear patch or the way he chased the younger kids around camp with a stupid ‘monster voice.’

It didn’t matter. No boys. That was your rule.

You could spend time with him, you could chat, hang out, maybe steal a smoke and listen to some music. You didn’t have to kiss him. You didn’t.

You didn’t.

The inside of the cabin was different from the larger one they held the main music workshop, the neat shelves of percussion instruments and chalkboard of music notes swapped for low light and a couple of chairs, a beanbag in the corner, a drum kit stacked by the door and some guitars and amps on an old paisley patterned rug.

It smelled like Eddie’s cologne, a little like smoke and rain, and there really, really wasn’t a lot of space. Eddie gestured to the chair across from him, sliding a tin out from underneath one of the amps stacked against a wall and he wiggled it at you.

“Can I interest you?”

You nodded with a grin, dropping down onto the chair and relishing in the way silence hugged the camp again. If you listened carefully enough, you could hear the lake lap at the shore, water against the moored kayaks and the whispers of the kids through open cabin windows. And then there was the flicker of a lighter, the sizzle of something burning and Eddie sighed, slow and soft.

“Long day?” you asked him, leaning in a little to take the joint he offered you and you tried really hard to not think about his lips when you place it between your own.

Eddie hummed, watching the way you took a drag, not as long and deep as his, but he smiled when you managed to blow the smoke to the ceiling without coughing. He was stretched out lazily on the chair that looked more suited to the kids than his lean frame and his spread knees almost knocked against your own.

“You could say that. Been chasin’ kids all day after Billy slept in and didn’t turn up for his hiking group and Hop’s been riding my ass about getting extra sign ups,” Eddie took the roll up back from you and smiled, looking at you from under his lashes in a way you’d become familiar with. “S’lookin’ up now, though.”

You tried to hold his gaze, you really tried. But those big, brown eyes still managed to pierce right into your soul and it made you dizzy, it made you feel too warm. You huffed out a shy laugh and ducked your chin, eyes on the floor just for a second - enough for you to try to collect yourself.

“Are you flirting with me, Munson?” you didn’t sound as bold as you wanted to, your words coming out softer, a little breathier.

But maybe it worked all the same, ‘cause Eddie had turned pink and was hiding behind his curls, joint forgotten about. He brought his fingers to his lips instead, rings glittering in the low light and he looked thoughtful, like he was deciding what to say.

“I’m trying,” he chuckled, “but honestly, I have no idea what I’m doing.”

You wanted to tell him it was working anyway, that he didn’t even need to try. ‘Cause it had been a week at Camp Upside Down, a week of knowing him and you were already too far gone on his charm and his hair and his smile and his teddy bear patch and--

“You remember my rule, right?” you said instead, trying to smile about it, like you weren’t cursing yourself and your ex for making you so opposed to even trying with another boy.

“Mmm,” Eddie hummed and nodded, bringing the half burned joint back to his lips so he could relight it. “You mean your ‘no boys, no fun, no summer fling’ rule?”

He grinned, smug.

“I never said I wasn’t going to have fun,” you protested. “I’m just-- planning on staying away from anything that can break my heart.”

The tone in the cabin shifted, the air in the small space becoming a little heavier but you didn’t feel suffocated. In fact, when Eddie stubbed out the joint in one of his empty coffee mugs and leaned onto his knees, you didn’t feel the need to do anything but move closer too. Your foot nudged his and one side of his mouth quirked up into a small smile, his eyes careful on you.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked quietly.

You shrugged half heartedly and watched the way the lights of the camp slowly started to switch off, one by one, until you and Eddie were the only ones still bathed in warmth. “Not much to tell,” you murmured, “not without sounding like a cliche.”

Eddie’s knee nudged against your own, deliberate this time, and it made you look over at the boy. He was smiling, kind and so lovely.

“I don’t mind cliches, remember?”

So you sucked in a breath and told him about life in Port Austin, how there were only really a few parks, the lake and a farmers market to look forward to on Sundays. You spoke about your job at Murphy’s Bakery on West Spring Street, how you volunteered at the gallery on weekends because you loved paintings and watercolours and wanted to go to an art school when you could afford it. You dropped your voice and tried to keep your tone light when you told him about the boy that stole your heart when you were fourteen and how he promised you the world when you were eighteen.

You really wished you still had the joint when you huffed out a laugh that held no humour and whispered how you found him in bed with a girl you used to be friends with when you were nineteen.

And then there was another year and a half of your mom trying to make you stay with him because his parents ran the town committee and how were they supposed to show face when you made such a scene in their yard? And ‘didn’t you want to get married? Didn’t you want to settle down and have a family? Did you really want to have to start again? Is art school really a productive use of your time?’

Eddie, for the most part, stayed silent as you spoke, only frowning when necessary. And when you were done and your cheeks were a little damp and you sniffed without meaning to, the boy slid his foot along yours and held it there, the silence deafening. Night had finally set and the air smelled like oncoming rain and the remnants of smoke and Eddie Munson offered you his hand.

You wondered what it meant, you wondered what to do but when you looked at his face, his expression was soft and kind and open. You took it, palm sliding against his own and his skin was warm and rough, rings cold, fingers littered with guitar string calluses and they curled around you.

His hand was so much bigger than your own but when he gave it a squeeze, it was the most gentle thing you’d felt. You sucked in a breath and felt it stutter and hitch in your chest, gaze finding his in the low light and he smiled at you, a little sadder than before.

“I’m really sorry that happened,” he whispered.

It was nothing but sincere, the way he said it. Sweet and lovely and quiet, and god, you believed him. So you sniffed again, a little embarrassed and you wiped at your cheeks and eyes with your free hand - you didn’t dare take your other one from Eddie, not yet.

You didn’t bother with the usual responses, none of the ‘it’s not your fault’s’ or ‘it’s alright.’

“Thank you,” you said instead, just as softly as Eddie had spoke, your smile a little watery. “M’sorry… I really didn’t mean to blurt all that out. You didn’t have to listen to it.”

Eddie’s smile was soft and understanding, and it made you so ache. He was looking at you with those big, brown eyes, shining with kindness and he was bold enough to not look away when you stared back. In fact, it only made him grin wider.

So you had to be the one to break the moment, break the spell, gaze shifting to the wooden cabin floor and you let out a sigh that felt too loud for the space. You sniffed one last time and dabbed your fingers under your eyes, erasing any evidence of upset. You tapped a foot against Eddie’s converse, your toe touching the doodles he’d inked out along the sole.

“What about you?”

Eddie eyes you somewhat suspiciously, corners of his lips lifted in a shy smile and without the joint, he started to twist his rings around each finger. You tried not to watch, breath caught in your throat ‘cause his hands were big and wide, his fingers long andandand—

“What about me?” Eddie asked.

“Well,” you shrugged, smiling, “we can’t all be hiding out in the middle of the forest ‘cause a guy broke our heart, right?” You blew out the breath you’d been holding and tried to act normal.

“How presumptuous of you, sweetheart,” Eddie’s grin was wicked and it made you flush, heat travelling from your cheeks to your neck. “But I guess you’re right, I’m just here for the money.” The boy swung a leg over the arm of his chair, slumping down low and he tipped his head back lazily, watching you from under his lashes. “And I s’pose the kids are alright.”

“You don’t wanna be hanging out in the city each summer?” You asked him, hoping you didn’t sound too nosy. The idea of a city as large as Philadelphia was foreign to you. “Aren’t you missing out on concerts and stuff?”

Eddie hummed and smiled at you in a way that made you feel shy, like he thought you were all kinds of cute. “And stuff, yeah,” Eddie agreed but then he was pulling at the ring on his thumb, a large skull and his brows furrowed. “It’s not as exciting as you’d think. It’s just my uncle and I - Wayne - we’re not exactly living the high life downtown, you know?”

You didn’t say anything, you just leaned in a little, silently coaxing the boy to keep speaking.

“My mum left when I was pretty young,” Eddie explained, “don’t remember her all that much, not really, sometimes it’s easier when I see a photo or something. She dropped me with Wayne and just… didn’t come back.”

Eddie sucked in a breath. “The dude that got her pregnant didn’t even hang around to see me being born, apparently,” he snorted but his laugh was humourless. “So he doesn’t get the title of dad.”

“That’s fair,” you replied quietly.

“We didn’t have much money when I was growing up,” the boy continued. “Still don’t, I guess. But I remember being, like eleven, and really wanting to go to summer camp. I was obsessed with the idea of climbing trees and learning new shit in the middle of nowhere.”

Eddie’s voice was lifting, gaining back that happy undertone and he was smiling again, a little shy, but it was there. His eyes glittered as he looked at you.

“Wayne couldn’t afford it but he would take me to the park and create these treasure hunts for me - hell, he taught me how to play guitar too, never yelled at me once and Christ, he should’ve, I used to annoy the shit out of that old man as soon as he got home from work.”

You laughed and Eddie beamed, eyes meeting in the brief silence and the summer air felt warmer than ever, the open door seemingly incapable of letting in what little breeze there was.

“So I guess I like it here,” Eddie admitted, “as much as I need the money too. I wanna help Wayne out, y’know? But it’s nice to be able to do it somewhere like this.” The boy gestured to the small room with its tower of amps and carpet of wires and sheet music like it was home.

You leaned onto your elbows, close enough to the boy that you could tap your fingertips to his knee, once, twice, a small smile on your face that reached your eyes and Eddie thought it was lovely, the way you looked at him like he had every ounce of your attention.

“I think that’s a really nice reason to be here,” you told him.

And god, Eddie wanted to kiss you. He wanted to kiss you really, really badly - ‘cause your hair smelled good and your eyes were real pretty and he was damn sure you were looking at his lips the same way he was looking at yours. But he was so aware of the heartache you had just shared with him, your self appointed rule of ‘no boys,’ and Eddie Munson was very much a boy.

Maybe even more man than boy, you’d argue. And perhaps that was worse.

So instead he pulled back and your hand dropped from his knee and it was enough to make him miss you. Eddie looked at you thoughtfully, head tilted, smile shy and his cheeks were still tinged pink and all of it was awfully endearing. You cleared your throat, suddenly self conscious and Eddie stood.

“C’mon, sweetheart, lemme walk you to your cabin.”

It was easy to say yes. It was even easier to walk close enough to Eddie that your shoulder bumped into his bicep, arms pressed together and hands painfully apart.

You whispered and laughed as you followed him through the forest, down the narrow trails that criss crossed through the camp like heartstrings. And when the ground got a little uneven and the night was too dark to see the roots that snuck out from the forest floor, Eddie’s hand cupped your elbow and everything about his touch was warm and rough and electrifying.

The camp was quiet and it seemed like the world was made just for the two of you, the lake sitting like glass on your right and the soft silence of the woods and the trees on your left.

He was pretty in the moonlight. Prettier when he stood at the bottom of your cabin steps with his hands behind his back as he smiled and said goodnight, like he couldn’t and wouldn’t trust himself to move closer to your door.

‘Cause standing outside on a porch in the dark with a pretty boy surely led to a goodnight kiss, didn’t it?

Didn’t it?

And just before you closed your door, on the moon and the forest and the boy, Eddie called out to you by your name and hid his grin behind his curls, rings glittering in the low light.

“Happy first week at camp, sweetheart,” he told you softly, sweetly and you grinned in return. “M’happy to have you as a friend.”

Your heart stuttered and dipped at his words, a pretty warmth spreading over your chest and cheeks and you were ready to reply in like. And then:

“Just don’t, y’know, yell at me when you do fall in love with me.”

You barked out a laugh and hid your grin behind your door, too big and too wide to let him see, because goddamn it, he was getting to you too easily.

“I’ll be sure to keep the yelling to a minimum,” you told him, voice mild and too casual.

Eddie shrugged, still smiling lazily, “it’s inevitable.”

You rolled your eyes and shook your head, the rejection softened by the way you grinned too, eyes fond and stuck on him. “Goodnight, Eddie.”

—————

“She makes me—” Eddie let out a strangled noise that ended in a sigh and Steve frowned. “I feel— fuck.”

“Use your big boy words, Eds,” Steve commented mildly and from behind him, lying on the boy’s bed, Hawkins flipped a page of her magazine and snorted.

Eddie has scrambled back to his cabin after standing before your closed door for a few seconds too long, eyes fond, his smile dopey and his heart beating a little too fast.

And it was like the forest knew how he felt ‘cause the insects buzzed a little louder and there was something in the air that made it feel like a storm was on its way. He found Steve at the desk they shared, headphones around his neck and music playing quietly through static. His girlfriend was on his bed, flat on her stomach and too busy with her reading to really look up at Eddie, but she seemed thoroughly amused by the whole situation.

“You know that song? The cheesy one? The one that’s like ‘I can’t fight this feeling anymore?’ That one?”

Steve blinked, staring at Eddie for a second before he smothered a smile with his hand. He coughed, hiding a laugh. “REO Speedwagon?”

Eddie threw himself onto his bunk and whined, dragging his palms over his face. “Yes,” he replied mournfully. “Every time I see her it’s like that song plays and the wind picks up and everything is in slow motion.”

“Does she suddenly have wings too?” Steve countered.

“Fuck you.”

Hawkins laughed again and instead of flipping another page, she groaned and stretched out, moving lazily to the desk chair that Steve occupied, throwing herself down onto her boyfriend’s lap.

“Have I missed something or is there a reason you’re not asking her to hang out?” The girl was staring at Eddie earnestly, one of her hands buried in the hair at Steve’s neck.

“We do hang out,” Eddie protested. “We just did.”

Hawkins rolled her eyes at the same time Steve did and Eddie wondered if being in love with someone made you as annoying as them.

“Like an actual date, Munson.” She shrugged and gave him a smile that told Eddie she knew she was being annoying. “Some people brush their hair for it, maybe wear jeans without holes in the knees.”

Eddie huffed and let himself roll across his bed, face squished to his pillows to muffle his low groan of despair. For good measure, he kicked his feet against the mattress too. Finally, he resurfaced, cheeks pink and a little downturned and he said to his friends a little mournfully:

“She doesn’t date. Or, I guess, she doesn’t want to date.”

Steve looked perplexed. “Why?”

Eddie heaved himself up and sat against the wooden headboard, kicking his sneakers off until they thudded to the floor. “Uh, there was a shitty ex,” he explained. “Which I totally get… I just wish— I don’t know.”

Hawkins threw a pen at him, soft enough that it barely bounced off of his thigh but Eddie still sent her a look of offence.

“Ow.”

“Shut up,” the girl huffed. “You better not be pestering her, Eds, if she said she’s not interested—”

“I’m not!” Eddie defended himself. “I’m not. I just like to remind her that she’ll eventually fall in love with me. Eventually.”

Steve choked on a laugh and tried to cover it when his girlfriend frowned at him.

“Eddie!”

“What?” The boy answered petulantly. “I’m not serious about it,” Eddie lied, “I’m being, like, totally cute, s’fine.”

His two friends levelled him with a stare.

“And besides! I like hanging out with her. She’s cool. And pretty and funny and she— it’s fine,” he repeated, almost to himself. “We’re just friends.”

Despite the conviction Eddie said it with, neither of the three people in the cabin believed him.

I’d love you to love me.

The third week brought a split lip, a sprained wrist and thunderstorm that lasted two days

The kids were more than antsy with having to spend most of their time indoors as the rain flooded the camp grounds, the banks of the lake tested as the water kept rising and the winds shook the trees. Leaves lived permanently in the air, whirling on the harsh gales, branches scratching at cabin windows like the soundtrack of a bad scary movie.

So some activities doubled up, with more than the normal amount of campers crammed into cabin classrooms instead of being out on the lake or taking hikes into the mountains.

It’s why you and Nancy were nearing your limit with over forty kids inside the arts centre, the summer air still humid enough to make the room sticky and heavy, to make everyone cranky and uncomfortable. The rain of the metal roof was a musical reminder of how there was no chance of escape.

There were wars over glue sticks, more paint on the floor than on any paper and half way through the activity block, Argyle squelched in with another fifteen kids, all soaking wet and clutching wooden bird boxes in various stages of completion.

“Cabin four is leaking, my dudes,” he explained with a smile.

And that’s how Max tripped over Will’s bird feeder, how she slipped on some spilled watercolours and went careening into a kid named Josie. Josie had wire framed glasses that were entirely too big for her tiny head and Max’s lip got caught and split on the corner of them.

With blood dripping down her chin and a smattering of colours on her bare knees and jean shorts, she looked a little startled, eyes wide at the red that came away when she wiped her fingers over her mouth.

But Mike Wheeler was fourteen years old and a boy, which meant that Mike didn’t really know how to act in public yet and when he laughed at Max, the girl responded by shoving him into a shelf full of paint cans and pots of glitter.

So the classroom was in chaos, Will was mourning his broken bird feeder, Max was bleeding and enraged and Mike was clutching his wrist that he claimed was broken all while pink and lilac glitter poured from his hair.

When the tannoy rang out at one o’clock, you sighed in relief and watched as the kids ran out the door towards the mess hall, the smell of pizza pockets and macaroni and cheese making the campers scamper happily through mud filled puddles and towards the large building.

Argyle wandered out after them, slow and lazily, like the rain that still poured didn’t really bother him and he didn’t seem to care that much when Dustin jumped into a puddle at his side and splashed mud up his slacks.

You and Nancy worked diligently to clean up the mess left behind, crawling under tables to retrieve forgotten paint brushes and pens that were missing lids. But you’d barely managed to make a dent in the chaos before Hopper’s voice crackled through the tannoy system.

“Can Hawkins report to the office, please,” the gruff voice was muffled between static. “—hit, Hawkins one, the good one, the first one… Nancy. Can Nancy report to the office.”

The girl rolled her eyes as she stood but there was a fondness there that told you she didn’t really mind, years of working for Hopper making her more than familiar with his bad habit with remembering names.

“Pretty sure he wants to go over next week's schedule,” Nancy told you, brushing glitter from her knees. “I’ll be as quick as I can, okay? Sorry to leave you with all of this.”

The girl did look regretful, brows pinched as she gestured to the mess around the room that only seemed to grow as more paint leaked out from tipped over pots.

You shook your head and smiled, “it’s fine, don’t worry. I’m alright on my own, mess hall duty can't be that much tidier, right?”

Nancy snorted a quiet laugh and hummed in agreement, “put it this way, lunch time clean up is usually reserved for punishments.”

“Poor kids,” you mused, crawling over to scoop up a fallen bucket of stickers and felt sheets.

“Oh, not the kids,” Nancy smiled wryly. “Just ask Steve or Hawkins, I’m sure they’d love to tell you.”

Leaving you confused, the girl left, clipboard in hand and you watched out of the rain streaked window as she ran across camp, daintily avoiding the muddy puddles that were already getting larger as the storm rolled on. So you stayed on the floor, bare knees a little cold on the old linoleum and you were swearing softly at a bright blue patch of paint that didn’t seem to want to budge.

You didn’t hear the door open again, not over the sound of the rain hammering down on the roof. In fact, you didn’t hear anything until someone let out a low whistle and started to speak.

“Unless one of the little demons suddenly got real talented, you weren’t kidding about art school, huh?”

You narrowly missed bumping your head on the table edge as you shot up at the sound of Eddie’s voice, heart hammering and stomach flipping in that way you were still trying to ignore.

The boy was perched against the edge of one of the small tables, legs crossed at the ankles and a too big sweater swallowing him whole. He looked cosy, the cotton a deep maroon and it had the camp logo on the chest, a small tear at the collar and leftover spots of rain over the shoulders. Eddie held up a notepad that you thought you’d placed face down, but he was showing you your own drawings.

“Architecture,” Eddie was scanning over the sketches of buildings and parkways, tiny trees inked out in black, dotted with what little green paint you could sneak from the kids. “I didn’t expect that.”

You blinked at him, still kneeling on the floor with glitter on your palms, paint on your knees. You lifted a hand and brushed back your hair, blowing out a breath with how flustered you suddenly felt. The large cabin felt warmer than ever and the rain only seemed to get louder.

It felt like the forest belonged to only the two of you.

“Uh, yeah.” You nodded awkwardly, feeling shyer than you expected at the sight of your work in Eddie’s hands. It was hardly a portfolio, just a few quick sketches you were able to manage between squabbles over paintbrushes and stolen pens, but it was something. “Most people don’t.”

“You’re good,” Eddie replied and his voice was the most serious you’d heard it. But he was still smiling, corners of his mouth lifted as he scanned over the paper, pinky finger tracing the outline of a building that had wild ivy growing up the brick. “Really good. So, art school, huh?”

You nodded and clambered to your feet as gracefully as you could, leaning against the table across from the boy. If you stretched out your legs enough, the toes of your sneakers almost touched his boots.

“That’s the plan,” you said and gestured to the camp in all its messy glory, mud and rain and paint and glitter. “I’m hoping this place can get me enough cash to even consider it.”

Eddie placed the book back on the desk with the same care you’d watched him handle his guitars with and the sight of it made your chest ache.

“Which one?”

The question made your brow furrow, ‘cause so many other people in your life had asked the same question - albeit with a lot more exasperation and condescension than Eddie had. But you gave him the same answer you’d given your parents and your senior year guidance counsellor and shit, even your ex.

You have a half shrug, eyes to the floor and picked at a fingernail. “I don’t really know yet.” You looked up at the boy and found him looking right back at you, brown eyes soft and warm. “To be confirmed.”

Eddie nodded slowly, pushing off the table and shoving his hands into the pocket on the front of his sweater. He stretched it down over his hips, grinned at you playfully and the mood inside the cabin lifted considerably, like he’d meant it to.

“You know,” he mused, “there’s a great art school in Philly. One of the best, in fact.” Eddie raised his brows at you suggestively, all whilst doing his best to play coy - you weren’t sure how he managed it, but he pulled it off.

You let out a laugh, rolling your eyes at him in a way that now seemed to be routine. “Is that right?” You asked him, putting on the same overly casual voice he had. “How strange, isn’t that where you live?”

Eddie gasped, ripping a hand from his pocket to grab at his chest instead, damp curls bouncing as he took another step towards you. “Holy shit, you’re right, I do live there.”

You were grinning, not that you had any control over it and Eddie was beaming right back, moving so he could stand in front of you, finally toe to toe. He kicked softly at your sneaker, looking at you fondly from under his lashes.

“What a coincidence,” he murmured softly.

“You’re flirting with me again,” you replied just as quietly and you tried to sound admonishing but your words came out just a little too breathily.

He was too close.

You watched him lick at him bottom lip, tongue peeking out for just a half second but it kept your heart ticking on a too fast beat for much, much longer.

“If I was flirting,” Eddie started to say, speaking slowly, voice a drawl, as if he were picking his words carefully. “I’d tell you about this nice little spot round the corner from mine. How I’d take you there between classes, split a cheese steak and let you show me all your badass work.”

You were entranced, eyes bush tracing the shapes his lips made as he spoke, the dimple that came and went on his left cheek when he tried not to smile between words.

“You’d graduate in the summer…” the boy mused and his voice picked up a little, lips stretching out into that wide smile you’d come to love. “We could totally have a fall wedding. I was thinking about early October?”

The spell was broken and you barked out a laugh, a hand shoving at the boy’s shoulder and Eddie grinned at the sound, letting you tip him backwards before he caught himself and acted wounded.

“You’re an idiot, Eddie Munson,” you told him but there was affection laced behind the jab and Eddie could hear it, his chest swelling at the sound.

“But autumn tones suit me so well,” he quipped back and he laughed when you shook your head and moved past him, hiding your amusement by picking up ripped paper that hadn’t quite made it to the trash.

“What a shame, I think I’m a spring,” you sighed dramatically and you didn’t have to look over your shoulder to know the boy was grinning. You could feel it, it lit up the room, it made you feel warm. “Guess it wasn’t meant to be.”

Eddie snorted and pushed himself back onto the table, narrowly avoiding a wet splat of blue paint. “Well, if you won’t come to Philadelphia, how about Chrissy’s cabin tonight? Staff get together.” Eddie enticed, legs swinging. “More shit beer, Steve’s awful taste in music and probably some weed if Jonathan and Argyle manage to get into town after dinner.”

“More shit beer?” You repeated, gasping dramatically as you made your way back over to him. You tapped at his boot with your shoe, like you weren’t able to help yourself from reaching out to touch him in some way. “How shitty?”

“Like, the shittiest beer you’ve ever had,” Eddie replied, “very room temp, some would say warm. Definitely flat and the label probably has some questionable tagline on it.”

You were smiling and so was the boy, too warm and too close and Jesus Christ, had you been moving forward? Eddie’s boots brushed your shins and if you took another step, you’d be between his legs that he had most definitely spread for you.

“How could I say no to that?”

Eddie shrugged, his smile all coy, cheeks a little pink and he was looking at your lips when he replied softly, “how could you say no to me?”

Your lips parted, breath caught in your chest and god, did he hear the way it hitched? Could he hear the way your heart rattled against your rib cage? Surely he could, it felt louder than the storm.

He didn’t let you reply, not that you knew what to say, not that you could seriously articulate words. Eddie was still smiling, looking as flustered as you felt, like he hadn't meant to flirt, like he didn’t know what to do now that he had.

Eddie gestured to your cheek, unsure, pulling back just before he touched you. His gaze was settled on the curve of your top lip and he swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing.

“You have, uh, some paint,” he murmured, “little dot… just there.”

You wiped at your cheek with the back of your hand, suddenly self conscious, wondering what kid managed to splatter you with god knows what colour. You caught your lip, bringing your hand back still clean and you looked at Eddie.

The boy still looked so unsure, a different kind of shy, but he tilted his chin and said, “c’mere.”

You weren’t sure how you heard him over the rain, the roll of thunder, the way the world outside seemed to roar for you both, like the forest was excited, waiting, watching.

You moved, hips bumping into Eddie’s knees as he coaxed you forward, a cautious hand on your chin, holding you still so his thumb could smooth over the spot of paint, the pad of it grazing your top lip.

Eddie’s touch was slow and soft, careful with it, his eyes lowered as he watched what he was doing and you were almost sure he was holding his breath.

You were.

“Got it,” Eddie whispered but his hand was still on your cheek, thumb resting on your chin and he was staring at your lips again, eyes hooded and a dark honey.

You made a quiet noise, maybe an agreement, maybe a thanks, maybe you were just disappointed, but neither of you moved away. Your own hands rested on Eddie’s knees, soft, worn denim under your palms and Eddie murmured your name like a question, head tilting forward—

The door bounced against the wall as it opened, the wind blowing rain and some stray twigs inside, causing you to stumble backwards, your eyes as wide as Eddie’s.

Murray was standing in the doorway, dripping wet from the rain, glasses smeared with water and he sighed, disgruntled. He flicked his arms out from his body, rain splattering to the cabin floor as he inspected both of you with suspicion.

Nose wrinkled, he appraised you from over his thick glasses: Eddie’s pink cheeks, the way you couldn’t look at anything but the floor.

“No,” the older man barked out, indignant. “No, I’m not doing this shit again, for Christ’s sake.”

Murray turned, leaving the way he came with no explanation to his appearance in the first place. He wrestled with the door handle, the old wood sticking in its frame and he cursed. “You’re all rampant. Goddamn kids and - Christ, this door - and their hormones, it’s like living with animals.”

The door finally shifted and slammed, shutting out Murray and the storm, the only evidence he’d been there was a puddle on the floor and some leaves that had blown in, sticking to the streaks of spilled paint.

Eddie looked at you, heart still thudding in his chest, only to see you busy tidying once again, head ducked down so he couldn’t meet your gaze.

Whatever had been going to happen, was over.

—————

Unfortunately, Jason Carver was the one to open the door to Chrissy’s cabin. You hadn’t seen much of the blonde boy around camp - not that you had minded - as he spent most of his shifts at the lake and preferred to disappear into town at night with Billy.

But he held the door as you and Robin walked in, arms full of the leftover pizza slices the other girl had managed to sneak from the kitchen as she finished dinner service.

“New girl,” he greeted, taking the time to rake his eyes over your frame instead of helping with the Tupperware. “Buckley. Still not like dick?”

“Go fuck yourself, Carver,” Robin shot back, rolling her eyes and ushering you into the room, dumping the food onto Chrissy’s desk. She grabbed two beers from the obnoxiously large stash, passing them both to Steve to open with the car keys he fished from his pocket.

“Shame,” Jason called back over the low music, ignoring the way Chrissy swatted at him, cheeks pink with embarrassment as she tried to get him to stop. “You and your friend could’a kept me company later.” His beady eyes settled on you, mouth curled into a smirk. “Gets cold at night, doesn’t it?”

Steve coaxed the beer back into your hand, one arm thrown around his girlfriend’s shoulders and he shook his head at you, grimacing. “Ignore him, he’s swallowed too much lake water or some shit.”

Robin took a swig of her own drink and smirked, nudging a friendly hand to Steve’s shoulder as she said, “we’re ignoring assholes now, huh, Harrington?”

There was a private joke, a hidden story you didn’t know there, and Hawkins grinned too, covering her smile with her cup.

“His fighting days are over,” she declared, pushing a hand to the boy’s cheeks with such affection that it made you feel like you shouldn’t look.

Steve scoffed, all false bravado. “Says who?”

His girlfriend smirked and squeezed at his chin a little firmer, just until his lips fell into a pout and she was able to tug him down to her for a kiss. “Me,” she told him as she pulled away and Steve just grinned, no argument left in him.

“Are we talkin’ about how whipped Stevie is?” Eddie appeared at your side, a beer already in hand as he grinned and dodged the other boy’s fist, snorting when it skimmed his shoulder.

You tried not to react when his arm brushed your own, when everything suddenly smelled like smoke and rainwater and Eddie. He hadn’t looked at you, in fact, he was actively trying not to, his curls hiding his eyes and when you turned to him just slightly, he ducked his head and took a long pull from his drink.

“Always,” Robin replied, matter of factly and she grinned at you as if to include you in these plans. “Where have you been, anyway?”

Eddie took another swig from his beer, gulping down the amber liquid almost too enthusiastically for how shit it did actually taste. He was stalling.

“Uh, private lesson,” he explained grimacing. He still wasn’t looking at you. “Ran a little over.”

It was a lie, it was a huge lie - you knew it - and the truth made your face burn. ‘Cause Eddie had stood frozen after Murray had left, watching you carefully from where he was still by the table, chest hammering.

He’d been so sure you’d almost kissed him. He was almost positive you had been leaning into him the same way he tilted his chin down to you. But the door had slammed, Murray had yelled and left and the silence that had taken over was more deafening than the rain on the roof.

So Eddie had coughed a little awkwardly and waited for you to stop cleaning up the mashed glue stick from the carpet and look at him. You’d stopped, sure. You’d even stood up from where you’d been kneeling but you didn’t quite meet the boy’s eye. And when he asked you:

“What just happened?”

You had toed at a forgotten pencil case and shrugged, your hands in the pockets of your shorts and replied, “nothing just happened, Eddie.”

And even though you still didn’t lift your gaze from the floor, Eddie had nodded, lips downturned and eyes sad, before he muttered something that sounded like ‘sure’ and left.

You’d watched him walk away from the camp, away from the direction of the music workshop and the canon where he held his lessons. In fact, despite the rain, he walked towards the lake, his hood pulled up over his head and his hands shoved in his pockets, the maroon fabric turning darker and darker the further he got from you.

And now he was standing next to you in the small circle you and his friends had created and he was trying so hard to pretend he couldn’t feel your bare arm pressed against his own, that he couldn’t smell the perfume he knew was yours.

He took another gulp of his beer, lukewarm and bordering on sour and he could sense your gaze on him. He caught Steve’s eye instead and his friend quirked a brow, gaze searching between him and you, questioning.

Eddie shook his head, an almost barely noticeable movement but you lifted your beer to your lips, making your arm brush Eddie’s and the boy went pink.

Steve started humming the opening bars of REO Speedwagon.

Eddie glared.

But then Billy was pushing into the small circle, all blonde curls and sharp, blue eyes, his smile even sharper. He clapped Eddie on the shoulder and wrapped an unfamiliar arm around yours, squeezing you into his side. Across from you, Steve and Hawkins scowled, busying themself with grabbing some cold pizza slices.

“Truth or dare,” Billy announced and he smelled like smoke and whisky, a far cry from the cheap beer everyone else had been left with. “C’mon assholes, look alive.”

Eddie shrugged the boy off and took another beer that Steve offered, eyes hard and staring at the floor as Billy kept his arm around you. You were too polite to move away, too conscious of all the eyes that were on you but you huffed out a laugh and asked:

“Truth or dare? Isn’t that kinda childish?”

Chrissy’s cabin was cast in little light, only a few lamps emitting a low, too warm glow and Billy looked positively dangerous in the shadows as he grinned at you. He tutted and moved to sweep a stray lock of hair away from your face, acting sweet for you.

“Not the way I play it, darlin’,” he grinned, all teeth and bad intentions and from beside you, Robin pretended to gag.

“Gross,” she muttered.

“Revolting,” Hawkins agreed and when Billy scoffed at her, she flipped him the bird and leant against Steve, her back to his chest.

“That’s a little mean of you, isn’t it, princess?” Billy pouted at her, “considering I’m the damn reason you two are together.” He pointed a finger at the girl and Steve, looking smug.

The rest of the room groaned, as if Billy taking credit for this was a regular occurrence.

Again, you felt like you were missing out on a joke that you weren’t privy to, an inside story from a summer that wasn’t yours. So you turned to Billy and raised a brow, questioning.

“What?” You asked, just as Steve pinned Billy with a stare and said:

“Don’t call her princess.”

But Billy ignored him and kept his arm around you, grinning wider than ever and he leaned in just a little, enough for you to smell his cologne and the nicotine that stuck to his lips.

His voice was all flirt, a soft drawl that made Eddie's nostrils flare. “Haven’t you heard?” Billy asked and he looked at you like he wanted to sneak a bite, like he wanted to know what you tasted like. “I’m practically Cupid.”

The rest of the group snorted and scoffed, all varying sounds of derision but Billy ignored them and just kept smiling, looking too handsome for his reputation, all the stories you’d been told about him.

“Got your eye on someone, Sugar? I can shoot an arrow or two, see if it sticks,” he winked and god, you didn’t mean it, you couldn’t help it.

Your gaze flickered to Eddie and fucking hell, he was finally looking back at you too. Billy’s grin turned bigger, wider, sharper. Neon signs flashed in your head and you swore you could hear your mothers voice. Danger! Warning! Retreat!

“Well ain’t that interesting,” he smirked, finally letting go of you. He stole your beer instead, wrapped his lips around the neck and drained the rest, smirking and wiping at his mouth when Steve muttered something that sounded like, ‘fuckin’ prick.’

“You sweet on the new girl, huh, Munson?” Billy was outright sneering now, turning to Eddie to poke and prod until he broke.

“Get fucked, Hargrove,” Eddie replied lazily, his voice a soft drawl as he leaned against Chrissy’s desk but you could see the way his eyes narrowed, the way his shoulders were set.

Everyone in the cabin was silent now, eyes on Eddie and Billy as the blonde boy took a step forward and smiled, baring his teeth in a way that could only be taken as a challenge. Your skin prickled.

“Truth or dare, Teddy bear?” Billy whispered.

“I’m not playing,” Eddie grunted back.

“Ooh, forfeit,” Jason laughed from the door, “toilet block duty for a week, Munson, better tie your hair up.”

But neither boy listened, both Eddie and Billy still squaring up to each other, eyes narrowed and jaws set. You looked at Steve, silently asking him to do something but Steve seemed to be waiting for the exact time he needed to jump in.

“Hey now,” Billy murmured to Eddie, all soft condescension and false friendliness. He looked back at you and licked across his bottom lip, glittering eyes giving away his true intentions. “If you don’t wanna play, I’m sure someone else will happily give her a little bit of attention.”

“Grow the fuck up, Billy,” Robin snapped and her hand slid over your wrist, guiding you towards the door. “Let’s just hang out in my cabin,” she told you softly.

“Aw, c’mon!” Billy jeered, holding his arms out like he was surrendering. The majority of the room shook their heads at him, not ready to entertain his antics. “I’m Cupid, remember? Y’gotta trust the process.”

The music stuttered and the tape got stuck, the last few notes of whatever Blondie song fizzing with static before it stopped, just as Eddie slammed down his beer and shouldered past Billy. He walked straight towards you, his eyes on yours for what seemed like only the second time that night.

You saw something wild in them, something new and something different. You realised then that Eddie Munson didn’t do well with being challenged, and with the way Billy was still smirking behind him, it seemed like he knew that too.

So the thudthudthud of Eddie’s boots on the cabin floor matched your heart beat and Robin let go of your wrist as the boy approached. He’d taken his sweater off from earlier but he still smelled like the storm, like leftover rain and pine from the forest, like a burnt out campfire, a little like a new home.

The toes of his boots touched your sneakers and you had to tilt your chin up a little to meet his gaze. He looked torn, kind of panicked, pretty in the way he always did but he’d lost the softness that he’d gazed at you with earlier, with paint on your face and glitter pressed to your palms.

You thought he was going to kiss you.

His eyes dropped to your lips and nobody spoke, but you heard Billy let out a huff of laughter, a dark chuckle that made your stomach dip and you weren’t supposed to let this happen, even if it was just a stupid game, ‘cause fuck — Eddie was never going to be a hangover and a bad decision you’d try to forget the next day.

He was standing too close.

You steeled yourself, wondering if you’d be mad if he kissed you like this. If he kissed you at all. Would you be more angry if he didn’t? This wasn’t supposed to happen like this. This wasn’t supposed to happen at all.

You felt yourself closing your eyes, lashes soft on your cheeks, just for a second.

And then he was gone.

—————

Eddie was sitting outside of his cabin.

The party was long over and you’d stayed behind with Robin to help Chrissy tidy up, keeping your head down as Billy swept past, a leftover beer in his hand and a satisfied smirk on his lips as he got into a car with Jason.

And when you walked through the forest, hearing the whispers of the kids in the cabins as you passed, you noticed a tiny light on the porch steps, the orange red dot of the end of a cigarette in the dark. Eddie stood when you approached, stubbed the end of the smoke out on the railing and stuffed his hands in his pockets.

Nerves rolled off of him in waves and he took a step forward, old leaves and pine cones crunching under his boots. You shook your head and kept walking, the light from your own cabin a warm glow only a few dozen feet away.

“Hey, hey, listen,” Eddie coaxed softly, “can we talk?”

“I’m tired, Eddie,” you began, still taking slow steps towards your own home.

(And embarrassed and confused and frustrated, but you didn’t say that.)

“We’ll talk tomorrow, yeah?” But then you made the mistake of stopping and looking back at the boy and he was all soft curls and softer eyes, sad and glittering.

He caught your wrist, a gentle hand with careful fingers and his touch was warmer than the night. You looked down, watched his thumb rub at the back of your palm and suddenly you weren’t as sleepy as before.

Maybe Eddie could sense the sway in you, maybe he was already a little too in tune with the way your body leaned into his. His hand slipped down, fingers skimming over your own and he wasn’t quite holding your hand but it felt just as nice, just as lovely. Eddie pinched your thumb between two of his fingers, looked up at you through his lashes and smiled, too sweet.

“Can we talk?” Eddie tried again. “Please?”

So you nodded because it was getting harder and harder to say no to the boy, to keep away from the boy - and you knew deep down that you were more angry at yourself than at him. ‘Cause you kept breaking your own rules and you knew fine well that you would’ve let Eddie kiss you. And to be mad at him for doing exactly what you asked him to - to be friends - wasn’t fair in the slightest.

But he was smiling now, soft and lovely, too sweet to seem real and his hand moved to cover your own and it left you wondering for the hundredth time: would it really be that awful to break some rules?

Eddie led you away from the cabins, hand in yours, fingers tangled in a way that made your skin feel too warm and you were both tripping through the trees in the dark until Hop’s office lights lit up the ground and you could see Eddie’s van parked a just away from the edge of the clearing.

He fished out his keys from his pocket, wiggled them in the air and quirked his brows. His hand was still in yours and you wondered if he could feel your heartbeat through your fingertips, if you were looking at him the same way he was looking at you.

Earnest, hopeful, with too much fondness.

“Wanna get out of here?” Eddie asked quietly.

You chanced a look at the cabin behind you, the warm glow from the window letting you both know that Hopper was still up, maybe even Murray and Joyce.

“Are we allowed?”

Eddie smiled, a soft grin that made your stomach flip ‘cause it was full of nothing good, all mischief and trouble. The night seemed so much warmer, like it was filled with more than just summer, more than the linger heat of the sun. You wondered if it was possible for another person to make you feel like this, like teenagers at your high school locker, nerves like the anticipation of a first kiss behind an oak tree, a passed note that you kept in your drawer for years and years and years.

He shrugged, too nonchalant. “No,” came the reply.

You bit your lip to try and hide the grin you gave back, unprepared for the feeling of complete and utter excitement that clawed at your stomach at his words. Eddie’s hand tightened around yours.

“Okay,” you whispered back.

It felt like a daydream when Eddie helped you clamber into the front of the van, the inside still stuffy and warm from the afternoon spent sitting in the sun and it smelled like him. Like coffee and rain and smoke and spice, and you grinned at the mess on the floor. An old sweater, the lanyard that was stitched with the camp's logo that only Nancy wore, wrapped around the stick shift. There was an open box of guitar picks on the console, a couple empty cans of soda, sheet music with footprints on it, one drumstick, too many cassette tapes - none in their cases - to count.

But every inch of the space screamed EddieEddieEddie and it consumed you. You didn’t hesitate to shuffle over to the middle of the bench when the boy sat behind the wheel, close enough that your thigh almost touched his.

You shouldn’t have.

You didn’t need to.

You couldn’t help yourself.

He rolled the windows down as he pulled out of the car park, the headlights off until he reached the main road and neither of you heard Hopper’s truck screeching after you.

Despite the late hour, there was still a pink tint to the sky, barely there and only making the horizon glow, a leftover streak of colour from where the sun had sunk. The rest of the night was dark, inky black and littered with stars and when the van picked up speed, warm air funnelled through the front of the cab and it picked at you and Eddie’s hair.

You didn’t know where you were going. You didn’t ask. God, you found that you didn’t really care.

So you let the wind cool down your sun warmed skin and you smiled when Eddie hit the button for the radio, a song coming on soft and low, an acoustic guitar and lyrics that were much sweeter than you expected. Neither of you said much, but Eddie tapped out a beat on the steering wheel and your gaze went between his profile and the trees that blurred at the side of the road.

You drove until the wilderness became a little more tamed, until the darkness fed into streetlights and the roads got a little bigger. Toy sized towns sprung up from the forests, gas stations with two pumps, sleepy sidewalks and neon signs that flickered in the night.

Eddie pulled up to a diner, one with wrap-around windows and red, leather booths, an aquamarine sign that flashed ‘OPEN 24/7.’ It was easy to follow him into the building, to get swallowed up by the smell of fries and coffee. The floors were a little sticky and the waitresses looked tired, the three other diners barely glancing back at you both as the bell above the door signalled your arrival.

The boy ordered two milkshakes, one chocolate and one strawberry and he batted away your hand as you tried to push some dollar bills into his. There was a smile on his face as he did it, soft lips and soft curls and even softer eyes, and he gave no explanation as he took the large cups from over the counter and headed back outside.

“You not letting me pay seems an awful lot like a date, Eddie,” you called out across the parking lot.

He barely looked back at you as he headed to the van, a soft laugh caught in his throat as stood in front of the driver’s side door and grinned. When he did turn to face you, he looked like trouble, holding up the two shakes as he nodded down to his waist.

“Grab the keys for me, sweetheart?”

It sounded like another dare.

You could’ve taken a milkshake from him. You really could’ve. In fact, all common sense told you that that’s exactly what you should’ve done. But you took a step forward and then another and another, toe to toe with the boy until you were both bathed under the aquamarine light, Eddie’s cheeks shades of pink and blue.

Maybe he didn’t think you’d do it. Maybe he was only joking.

But he held his breath and you could feel the air change when you curled your fingers around his jeans pocket, tugging a little cause the denim was too tight and Christ, you could feel the expanse of his thigh underneath when you fished for the car keys, the metal jingling in the quiet. He stared at you the entire time, sugar and strawberries filling the air and you gazed right back, chin lifted up to meet his eyes almost defiantly.

You weren’t sure what you were trying to prove, but you were pretty sure it was the opposite of what you were supposed to be doing.

The lock clicked and you didn’t look at Eddie as you walked to the other side, climbing back into the van that suddenly felt so much smaller than before. You kept your back to the passenger door this time, further away from the boy who was looking at you like he was scared you might take up cross country in order to get back to camp.

He offered you both shakes, smiling and nodding when you took the strawberry with a quiet thank you. You both drank in silence for a minute or two, the parking lot emptying of what little vehicles remained and when the clock on the dash hit two, you and Eddie were alone.

“Are you mad at me?” Eddie eventually asked, soft and a little apprehensive, looking over at you with worry in his eyes. “For not kissing you?”

Your breath shook as you let it out.

“I mean, I didn’t know if— ‘cause you don’t want to kiss me, right? Or anybody, really, I s’pose— you have your rule and I totally get it but you seem like you’re mad at me and—”

“Eddie,” you tried to shush the boy, but your voice was too soft and too small and Eddie kept rambling.

“—and maybe I’m crazy but in the cabin when it was raining… it seemed like you wanted to kiss me then too, but shit, maybe I’m just being optimistic, ‘cause I know you don’t wanna get involved in anything and I respect that and I’m happy to be your friend- so happy - but I don’t know what I was supposed to do—”

“Eddie.” You’d moved suddenly enough to surprise him, his words falling short as you shuffled to the middle of the bench, sitting on your knees as you gazed at him imploringly.

You smiled around a sigh, a soft, sad noise that made Eddie’s lips turn down and you were gentle when you took his half empty cup from him, sitting it on the dash along with yours.

“I’m not mad at you,” you explained when you turned back to him, your fingers pulling at a thread on the hem of your shirt, stomach tumbling at the thought of telling Eddie too much. “I’m pissed at myself, actually.”

Eddie’s brows shot up and a boyish confusion took over his features. He shook his head softly at you, as if to explain he didn’t understand. But he sat quietly, waiting for you to continue.

“I’m annoyed ‘cause I think I did want you to kiss me,” you closed your eyes briefly at your admission, not wanting to see the way hope flashed across the boy’s face. “And I shouldn’t want that ‘cause I told you I wasn’t getting involved with anyone and that’s not fair to you.”

You sighed again and it sounded even sadder, a huff of breath that hitched in the middle but you kept going, the cadence of your voice pitching higher as you rambled, the same way the boy had.

“It’s so entirely unfair and I don’t want you to think I’m some sort of bitch who’s leading you on, ‘cause I’m not! Or at least, I don’t mean to be - fuck - and I’m sorry if I am and I don’t want this to be confusing or complicated or, or, shit I don’t know.” You took a pause to breathe, blinking at Eddie who just stared back, eyes too pretty to look away from this time round.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” you said sullenly, as if meeting the boy before you was the worst thing in the world. Maybe it was. “And I’m sorry ‘cause I’m being real selfish, ‘cause I don’t wanna stay away from you and I like it when you call me nice things and when you meet me for breakfast and I think about ki—”

You broke off again and squeezed your eyes shut tight, like that would keep your secrets in too. And when that didn’t seem to work, you groaned and brought your hands to your face, fingertips still cold from holding your shake and you pressed them meanly over your lashes.

“M’really sorry, Eddie.”

You heard a soft laugh, barely there and not unkind, an even quieter tsk before two strong hands wrapped themselves around your wrists and tugged gently. You let Eddie guide your palms away from your face and when you opened your eyes, he was a little closer than before.

“You don’t have to say sorry,” he whispered. “And you’re certainly not a bitch.”

You blinked at him, trying to keep the frustrated tears you wanted to let out at bay.

“I like being around you too,” Eddie continued and he was looking at you in that way that made your stomach twist. “And if you only think you wanted to kiss me—”

You let out an embarrassed groan and Eddie grinned.

“—that’s okay. I can wait until you know for certain. And if you don’t, then we can still be friends, like we are right now.”

Nothing about your relationship with Eddie felt friendly. Every look and every touch felt electric, like the air around you both knew more than you did, ‘cause it fizzed and buzzed every time he was around. It felt like something else, something more.

“But for the record,” Eddie whispered conspiratorially, pink in the cheeks

despite the way he tried to act all theatrical for you. “I wanted to kiss you.”

You ducked your chin to your chest to try and hide the way you smiled, an embarrassing scrunch of your nose but Eddie saw and he grinned wider, you could feel it, you could sense the way the space between you turned lighter and heavier all at once.

When you looked back up, Eddie was watching you, head tilted and curls a little messy and wild. He was still holding your wrists, his wide hands covering some of your own and you weren’t sure if he even realised.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for something else yet,” you told him and you hated the way you sounded scared. “My last relationship was so— so shit.”

“That’s okay too, well - the first part is. The second part is definitely shitty,” Eddie said, so soft it hurt and god, you believed him. He licked his lips, nervous and unsure, parting them as if to say something else but he stopped.

“What?” You prompted and you flipped your hands in his, palm to palm, so you were able to touch a thumb to the underside of one ring.

“Would it be so bad?” He asked, almost too quiet to hear. “To try?”

You took a breath, held the question and the answer in your chest until it burned and you wondered if it would be. Logic ceased to exist as you thought about leaning forward and pressing your lips to Eddie’s, the idea of your mouth parting slowly against his own was enough to make heat creep up the back of your neck.

You wondered what he’d taste like, if he’d kiss you soft, if he’d kiss you rough, like all his patience had run out and he just had to have you. You thought about his hands, if he’d be soft with them too, if he’d hold you sweet by the waist or if he’d cup your jaw and pull you closer to him. Maybe he’d make pretty sounds for you, maybe he’d groan and sigh low and sweet when your tongue touched his, maybe he’d pull away to whisper in your ear, run his mouth like you knew he was good at.

You were leaning in.

You didn’t even realise.

Eddie was too.

Hands still tangled and resting on your lap, his breath mixing with your own as his forehead touched yours. A curl tickled your cheek and when the bridge of your nose bumped softly against the boy’s, your lashes fluttered as your eyes closed and your heart was thumpingthumpingthumping.

Your brain was yelling. It sounded like your mother, like your ex and it sounded like you, shouting at them both that you didn’t need a relationship and you didn’t need boys and how this wasn’t supposed to happen.

Maybe you pulled back, maybe you just stopped. Or maybe Eddie just knew you better than you thought, ‘cause it had been three weeks of camp and he knew how you liked to visit the lake at least once a day, how you always woke up early and you liked it best when it rained through the night so you could sleep to the sounds of it.

Eddie sat back in the seat, took his hands with him and left yours feeling colder than they should’ve.

Before you could panic, before you could say sorry again and again, before the tears you felt thicken the back of your throat, Eddie smiled. He handed you back your milkshake, a little more melted than before.

“You don’t have to kiss me,” he said gently, and his words hurt your chest but he kept talking. “You don’t have to prove anything to me - or yourself,” he added.

He took a second to lean back in, just a little, the hand not holding his shake lifting to your face so he could push back a piece of hair that had fallen across your forehead. You think he just wanted a reason to touch you, and you realised then you’d let him do that as much as he wanted.

“I don’t want you to kiss me if you’re not sure,” he explained. “And I don’t want to make you feel rushed or—”

“You don’t,” you interrupted and your voice felt too loud for the front of the van, for the soft quiet, the blue light and strawberry air. “You don’t make me feel like that at all, Eddie. I just— I feel…”

Scared, torn, nervous, hypocritical.

You looked at him, sad, doe eyed and nervous, and if you chewed at your poor bottom lip any longer, Eddie was going to have to save it with gentle fingers.

“How ‘bout this,” Eddie said soft and lovely, like a secret, “if you work out how you feel, and you work out what you want…” he trailed off, felt brave again and took your hand back in his, a thumb running over the back of it. “Come find me, yeah? Let me know.”

You nodded, fingertips pushed to his palm, across the tiny guitar string scars and rough calluses.

“‘Cause I really like you,” he whispered.

“I like you too,” you whispered back and Eddie smiled, wide and bright and adorably shy.

“Good to know,” he nodded but his cheeks were flushed and he let go of your hand for the last time, curling his own back around the steering wheel. “We, uh, we better head back before Steve starts a search party for us.”

“For you, you mean,” you snorted.

“Don’t be jealous,” the boy quipped back but he was smiling. “This is gotta be the part of the script where the van breaks down on us, right?”

You laughed again, a soft huff and sounded so fond that it made Eddie’s chest ache. You were busy clipping your seatbelt back in, your shake almost empty and wedged behind your thighs and Eddie tried not to stare, he really did.

“And then what happens?” You asked, peering over at him, wondering if it was safe to ask, if you wanted to know.

Eddie shrugged, gave a sort of half smile that told you he was already thinking it over. “Depends what horror movie you like best, I guess.”

You scrunched your nose and watched the lights turn Eddie from aquamarine to a too warm orange as he rolled out of the diner’s parking lot. “A horror?”

‘I thought this was supposed to be a romance,’ you wanted to say.

You didn’t.

“Yeah, pick your poison sweetheart,” Eddie laughed, gaining a little more speed as he left the town behind and the only light came from the moon. “Ghostface with a knife? He gets me first when I go look for help,” Eddie wiggled his brows at you theatrically. “Or how ‘bout a good old fashioned zombie mob, huh? They surround the van and I obviously sacrifice myself to save you.”

You snorted, too amused. “Obviously,” you tell him.

“But once I’m all zombified, I turn on you,” Eddie grinned wide when you gasped, overly dramatic, just for him. “Start nibblin’ on that pretty neck like a chicken tender.”

You shake your head at him, still laughing. “You’re horrid.”

The boy shrugged, drove the van slowly through the skinny, dirt roads back into the forest. And when he stopped and killed the engine, silence settled over you both in a way it didn’t in town. Something far away chirped.

“Yeah, I know,” he appeased. His gaze settled on you, wide and bright even in the dark, a lot more hopeful too. “But you like me.”

PART TWO

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things fic

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onskepa · 8 months ago

Note

HELLO HALO HELLO! I SAW THE UPDATE THINGY AND NOW I HAVE ARRIVED WITH A REQUEST! Whew!

Okay so here me Out! I've been thinking about neteyam alot but I have yet to request maybe some neteyam and Aonung together falling for reader

My request is based of a made up Tribe I Made,

/backround information/

the tribe is called the Tawsyuram (Aurora Mountain) tribe who live on a mountain high above a sea of clouds.

The original Tawsyuram clan had almost gone extinct due to a destructive Na'vi clan, but was saved and had grown anew due to the help of a large close knit group of humans from the slums on earth. Due to they're now Tsahik, Mai a human woman who was a doctor trained in surgery and herbal medicine was able to regrow and heal the spirit tree using an earth seed (when I do my full info thing on my tumblr you'll learn more, but that's later!)

Due to the healing of the spirit that houses Mother earth's (daughter 'Rrta) spirit herself a plant had blossomed allowing the humans to breath great mother Eywa's air the humans along side they're now Na'vi spirit family live in harmony over many years.

(They live within the mountain caverns)

/the request/

The Sully's were originally traveling to hide away from the RDA and Quaritch, were going to seek uturu from the Metakiyan, that was until they cam across this young avatar driver? Na'vi teen? Saying her clan would be able to hide them from the RDA gladly.

Neteyam who was intranced by this strange bubbly and wild girl who (as his father called it) talked like an excitable hippie, was absolutely gorgeous... and it would seem his soon to be mate Aonung would agree, also just a little question but, how the HELL IS SHE FLYING AN IKRAN WITHOUT TSAHEYLU!?!?

\Basically I would like to request the Sully's and Tonowari's family having to go into hiding and stuff meet this Ki (a character from Mars needs Moms) like teen girl who finds the Sully's mid travel and offers to shelter them within her tribe since they'll be much more accepted there. They arrived at the floating Mountain, though quite dizzy since they aren't used to being this high above, and are welcomed by the Tsahik who is a bit ditzzy though very calming and understanding, high difficult to anger see's there strife and welcomes them wholeheartedly all the while kinda jokingly yet a tad bit seriously scolding her daughter (the reader) about how she wasn't supposed to leave the Mountain until she was 18 to pass her Iknimaya (since those in the tribe bond with they're ikran's just before they hatch at a young age, giving them time to learn how to fly and practice the bonding dance when they are 18.) Along the way Neteyam and Aonung fall pretty hard for the happy go lucky tsakarem.

Basically the Sully's coming to learn a different side to humanity than they're used to./

\a bit more info to help with the story/

That Tawsyuram's healing hut is sheltered between three gigantic curly trees with book shelves holding many medical records, medicine information and tactics. With a huge curly tree in the middle with glass jars holding glowing bug fireflies to light of the room, tables and comfy sleeping mats and big pillows on the floor in the open spaces of the room for the patients.

Little ones at the age of 6 to 9 will go up to the Ikran nest that house the expecting ikran parents to be with either a food gift or a nesting gift, That is only given when the the egg wiggles in the direction towards its chosen, sensing its soon to be rider. After the gifts are given the children will carry the egg in a type of bundle strapped to they're chest making it easier to carry to a large crystal that gives off heat, watching as the ikran hatches from its egg on a soft nesting near the crystal. The baby will then nip its chosen on they're skin too show they have chosen they're future rider.

Once a year has passed, the child and its somewhat grown ikran who know are coming into they're colors will learn to fly together as a part of their training. The child with a sky diving wingsuit and the youngling ikran, with jump off a not so high ledge gliding of floating above a somewhat deep lake.

The Iknimaya is quite dangerous, so the Na'vi and humans alike agreed that it will only be carried out when the child has become 18 years of age. To do the Iknimaya they must fly on the back of they're ikrans back and then are left to climb up the flat faced mountain, which is even high than they're home's mountain. They meet their ikran onto of it and then jump sky dive off the mountain with a special wingsuit material made to look like they're ikran, which is made by the parents as a sign of sending them off into adult hood. They will then fly with they're and must land on their back and bond mid flight, strengthening the already growing bond they had when they were little.

The humans planters who run the fields found ways to plant human food, while the doctors and a few scientists found ways to detoxify the pandora meat so they may eat it. Their cook fire has a huge round island like table where the cooks cook the food inside the circle. The cook fire room if big to hold many of the tribe with two stories with pillows on the floor to sit on. Even sweets like cakes and such are on the menu!

The Na'vi and humans also wear clothing like the Omaticaya and Metakiyan but also wear winter clothing using wool from a pandora like sheep that are taller than humans but only come up to a Na'vi's waist.

The Tawsyuram clothing

All the images were made from using Bing AI prompts I made.

(I hope this is an okay request? And not like too much, if the whole neteyam and Aonung thing isn't cool, then I'm fine with you just doing Lo'ak. Thank you for taking the time to read this!

I hope you are having a wonderful morning/evening/afternoon/night! Hun!

Helloooooooooooo darling! Honestly you have such a big imagination and vast ideas here. It took me a good while for this story to be as good as you visioned it to be. Unfortunatly some stuff was cut out but I hope that what stayed is good for you and everyone to read! So sit back and relax! Enjoy!

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

Tawsyuram clan

It wasn't easy. Leaving all that you know for somewhere that beyond what you are literally built for. And to look for a clan that is willing to welcome a family that seeks refuge from a way is even harder. There is a lot to gamble on. Child born living only the life of war, and to live a life of peace is very desirable but would be getting used to.

So that is what Jake and Neytiri sully do. Leaving their home for the sake of their children. The question is, where? Where can they go? Who is willing to accept them? While Jake sully had an idea of heading to the islands of the reef na’vi where they are more isolated. He needs a plan B in case the reef clans reject them.

If only by Eywa’s miracle can a open chance appear before him.

“Why not join us?”

A human. With an ikran. A Human riding an Ikran was standing before the sully family. A Human, without a MASK. And very short too. Everyone was staring at the human in unbelievable shock. None uttered a word.

“Hello…..? Is something on my face?” The human asks her ikran who only grunts in response.

“Who are you?” Neytiri was quick to react, her blade ready to strike. The human raised her hands to show she meant no harm and didn't take another step. “Easy, I am not here to bring you harm. My name is Danu”.

“What do you want?” Jake asks/demands.

“It's not what I want, it's more like what you need,” Danu replied.

“And what would that be?” Kiri asks, feeling a slight irk prickling behind her head.

“Protection from the RDA. My clan can help you with that and more” Danu adds.

“What clan would have humans in it?” Neytiri hisses, not liking the young human by the second.

“The Tawsyuram clan” .

The travel towards wherever the girl was leading them to didn't take that long. Only about a day. The family would have gone longer if they still headed towards the reef islands. Instead of going north, the girl led them south. Where neytiri can remember, is just pure open mountains and large bodies of water. No clan inhabits those areas. At least clans neytiri is familiar with.

“We are here!” the girl shouts behind her. The family looks around, but all they see is thick clouds surrounding them. Cant see anything further than 15 feet of range vision. “Where is here?” *Jake asks. The girl didn't answer. The view did.

High above, in the middle of vast floating mountains stood one massive floating island. Large and vast. As they get closer, more details are easy to see. The island has its own mountains, its own clouds! Everyone was in awe.

“Welcome everyone! To Aurora mountain!”

Words cannot even begin to describe the beautiful mountain. Wild ikran flying freely, clouds forming above the mountain peak. Plants grow in so many shades and colors. It was vibrant. And it felt so familiar yet new to the sully family. And as they landed on the ground of the mountain, the gentle breeze welcomed them. Everyone got off of their ikrans and looked all over at the new location.

Danu happily jumped off of her ikran and skipped along. “Come on, there is so much to show you. My mother would love to meet you all” gesturing to follow her.

The family all stuck together, still wary of this place. Unsure of what to think of it. “Ma’jake, what if it's a trap?” Neytiri suspects, holding tuk close to her as the child wanted to follow Danu. Jake reassured her by holding her close, “our ikrans are ready to take flight again, we are armed and ready to fight. We should be fine” he replies.

Kiri and lo’ak on the other hand were admiring the new view and happily followed Danu as they entered the save. The entrance was hidden by massive leaves that can move by a single touch. Inside was a path full of colorful paintings and murals. So many details and no doubt so many stories it holds.

“Come on, don't slow down on me! Everyone is excited to meet you!” Danu’s voice echoed in the cave. Picking up speed, everyone followed Danu, where she stood in an open area, her smile big and bright and arms wide in a welcoming gesture. “Welcome to our home!” she announces proudly.

“Oh my Eywa….”

The inside literally looked like a whole new world. Ikrans flying high above the massive cave, hanging flowers from the cave sides or from smaller floating rocks. Waterfalls everywhere, little creatures flying or running about. And most of all, na’vi and humans were together. Many playing games, farming, chatting, anything they did together. What Jake noticed was that the humans were not wearing masks. And neytiri noticed that there was a mix of pure na’vi and what looks like hybrid na’vi’s like her children. It was a perfect utopia. Perhaps suspiciously too perfect.

As they continue deeper into the village, the locals all stop to look at them, curiosity evident in their eyes. Some children even follow them closely.

“This is so weird…” Lo’ak whispers, kiri was quick to shush him.

“Come, my mom will be super excited to meet all of you!” Danu says, learning them through the village, and through another patch of forest. “I know the village must have overwhelmed you but it was to give you the view of your possible life here. Of course if you choose to stay” Dany informs, moving some plants out of the way without the need to cut them.

“Who is your mother…?” Neytiri asks.

She wasn't given much of an answer as Danu climbed a set of stone stairs leading up to an uphill. The family quickly followed and coming in view was a tree. But not just any tree, a tree so different yet so familiar. With a hue of glowing teal color and Atokirina floating about, this was the people’s spirit tree. However, something else floats alongside the Atokirina. Something neytiri has never seen before.

“MAMAAAAAAAAA~!!” Danu calls out in a happy cheery voice.

At the base of the tree stood a human woman. Long braided hair, the ends with what seem like white stone and beads spreaded around her braids. Her outfit seeming to tell she is of higher status.

The woman looks over at danu and smiles, welcoming the girl in a tight embrace. “Mom! I have brought some new guests! Meet the Sully family!” Danu happily introduces and she points to the family.

The woman looks at the family, and greets them in the na’vi way, with grace and elegance sewn in every movement. “Welcome to our home, it seems like you have traveled a lot. Perhaps some rest is needed before you can ask your question"

They were given a home. Looked like a mix of a marui and a hut if Jake could describe it as best as he could. It was spacious, the kids got to have a private spot each and the pit for a cook fire was in the middle. They got to settle down and gather their thoughts, until jake called in for a family meeting.

“Look, I get this is all new. For you, for us. But it seems they are willing to take us in without even asking. So try to be on your best behavior, all of you. Especially you lo’ak” jake says, looking at his second son. Lo’ak wasnt making eye contact so neteyam grabbed him by the neck making him face his dad.

“Will we really stay here…?” Tuk asks nervously. While it seemed very exciting exploring a new place and meet new people, it was also scary. Jake took a moment and answered, “if they let us baby”. Tuk made a whining noise, frowning “I want to go home!” she whimpers. Close to crying. Neytiri looks at her baby with sadness, “oh tuk…”. Jake holds tuk’s hand to comfort her. “This is most likely to be our home now…and we will make most of it”

“What does your father always say?” Neytiri asks her children…

“I hope you have all settled well. Come, you must all be famished” the woman says with an unusual softness to her voice. The sully family were invited to her home, where danu happily helped in serving the food for the newcomers.

“I'm sorry, but what was your name again…?” Jake asks, wondering of the lady. And the woman lightly taps her head, “oh where are my manners. My name is Mai, the tsahik of the Tawsyuram clan” mai introduces herself.

Neytiri’s tail sways curiously, “tsahik? You? But you are a human” she says.

“Indeed, but soon you will learn neytiri, that this clan, this mountain, is not like what you know” Mai says, giving a playful wink.

Mai gestures to everyone to take a seat as Danu serves everyone their portion. The food looked and smelled delicious, and from long travel, all of a suddenly everyone was starving. Tuk was all too happy to dig in, lo’ak doing the same. Both humming at the welcoming taste on their tongues.

“Hungry I take it?” Mai teases as she takes a bite from her food. Neytiri cautiously takes a bite, her ears perking up liking the taste. It taste familiar yet different at the same time. Kind of tricky to describe the taste. But it had meat and other nutritional pieces of food.

Danu sat next to neteyam, the boy looked over at her, really taking in her appearance.

“You can stare at me all you like, pretty boy, but later, it's meal time” Danu winks at him. Neteyam nervously smiles but looks away, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He didn't say anything further and just ate in silence.

After their hearty meal, questions flowed out like an endless river. But everyone asked so many questions at the same time, it was a mumbling mess. So, with a simple gesture of a hand, mai lowers the volume collectively. “One by one, all of your questions will be answered” was all she said.

“Exactly, what is this place…?” Jake asks. A lot has happened in the few hours they have been exposed to something this strange. Even for pandora standards.

“A floating mountain. Well, to be more specific, it is a mountain cut from the northern mountains. It is so big, it created its own ecosystem. I found it many years ago and settled in” mai explained.

“Found it…? How?”

“I was a scientist when the RDA arrived, much like many, I fell in love with this planet. It's precious and pure. I remember crying for seeing something so beautiful, so natural and colorful. To say, it didn't take a whole lot to change my mind. So secretly I planted my own ideas. Quiet literally”

Mai turns to point at the spirit tree.

“That tree? It grew from a single seed that I brought with me from earth. Originally, the seed was of a red oak tree. However, when infused with the pandora soil it grew to something different. Something more beautiful. I see it as something from Eywa, her way of blessing the tree, blessing this mountain. And through this miracle tree, we humans can breathe the same air as the na’vi”

Once the na’vi were mentioned, it was neytiri’s turn to ask, “Why would na’vi come here?”

Mai offered tuk a sweet treat as she continued, “why wouldn't they? After many raids from the RDA, many lands destroyed and their homes gone, where else could they have gone? Yes to another clan, but who is to say that clan won't be targeted next? They are tired of constant loss, so here is their answer”

Jake knew there will be many more questions to ask, so he thought of telling his kids to go out and explore, but mai beat him to it.

“Danu my love, why dont you give the sully kids a proper tour of our home? Make sure they know and learn everything of their new home” mai tells danu. Her daughter nods in glee and leads the kids outside of her home.

“Now, with them being entertained, lets talk about…”

“C’mon, this way!” Danu tells the four kids as they follow her closely. Neteyam being very close, might as well be at equal sides, lo’ak not too far and kiri carrying tuk as to not fall behind. Through the many plants, trees, and small bridges, they return back to the village where everyone was doing something.

Tuk smiles as she gets to see the village life in a longer range. Everyone looked so busy, chatting, moving cattle from one place to another, people in stalls trading some items for others, others cooking and feeding those who are hungry. There is something going on in every corner.

“It looks so……busy” lo’ak says as he observes the people.

Danu lets out a short cackle, “of course! It is always busy here, wither hunting, weaving, trading, there is something going on and there is always something new! Come on, let me show you!”

Once again Danu leads the siblings. Weaving a path through the busy crowd, neteyam follows easily, not losing sight of her noticeable hair. He and his siblings silently say “excuse me” and “I'm sorry” as they catch up to danu. They caught up to her as she stood in front of an older na’vi. Sitting on his seat as he fans the smoke of something he is cooking.

“Welcome danu, are those the newcomers I see?” the kind elder na’vi asks, danu nods eagerly. “Yes, I am showing them around the village and soon the whole mountain!” she answers happily. The sullys introduce themselves one by one. While they chatted, tuk couldn't help but drool as the tasty looking food. The elder na’vi noticed and asks, “Would you like one young tuk?”

Tuk hides her face behind kiri’s arm but shyly nods, the elder na’vi chuckles and hands her the most delicious looking treat. “Here, all yours, it is a fish kabab, but be careful. It is really hot” he says, tuk accepts and gently blows on it before taking a bite. Her big eyes sparkle with delight.

“MMNNNNN~!! Its so yummy!!” she happily praises. The elder na’vi smiled with joy, then he handed a fish kabab to each sully. “Enjoy your treat” he says, everyone happily thanked him and soon they made their way again through the paths.

“Damn, this is good” lo’ak comments as he enjoys the fish kabab. Danu turned to him, “trust me, that kabab is just the start. Our cooks are so talented and know just how to use everything and make a delicious meal!”. As she goes on to explain what each clan member does, of all the siblings, neteyam seems to hear but not 100% listen.

He focuses more on danu’s voice and her personality. Something about her seems to draw him in. Is it her enthusiasm? Her boldness? Her extroverted ways? Neteyam doesn't know himself, but if they really are going to stay, he has time to figure it out.

“Oooooooohhh~!! They look so fluffy!!” Tuk says as she points at cute, sheep looking creatures that are being hurdled by a human farmer. Danu took her time to introduce the kids to many aspects of the mountain, To show them that here, it is safe.

“What are they exactly? I have never seen or heard of them before?” kiri asked curiously.

Danu snickered a bit, her shoulders shaking from trying not to laugh “they are called…..floofers. I am not joking, that is what they called”. Tuk looks back at the cute creatures, three yellow beady eyes on each side, 2 sets of horns curled backwards with six hooved feet and remarkably pure white floof as their fur. However small, they look tough.

“I like it, floofers is an interesting choice of a name” lo’ak comments as he twirls a hanging vine nearby.

“But why that name?” it was neteyam’s turn to ask, danu shrugged. “I'm not sure, my mom named them that. I guess because they are floofy? I really don't know but I like it either way” .

They all admired the different herd animals in the massive farm land, until danu led them somewhere else. But as they keep on exploring, kiri notices that a few here and there are interesting glowing insect like creatures. They remind her of Atokirinas, they fly gracefully in a delicate manner. Close to a butterfly shape, they seem to be a bit see-through, almost as if they are either made of thin glass or thin fabric. The light they produce is beautiful, a gentle white glow. And for some reason they are getting closer to her, and kiri in return getting closer to them.

“So pretty!” tuk notices the pretty looking insects, letting one land on her hand.

“Awe, they like you” Danu coos as the glowing beauties land on kiri, taking interest. “What are they…?” Kiri whispers as to not scare them.

“Tswatuhì” Danu replies slowly, admiring the little display in front of her. “They are like atokirina, little blessings of our great mother. And it seems they have taken you quite well kiri”

The little butterflies then left kiri and landed on tuk, lo’ak and neteyam, giving each of them their own glow. “Oh ma’eywa, truly a lovely blessing” Danu says in awe. Humming a bit, Danu enjoys the scenery.

“Truly, truly you guys are like disney princesses” she comments.

“What's a disney princess?” Tuk asks

“It's a Earth thing”

“Ma’jake…are you certain?” Neytiri asks nervously. They have returned back to their new temporary home after talking with mai. They had a lot to think over. So Jake, rubbing his chin as he sits with his mate by his side.

“You heard what mai said. This place is hidden in the clouds and aware from any RDA areas. It is just…too good. Too good of everything. The mountain, the environment, the people…” he goes on.

Neytiri lingers on the people part. Yes, the people. Human and na’vi and the inbetween. As they made their way back, she noticed many romantic couples that were na’vi and human. If they are going to stay, this is something she has no choice but to tolerate. Yet the irony is there, to run away from humans they now have to live with the humans.

“And our children…?” she asks more. But before Jake could respond, as if on cue, their children returned with baskets full of things and big smiles on their happy faces.

“Mom! Dad! You won't believe what we saw!” Lo'ak said eagerly, tuk light slapped his arm because he beat her to it.

“Look look, this fruit is called a watermelon! And it is so good! Very sweet and we can make all sorts of treats with it!” tuk showed the big green melon to her parents. Jake saw it and couldn't believe his eyes.

“Watermelon…huh, this was long gone back in my time…” he whispers.

“We had fish kebabs and we gotta try to make some! Oh! And some of the locals were kind enough to give us these….”

The kids happily spoke of their little journey through the mountain, the people they met, the foods they tried and the overall culture thanks to their new friend Danu. But as they chatted away, Neytiri and Jake shared a look. Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to stay.

As the sun sets below the horizon and darkness covers all sky and land, the mountain and the life inside comes to life. Bioluminescent colors glow in beautiful colors, and like any part of Pandora, the mountain was its own other word once darkness falls.

Nocturnal creatures come out, and the daytime creatures lay in their nests to sleep.

And the Tawsyuram mountain? They thrive.

Like any tribe, the Tawsyuram clan was no different when it came to communal meals. Everyone went to the main center of the village, light hearted laughter, people dancing, singing, enjoying the moot. It was different yet it felt so familiar to the Sully family. The 5 gather together in a huddle like grip, many other locals surrounding them, giving their greetings and offerings to make them feel welcome.

They appreciate it, Jake is neytiri still feel nervous but the kids have gotten more used to the welcoming treatment and more comfortable talking with the other villagers. Even tuk managed to chat with other kids around her age!

“So…I take it you kids like it?” Jake asks his children, they all nodded eagerly. “Do you feel safe here? Welcomed?” Neytiri asks after him.

“As welcoming as they can get mom” lo’ak grins as he presents her a basket full of unfamiliar fruits and flowers. Kiri snatches a mango from the basket and happily munches on it. “What about you neteyam?” neytiri turns to ask her eldest child.

But neteyam didnt respond, not immediately.

In the center of the moot, there was a ring of young teens, many around his and his siblings' age, dancing and enjoying the moment. Among the youth was danu, who was dancing in a very grateful way. The rhythm of the music flowed around her, keeping up with the pace and matching every beat and note. She looked so lovely with the lighting of the fire. Really hypnotizing really.

Until danu’s eyes met his. Her smile widened more and she makes her way over to neteyam, grabbing his arm tugging him forward. “Come on, dance with me” danu invites. Feeling hesitant, neteyam respectfully tries to deny, “oh no, I dont know how” he says. Earning a little giggle from danu, she tugs him harder making him stand, “it is the way” danu said.

She successfully brings him to the center of the moot where he begins to follow her moves and quickly gets the hang of the dance.

Neytiri and Jake look in awe as they are reminded of their night.

“I believe that answers your question” jake whispers as they take in the full warmth and welcome of the Tawsyuram clan.

Okie this one seriously took me a looooooooooong time! There was so much re-writing and adjusting, I feel like despite how much I did, its not enough to truly cover what I envisioned but I did my best to fit everything in. So I hope you all enjoyed this one! Until next time! See ya!

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ken-dom · 1 year ago

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Prioritise Pleasure

Lars Lindstrom x gn!reader

1.6k words

Summary: You help an embarrassed Lars learn to enjoy pleasure and embrace his desires (or, you want to make him cum but he’s nervous about it)

Author’s notes: this little fic was inspired by an idea from @ken-f-cker, encouraged by @hollandstrophyhusband, supported by @heresthestorymorningglory and exists because I just can’t leave this poor man alone. On that note, if anyone wants a part 2 of this with afab!reader, let me know! The title is taken from the album name of one of my Lars songs 🫶

Warnings/content: nsfw, hand job, subby Lars, dubious consent (relating to his orgasm), crying, praise

Lars felt so soft and warm beneath you, your leg hooked comfortably over his knee and your head resting on his slowly rising and falling chest where you listened to the steady rhythm of his contented heart. Your fingers toyed with the hem of his sweater and now and again you heard his heart jump when your skin met his under all those layers he wore.

His arm was wrapped firmly around your shoulders, strong and secure. Lars was stronger than even he knew, and butterflies soared in your stomach every time he displayed it, even in a subtle way like this. He made you feel safe.

You could have stayed like that forever, but everything must come to an end eventually, and the ending here was unexpected but actually very welcome.

Lars kissed the top of your head after you’d made him laugh with a silly joke. The warmth of his lips pressed to your hair was momentary, and he hadn’t even really realised he’d done it, but something in the air immediately shifted at that small affection and before you had a chance to really even process it, you found yourself sliding up his chest to meet his soft lips with your own.

He gasped when you pulled back for breath, diving forward, his head hovering above the pillow to smash his lips back onto yours with a fervour you’d only ever seen in him when he’d taken his temper out on the unsuspecting logs outside.

Lips sealed to yours, he hungrily sucked your tongue into his mouth, fingertips driving into your arms to keep you still above him while he eagerly explored your mouth.

Even with him laid beneath you, the force of his kiss was dizzying. You braced yourself with a steady palm against his chest, hiking your knee up further to steady yourself.

You felt Lars shudder, and with a whine so quiet you almost missed it, the kiss came to a jarring (and disappointing) halt.

You pushed yourself up further to see what was the matter, and as you manoeuvred, your thigh slipped down a little, and you felt it. The unavoidable, solid length between Lars’s thighs, pressed against your leg.

You stared down at him in awe, his eyes squeezed shut, kiss-swollen lips parted to let out shaky, uneven breaths, cheeks glowing red… and you wanted nothing more than to kiss him again. And to make him moan this time.

You pushed your thigh higher between his legs, pressing perfectly against his clothed cock, and, writhing against you, he whimpered with each trembling breath, the sound a simultaneous beg for more while chastising himself for wanting it.

‘Lars?’ you cooed softly, gently placing your palm to his burning cheek, which seemed to calm him somewhat.

He stopped bucking up against you and his face scrunched up with frustration and embarrassment, but he nodded and let out another nervous little whine of acknowledgement.

‘Hey, it’s ok… see?’

You slid the hand caressing his face down over his sweater, feeling his breath catch, and lower until you were cupping the bulge in his trousers.

Lars let out a stream of quick breaths, rendered unable to move. Had he ruined everything with his untimely bout of arousal? And why did it feel so good?

‘Lars, I’m ok with this… are you?’

He only blinked rapidly in response, so lost in a haze of pleasure and panic that he barely heard your words while he tried to process all the new feelings swirling around inside him.

With one swift stroke of your palm to bring him back to you, you tried again; ‘Lars, do you want this?’

He nodded sharply. ‘Mmhmm-’

He couldn’t manage to formulate words right now, not with your hand on his twitching, leaking cock. But you understood.

You rolled your wrist again, rubbing a steady, continuous rhythm over his length through the thick fabric of his trousers, your movements slow and careful, and his back arched off the bed with a low groan.

‘Easy, baby,’ you soothed, slowing a little to get him used to the feeling before your skin met his. He looked like he might cum any second and as hot as that might be, you wanted to give him something to remember.

‘I’m gonna get these trousers unfastened, alright?’

Another quick nod from Lars, and another hum.

You made mindful work of freeing his straining cock from the confines of his trousers, opening them up just enough to slip your hand inside his underwear, not wanting to overwhelm him with nudity on top of everything else. There would be plenty of time for that later.

He smiled when you settled beside him, but as your warm fingers slipped past the elastic of his underwear and wrapped loosely around his cock, he cried out a high pitched, ‘Ahh!’ and began rutting his hips up to meet the gentle massaging of your fist.

‘Does that feel good?’ you whispered, watching his face contort in bliss.

‘Y-yes,’ he managed, ‘f-feels… so… ohhh- mmmh-’

‘You’re doing so well for me,’ you praised, swiping your thumb over his already oozing tip to collect a satisfyingly thick pearl of precum and smear it down his length.

‘N-never- I’ve never- oh!-’

His head flew back into the pillow, fists grabbing desperately at the duvet beneath him.

He’s trying not to cum, you thought with a smirk.

‘I- I’ve never- ohhh-’ he tried again, struggling against the crashing waves of pleasure overpowering his ability to think clearly enough to finish a sentence.

‘It’s alright,’ you soothed, ‘I know. I’ve got you.’

You watched Lars closely as you worked your hand carefully, memorising every flicker of pleasure over his soft features, every needy little sound that escaped his parted lips, every desperate little thrust of his hips. His hair had fallen over his forehead in loose, messy strands, and his eyes had turned delightfully dark in the shadow of it.

You could feel him tensing, each muscle in his body rapidly switching from relaxed to taut to relaxed again; his release was close. You pumped faster, almost frantically, to get him there, and his hand flew to your wrist.

‘Mmh… I’m- ohh! Oh, no, please, I’m gonna… s-stop… stop, please, before I-’

‘Cum for me, Lars,’ you encouraged, making him shudder as you slowed again to the gentle pace that seemed to drive him crazy.

He was so deliciously sensitive, responding just how you’d hoped to the sensual rhythm of long, slow strokes.

A strangled cry tore from his throat as he rolled his hips in time with your ministrations. ‘No, n-no, I can’t, I-’

‘It’s alright, you’re safe, I’ve got you,’ you reminded him. ‘Cum.’

‘N-no- I- I shouldn’t, I- stop! Oh!- ah!- ohh-ughhhh-nnmmmh!’

The strong fingers wrapped around your wrist squeezed tighter, burning your skin in their searing grip, but you managed to keep up the rhythm of your fist until he couldn’t fight his climax any longer and you finally brought him off, pumping just a little harder as his orgasm ripped through his body.

Lars’s hands flew to his face, covering his pleasure-pained expression as he thrashed against the bed, spilling and spilling his release up out of his underwear, staining the hem of his sweater and coating your hand.

His chest heaved with loud, ragged breaths as he came down from his high, trembling as his cock softened and twitched with aftershocks.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whined under his breath the moment you pulled your hand out of his underwear, ‘I’m so sorry!’

You gently guided his hands down from his tear-stained face and wiped his eyes with tender fingertips.

You saw his lip tremble, so you leant in to press your own lips to his again.

‘Lars,’ you breathed as you pulled away, ‘you did so good for me, baby.’

His eyes, big and round and wet, stared into yours semi-hopefully. ‘I… I did?’

‘You did. And I think you needed that, didn’t you?’

His cheeks flushed somehow redder, and he averted his gaze, nodding. ‘I’ve never… never been… touched like that before. I was worried you wouldn’t want me to… y’know, so I felt kind of nervous letting go. I'm sorry about the mess.’

‘Are you kidding? I wanted to make you cum the moment I laid eyes on you.’

Lars squeezed his eyes shut, unable to believe what you were saying and mildly embarrassed by your bluntness. You really thought of him that way the whole time?

‘Listen to me. You never, ever, need to apologise for enjoying pleasure, alright?’

His eyebrows raised as he gazed across at you, awe-filled eyes still glossy. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’

He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth before he spoke again. ‘So, uhm…’ he cleared his throat, ‘if I wanted to make you feel like that…?’

‘You can. And you will. When you’re ready.’

Lars nodded, brow furrowing as he fell into deep thought.

‘It’s alright. When the time comes, I’ll guide you, ok?’

Lars’s concern softened into a smile. The Lars you were used to.

‘Ok,’ he agreed.

You propped yourself up on an elbow to assess the gorgeous mess he’d made, core clenching at the dishevelled state of him, laid out with his legs spread, trousers unfastened, underwear damp with his seed, sweater stained, hair mussed, face hot. You needed to remember him in this moment. He was beautiful.

‘Now, how about a bath?’

‘W-will you join me?’ Lars muttered, feeling bold but still unsure, fighting the sleepiness that had begun to pull at his eyes with all the strength he had.

The grin that spread across your face was answer enough, but you nodded anyway, and he briefly buried his face into your chest, giggling sweetly, unable to believe his luck.

#not s f w 💀#lars lindstrom #lars lindstrom x reader #lars lindstrom smut #lars lindstrom x you #lars lindstrom x y/n #lars and the real girl #lars lindstrom fic #lars and the real girl fic #ryan gosling smut #ryan gosling fic #ryan gosling #ryan gosling x reader #ryan gosling x you #ryan gosling x y/n #ken dom writes

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biblicallyaccuratecrow · 1 month ago

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in stars and time "speak no evil" au braindump

welcome back! we have a fun one this time! welcome to the speak no evil au! in which I got a little too deep into the crane wives album and project it onto loop! as one does.

this is a postcanon au, though, so I can't talk about it without spoilers!

[notes below the cut!]

[woe, spoilers be upon ye!]

in essence, this is a postcanon au that takes place about a year after the loops end. the party is traveling still, now accompanied by nille. without warning, loop reappears- they've regained a more humanoid form, but there are some remnants of their star form. there is one striking and notable difference.

they don't speak.

it's so jarring, for them to be completely silent. not to say they can't communicate- they've retained their expressive body language from the loops, and will write things out if absolutely necessary, but beyond that... they're mute.

nobody knows what to make of it.

they won't tell them how or why they returned. they won't tell them why they won't talk. they simply return, and, in spite of everything, siffrin welcomes them with open arms. they don't question it initially. it's enough that their here.

still, they know more than anybody that trapping everything inside will eventually lead to a disaster.

they can only hope that they'll get through to them somehow.

the story...

like i said, loop returns a year after the loops end, with a humanoid form and now mute. the only thing they say, before shutting up completely, is when they see siffrin. "stardust". that's all they get.

at first, it's not an issue. siffrin is just glad to have loop back in the first place. they essentially cling onto them for the first few days, and don't push their silence. what's even more odd is that loop lets them. the party is confused- despite loop being shy around them on the final day of the loops, they were at least somewhat communicative. they know what happened between loop and siffrin during twohats, though not loop's story. It's easy to say that they're hesitant to give loop their trust. loop makes it evident that they know this. still, they make no effort to explain themself or their story. they just seem to solemnly accept it, and stick by siffrin.

Siffrin grows more and more concerned as time goes on, because it's obvious that loop is hiding something. there is no reason why they'd do such a complete 180 from their normal chattiness. but in spite of their attempts to gently coax it from them, loop doesn't give an inch. scared that they'll leave again, siffrin decides to let it go- for now.

the party slowly grows more comfortable with loop. they each build their own kind of dynamic with them, finding their own ways to communicate with them. siffrin can read loop easily- they're him, after all- and a lot of their interactions involve siffrin acting as a sort of verbal translator for their emotions and siffrin talking with them about the loops. It's nice, they find, to have someone who will just listen. loop knows, of course, but unlike the other members of the party, siffrin doesn't feel nearly as much guilt or self-loathing surrounding their interactions during the loops. so they talk. or, siffirn talks. they talk about the loops, their guilt with the party, the things that were good, their struggles with regaining a sense of self. loop listens, and, sometimes, offers comfort, in their own way. usually, when they begin to spiral, they'll poke his hand, like they did in the loops. it helps. whenever they talk to the party about their issues, loop is there, and serves as an anchor.

bonnie and loop get on suprisingly well from the start. despite being curious as to why loop won't talk, bonnie just decides that since siffrin trusts them, they will as well. they make them food- they can eat now, which is a novelty they seem to enjoy immensely- and loop lets them chatter on all they want. still, they are distinctly uncomfortable when the questions get turned on them- usually, that's when they start to close off and find an excuse to leave.

mirabelle and loop bond over storytime! loop expresses interest in mirabelle's reading, initially in a attempt to ease the tension between them and the party in the beginning, but eventually it turns into a book club. similarly with bonnie, loop likes to listen to mirabelle talk about her favorite novels, and will take the time to read her recommendations. they'll nod along, and when mirabelle asks what they think, they'll do their best to give their opinion.

odile and loop take a bit to get along- odile is suspicious of loop, for obvious reasons. however, they get taken on one of her and siffrin's secret missions, perusing an antique shop for a few hours. loop finds a headache book- a simple cookbook. odile is curious, asking if they can read it- they just nod, with a conflicted look on their face. odile hesitates before taking the book and buying it- or rather, having the book given to her in relief, handing it back to loop. they're confused, but odile asks if they would be willing to translate it for her. loop seems hesitant, but then nods. odile buys them a crafted notebook to write their translations down in. this notebook starts out as just a means of translation, but over time, it gets used for other things, like communicating with the party every now and again, or journaling. they still don't give a lot of information, even though they can put their thoughts to words now, but it makes things easier.

it also reveals that loop feels guilty. very. guilty. with a means of more easily communicating, siffrin pushes again to find out what happened. loop initially refuses to write anything about their thoughts, but after a few weeks, they begin to give small tidbits, only really to siffrin. excuses, though weak ones. small, mildly concerning comments of self depreciation or deflection. apologies, for the few moments they seem to misstep, even if only slightly, even if by accident, in ways that would be easily forgiven or forgotten about.

isabeau has the hardest time getting through to loop, for obvious reasons. hes does his best, but they make efforts to avoid him if they can. when they can't, they give minimal reaction. still, isabeau tries, even if just for siffrin. he jokes, makes puns, offers words of encouragement, but nothing really seems to get through. not until one day. Isa's walking along, and siffrin very casually flirts with him. he's so dumbfounded that he trips into a puddle. siffrin is spouting out apologies, isa is assuring him that it's fine, but... then they hear laughter. quiet, and breathy. barely there. they look over, and sure enough, loop is doubled over, laughing their ass off. it's the most noise they've made in weeks. both Isa and Siffrin can't help but laugh along.

I don't really have. a neat conclusion to this au yet? But I will talk about why Loop doesn't talk, because there is a reason and it eventually does get revealed. Essentially, they just kind of... floated, for a bit. As a part of the Universe, they got to rest for a while. Until they got lonely. Or, lonelier. They couldn't go back to their family, for obvious reasons- they destroyed them, it was their fault. But they are lonely, and if they don't find someone, some reason to stick around... they'd be breaking their promise to Siffrin, something that, despite themselves, they don't want to break. They can't find it in themselves to be mad at Siffrin, not when they showed them genuine kindness, the first major change in their life, the only reason they didn't succumb to their hatred and self-loathing, even when they quite literally had their hands wrapped around their neck, ready to kill them. Now they're just lost, drifitng, and, like the Favor Tree, even though it's restful, they still want, they still yearn for more than they have been given. They need something to change. After everything... Siffrin is the only one they can think to go to. So, they come back.

As soon as Loop returns, they are confronted with the mortifying realization that Siffrin may have told them what happened when they last spoke, and they may hate them. Siffrin wouldn't hate them, they promised they wouldn't hate them, but the thought of the party looking down upon them, like they're a threat, an intruder... it makes them sick. But they're here now. And they won't, they can't, go back to being nothing. At their core they might be harsh, bitter, sarcastic, angry, disgusting, but they can still be better, they can still make it up to them. They just have to not mess this up. So many of their awful moments were the result of their brutal words and scathing remarks- it was all they could really do to feel better about themselves, since they were bound to help Siffrin by the Universe. All those things they said, all the times they insulted them, teased them, made them feel worse instead of helping them like they were supposed to be, all the times they lied through their teeth... they couldn't do that again. Not if they wanted this to work. They wouldn't get another chance. What is that saying? "If you don't have something nice to say, don't say anything at all." "Silence is golden." "Speak no evil."

So... yeah! this was all inspired by bitter medicine.... crane wives my beloved... but if you have any other questions, send it in asks! i'd love to hear your thoughts!

A few songs my brain associates with this au:

#isat #in stars and time #isat au #in stars and time au #isat loop #in stars and time loop #isat spoilers #in stars and time spoilers #isat speak no evil au #ramblings #brain dump #i love you loop you fucked up star you

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sky-kiss · 9 months ago

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Shadowheart/F!Tav: Ephemeral

A/N: Named Tav. And this is highly indulgent and just for me lol. But y'all can look if you want. Post Haarlep encounter. Because we stan a kinky queen.

Shadowheart/F!Tav: Laughing, Thriving, Gloating, at your Expense (Affectionate)

"Far be it from me to gloat," Shadowheart says, gloating. "But I recall speaking to something like this—what was it again?"

The rush of blood in Joi's ears makes it difficult to think, let alone reflect. She tries to speak and ends up swallowing the words, chin dropping to her chest. It's a frankly surreal sensation—there are hands on her body, cupping, caressing, someone is mouthing at her throat…but it's nothing. The phantom pleasure is equal parts too much and too little, nerve strokes without pressure.

Shadowheart hums. The heat of her makes it…better or worse, it's difficult to tell. She is blessedly solid, real, when she presses close, fingers stroking through Joi's hair. "Ah, I recall. Unlikely to dispense carnal pleasures out of the goodness of their heart…does that sound correct? Feel free to nod your agreement. You seem quite…preoccupied."

Joi nods.

Some rational part of her brain realizes the half-elf is within her rights to feel this superiority—she had warned her about Haarlep's intentions. It's just that there's another part, the one not currently buzzing with abstract pleasure, that wants to protest. She'd had no choice—a lie, there'd been no reason to break into the House to start aside from her own wounded ego—but to play with Haarlep.

"I thought," the tiefling starts, only to stop, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from moaning. "You'd be at least somewhat bothered."

Shadowheart's lips curl up, bemused, a touch patronizing. "Not at all—I quite like you like this. And I rarely get the chance to just…observe." The phantom hands shift down her body, and she suffers the jarring impression of her legs being spread, even as she stands perfectly still. Something must show on her face because Shadow laughs again, walking her further into the alley. The cleric has the presence of mind to tuck them in a little alcove. "Go on—don't stop for my sake." She drags her lips across Joi's cheek. "If you can summon the presence of mind, I'd welcome any particularly sordid details."

Joi shivers, screwing her eyes shut against the sensation of something pushing inside her. Her mind struggles to adjust, trying to justify the texture, the duality of feeling achingly full and empty all at once.

"My, that must have been good." Shadowheart's smiling, too damnably satisfied. She eases Joi's legs apart, slotting herself between her spread thighs.

"Just…" she chokes. Shadowheart saves her with another kiss, swallowing her moan. It's a little like being at sea, the sensation of being rocked, something thrusting lazily into her. For the briefest moment, she feels the link to Haarlep solidify. They're more present, sticking inside her head, dragging their teeth across her mind. Their hand, her hand, ghosts down her stomach. Shadowheart marks its path, smirking, tangling their fingers together.

"If your only intent is to stand here slack-jawed, I'll be tempted to put your mouth to better work." The cleric murmurs, and something in her tone, dark and authoritative, makes Joi clutch around nothing.

And she feels something like Haarlep's approval, violently hungry, driving themself down on their partner in response to Shadowheart’s words. It steals the air from Joi's lungs.

"You try holding a civil conversation when you're being…" She hisses, hugging her lover tighter. A shock of electric pleasure kisses along her spine, the sensation of being stretched to her breaking point, the phantom pleasure pressing and pressing for just a little more. Haarlep coos in her head, and she feels the point where her body gives. There should be nothing left, but Haarlep ensures she takes it. Joi fights to swallow, voice hoarse. "No elegant way to say you’re feeling...very full."

"Mmm. Any guesses what you're full of?" Shadowheart laughs at her incredulous expression. "Not so strange a question, is it? I'd like to know if I'll be competing with an Orthon to satisfy you in the future."

"You'd rise to the occasion."

"But of course. But it would necessitate a touch more effort." She hums against Joi's lips, rocking against her thigh. Shadow chews her lower lip, mischief twinkling in her eyes. "Do we think it's Raphael fucking you, sweet one? Should I be jealous?" Joi gasps, trying to push the image out of her head. "Of course, if you can't explain what they're doing to you…well, there's always the option of showing me later?"

"Yes."

"No need to convince you at all. Shame." Shadowheart pats her cheek. "You’re so eager. It’s sweet."

It's openly patronizing. It still manages to twist something low in the tiefling's belly, naked want flooding through her. On principle, Joi grumbles, "You're upsetting Haarlep."

Shadowheart laughs. "Liar. But I shan't keep you so…mentally occupied. Allow me."

Her lover's hand steals under her robes and between her legs, adding a blessed solidity to the otherwise ephemeral pleasure.

#shadowheart #bg3 fanfiction #shadowheart x tav #my writing #bg3 smut #i dunno i had an urge #realizing that i have basically never wrote anything with waifu #this must be changed #baldurs gate 3 #bg3

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boatcats · 1 year ago

Text

The Hospitality Industry

The package arrived on a rainy day as Ed and Stede were hanging the curtains. Jose, a kid from the town a mile down the road, dropped it off and Ed rewarded him with some of the silver coins they'd brought with them from the Revenge. It paid to be neighborly - and it was still such a delightful novelty to have consistent, land-based neighbors.

"I lost a toof!" Jose told Ed happily, smiling wide so Ed could see the gap.

"I see that. What happened?"

Jose shrugged. "They just fall out sometimes. 'Cause I'm a kid."

It had been a while since Ed had been around kids. Long enough that he'd half forgotten about baby teeth. Of course he knew that was a thing but still - wild.

"I'm gonna catch the toof fairy!" Jose said as Stede came to stand next to Ed at the door.

"Well, if you catch it be sure to bring it by to show us!" Stede said.

Jose cackled as he walked back down the steps. "I will."

"Great," Ed sighed, curling an arm around Stede’s back and resting his head on his chest. "Now he's gonna bring some animal by again." The snapping turtle incident was somewhat fresh in his mind.

"I'm sure it will be fine," Stede soothed. "What did you get, darling?"

"Not sure. Some sort of package. No return address."

"Well." Stede led Ed over to the couch and stretched out with his feet in Ed's lap. "Let's open it."

The package contained a note. Underneath the note was an empty glass jar.

"Welcome to the hospitality industry," the note said. "Thought I'd send you this in case you wanted to start your own collection. Love, Jackie."

#ofmd #ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd fic

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sideprince · 1 year ago

Note

A movie question I wanted to throw your way: what do you think about the decision to use a decent amount of physical acting on Rickman’s part for comic effect? I’m thinking his snatch of thin air in Philosopher's Stone, his creeping along the table towards Ron and Harry in Chamber, his dramatic point in that same scene, his walk up to the stage for Dueling Club, his whacking students in Goblet and Order, etc.

On one hand, I feel like this does match the tone of the books; he canonically lurks and prowls and points and snatches at the air, and his menace is often undercut by a physical description that’s meant to be some level of comedic. On the other hand, we don't see Snape nearly as much in the movies as we do in the books, so this aspect of his character seems somewhat overinflated by the movies?

TLDR I don’t think these decisions in the movie were completely out of left field, but it also feels off for some reason. Idk I don’t know how exactly to verbalize my feelings on the matter and wanted to hear your thoughts!

It will probably come as no surprise that I feel like any answer to this question is inseparable from the absolute hatchet jobs that are Steve Kloves' screenplays for the HP franchise. This reply is going to end up inevitably long (you ask me about my favorite subject, you suffer the consequences), but all of it is ultimately framed by the problem of having to make the best of a badly written script. (**edit: This post is way too long. Run away. Don't look back.)

The writing doesn't support the story

The first thing that jumps out to me is that there's a separation between where and how these comedic moments are used, up until the end of GoF and after. They're more a part of the story only until Harry's story arc reaches the point of Cedric's death, when he first witnesses death in the way that allows him to see thestrals after. GoF is when the story takes its first dark turn, and up until then the tone and story is much more in line with children's literature, so it makes more sense that Snape is portrayed in a bit of a playful way. After GoF - even though the films reveal it as an aside and much later than the original story does - Snape resumes his role as spy and becomes more integral to the story as a key character and is thus no longer just a foil in a children's story. I think what doesn't work about it is the inconsistency. The books have comedic moments with Snape too, which are cartoonish, up until the end of DH - I feel those are also out of place, but at least their existence gives a basis to what's done in the films.

Nevertheless, one of the biggest problems with the films is that they're badly edited. I'll leave that analysis for another post (you're welcome), but essentially these comedic moments feel inconsistent in part because there's often a disconnect between the performance a director has asked of his actors and the tone that's established in the editing room once pacing and a soundtrack are added. Any vision a director had for these films was muddled by the involvement of big studio producers and limitations. This is made more jarring by the way that Kloves has interjected light, funny moments in awkward ways throughout the scripts. He struggles overall to convey the world that Rowling has created, and if it weren't for the brilliant production design of Stuart Craig, Kloves' failures would be much more obvious (again, worthy of its own roast post).

Take the scene where Snape whacks Harry and Ron on the head in Gof: why are the students all studying in the Great Hall? Why are various years sitting together? Why is Snape overseeing them? It's a scene almost verbatim out of the book (Fred asks Angelina to the ball casually, he and George tell Ron and Harry to get dates "before all the good ones are gone," we find out Hermione already has a date), but like pretty much every scene that originally takes place in the Gryffindor common room, this one is moved to another location for no discernible reason. The main difference in the change is how restrictive it is: in the common room the children are free to be themselves, but in the Great Hall, under a strict teacher's nose, they have to be quiet and restrained. Another subject that would need its own post is the myriad of ways Kloves goes out of his way to rewrite settings and characters to avoid allowing them to express themselves or grow as characters, and how hard he works to stifle and limit them in ways that are convoluted and work against the story, as if he himself couldn't deal with any kind of emotional vulnerability (in a way, his scripts are a desperate cry for help). This directly contributes to why so many of Snape's comedic moments feel off.

The changes in the scene in GoF don't even make sense from a production perspective, as they required more actors, more lighting, and more setups. Instead of using the cozy setting of the common room to establish camaraderie between the students, Kloves replaced that energy and lightheartedness with Snape in a way that's uncharacteristic. The scene, as he wrote it, is already light and has humor, but Kloves doesn't trust it - he feels the need to exaggerate it and the casualties, as always, are the characters and their portrayal. It's as though he's following a formula and saying, "this page number/scene number must provide relief from the tension of the story" and then doesn't consider how following that directive fits into the rhythm of the narrative. It's closer to being an isolated scene akin to a comedy sketch than to a scene that's part of an act that's part of a film. It's worth noting that, in GoF, Kloves interjects this scene as if he's forcing this moment of comic relief into a story that didn't require it and then relies on playing off of Snape's usual seriousness as its crux. In OOtP, when there's a callback to it as Snape smacks Ron with a book again, it's no longer the point of the scene, but an aside in a comical montage focused on Umbridge (OOtP was also the only film not written by Kloves, so this moment is more likely the result of Michael Goldenberg trying to maintain a consistency with Kloves' work). Overall, I think that feeling of something being off is, again, more rooted in the writing than the performance.

Rickman as an actor playing Snape

There's a lot of criticism in the Snapedom of how Alan Rickman portrays Snape, but not enough acknowledgment that none of the characters are portrayed well, and most of it comes down to Kloves' writing of them. Book!McGonagall insists that all students under 17 are evacuated before the Battle of Hogwarts, where Movie!McGonagall only cares that the Slytherin students are locked in the dungeon, everyone else can stay, what does she care if first years die? Book!Hermione is intelligent and empathetic while Movie!Hermione is a two dimensional maternalistic harpy whose main job is to be a mouthpiece for plot exposition. Book!Ron is funny and brave and fiercely loyal, while Movie!Ron throws Hermione under the bus, is cowardly, and is reduced to a flatly written sidekick. Book!Harry is complex and while I could list a million examples, I'll stick to this one: in PoA when he finds out Sirius betrayed his parents, he's enraged but has no reply when asked if he'd want to kill Sirius. Movie!Harry says with conviction, and without prompting, that he wants to find Sirius with the explicit purpose of killing him. Every single character takes a hit because of how Steve Kloves writes them, and Snape is, sadly, no exception.

While some film shoots allow for improvisation, a big budget production on a tight schedule with scenes that require a lot of prep work can't afford to make many changes. So, for example, while Ralph Fiennes was asked to improvise his scene as Voldemort at the end of DH2 when he re-enters Hogwarts victorious (and that's why the dialogue is redundant and that weird hug with Draco continues to plague us), it could be done because the wardrobe and set and cast were already in place and the time required had already been scheduled in. It wouldn't be possible, though, to add an additional scene - like Snape going feral in the hospital wing at the end of PoA - unless it was written into the script. Additional actors would be required, which would mean coordinating with their schedules and adding them to the budget, not to mention scheduling in additional days with the crew who may already have other work lined up. It would require either pushing every other shooting day back - which is near impossible - in order to use the hospital wing set while it's still up, or tacking on production days to the end of the shooting schedule and rebuilding the set on those days. This can be done for necessary pickups that round out existing scenes, but you can't really say, "hey I decided we need a scene here that didn't exist before" without causing huge problems. Because of how contracts work, any significant scene changes would have to be sent back to Kloves who would have to write alternate scenes and/or dialogue, and even then if you wanted to fix a specific character's arc - like Snape's - you would have to add in so much that it just wouldn't be feasible. Screenplay lengths have to fall within a certain number of pages, because each page is approximately a minute of screen time, so adding a few more to a finished script mid-production is very difficult. The actors have to make the best of what's on the page. Which brings us to Alan Rickman, his choices as an actor, and what informed both him and the character of Snape.

Alan Rickman was a RADA trained actor, so his approach to a character involved a lot of physical work as well as character analysis. As far as I know, he was the only actor to contact JK Rowling directly to ask about his character, because he wanted to make an informed decision about how to play him since Snape was so nuanced and gray. Unlike some of the other actors (like Michael "DIDYAPUTYANAMEINDAGOBLETOFFIYAH" Gambon) Rickman read the books - those that were available when he took on the role, and each as they came out afterwards - and used them to inform his understanding of his character beyond what Kloves wrote (presumably in crayon with all the e's backwards). In interviews and Q&A's it's clear Rickman was fond of the HP books and story, and had a thoughtful process taking on Snape's character. He did not see him as a villain, because, as he's said, he didn't approach characters with that kind of judgment. And while I'm sure the egregious amounts of cash Warner Brothers threw at the actors was inevitably a factor for all of them, several of the ones playing teachers or other adults have said that they took on their role because a child in their life insisted on it, despite them being unfamiliar with the books, whereas Rickman's process was to read Rowling's books in order to decide whether to take the role. Again, he was a RADA trained actor, and thus had a meticulous approach to his work that followed a thoughtful, considered process and a decision based on whether he felt he could embody a character in a way that did them justice/if they were interesting enough to him. By the time he started shooting PS, he also had experience directing a film and was working as a director in theatre as well as still acting, so he understood the process from the perspective of not just an actor, but also as someone behind the camera, someone working with actors both as a peer and director, and someone sitting in an editing room.

We know from his diaries that he became increasingly frustrated with how his own process and expectations clashed with that of the producers on Harry Potter. He wasn't interested in renewing his contract after the first few films (goodness knows how much money they offered him in the end - his wife has said that he never let anyone else pick up a tab in a restaurant and if they argued, he would just say "Harry Potter."). He writes about seeing the films at premieres and being frustrated with how little story and development there is (especially for Snape), which makes me think there are deleted scenes somewhere that haven't been released. At one point he writes about a premiere party where he had internally lost patience with the three Davids (Yates, Heyman, and Barron). It's obvious that there's a discord between the work he wanted to do with Snape's character and what choices the production made:

He describes how, during the filming of the Yule Ball scene in GoF, there was an attempt to get him to dance but he refused because he didn't think Snape would dance:

It was a rare moment of potential for improvisation because, again, the set and cast and timing were already accounted for, and in this case there wasn't even dialogue. The scene where he smacks the boys with the notebook - as far as I know - was scripted. So there's a difference there in how much freedom he had, as an actor, to say no to what he was asked to do. Even in the above diary entry it's clear that, given his way, he felt the character wouldn't even be present in that scene, but he had no choice. This tells me that when he had more freedom to make choices, he did so based on his understanding of Snape as a character and, given that he was an actor who was both very respected (and got away with more than most) and also someone who could get argumentative about his character choices, I think this is the most apt lens to examine his physical work with Snape through.

Knowing that he wasn't interested in continuing the role of Snape after the first couple of films and that he was often frustrated with the lack of characterization and story arc, his physicality in his first scene in CoS (when he reprimands Harry and Ron for flying the car) says a lot. (Caveat that one of the reasons he didn't want to renew his contract was that the shooting schedule restricted his schedule and he wanted work on other projects, but I can't help but wonder if that had been the case had HP provided a more satisfying process.) It's almost certain that he had read all the available books by the time the scene in CoS was filmed, including PoA where Snape becomes apoplectic with rage in a way that, to a child reader, is comical (and intended to be) and to someone analyzing Snape is clearly rooted in triggered trauma.

Alan Rickman knew from the outset that Snape's motivation was his love for Lily, so he would have understood the dynamic between his character and Sirius re: who Snape thought sold Lily out to Voldemort. He would also have understood that Snape's reaction in PoA was more about distress and anxiety, and that this was connected to the promise Snape had made to protect Harry for Lily's sake. This would have therefore informed his portrayal of Snape's anger at Harry in CoS, and it's reasonable to assume that Rickman was trying to walk the line between the way Rowling portrayed Snape in full unhinged rage in PoA, what this tells him about this character when angered, and the connection between the moments in PoA and CoS when it comes to Snape's anxiety over Harry's safety. Unlike the author of a book however, who has full control of how they tell a story, Rickman was an actor in a film - an inevitably collaborative medium which therefore made his portrayal reliant on the decisions of others as well.

Chris Columbus, the HP movies, and feral Snape

PS and CoS were directed by Chris Columbus, the guy who directed both Home Alone and Home Alone II and Mrs. Doubtfire. He was a successful director from the 90s tradition of children's movies whose sensibility was informed by the era's attitude towards children's media: kids wanting to see themselves in narratives, in ways that felt empowering and allowed them to process the confusion of a world run by adults in playful, quasi-cartoonish ways within a 3 act structure where the villains - mean adults - get their comeuppance because it feels fair. One thing that set Harry Potter apart was that the villain was not the mean adult; Snape, the mean adult, is a character kids can hate and project their own experiences onto, but Voldemort is a true villain who represents evil and is vanquished by the hero. Chris Columbus established a tone for the first two films that was no longer apt by PoA, not only because it didn't work for the story, but because that 90s era of children's movies had ended and the culture moved on to more complex narratives (and Columbus has focused more on producing than directing since, because his style doesn't work for audiences anymore).

What's ironic about the way Snape's scene at the start of CoS comes off is that, in the book, there's a great comedic moment that's left out:

This is cut from the film, and instead it's Filch waiting at the top of the marble stairs who catches Ron and Harry being late and delivers them to Snape (I don't know why, the scene in the book is much more dynamic and would have taken up about as much time on screen). Rickman, meanwhile, is using the information he's gotten on who Snape is from the books, and imbuing some of that feral Snape energy into his portrayal of a Snape who is genuinely angry:

(Thank you for making these gifs @smilingformoney , they are truly the gift that keeps on giving.)

The thing is, no matter how much of feral Snape Rickman brought to this, no matter how menacing his performance is, this moment still lives within the dynamics of a Chris Columbus children's film. It gets cut off by Dumbledore's entrance - meant to be a comeuppance for Snape, since Dumbledore (being the voice of wisdom and fairness in this world) prevents him from punishing Harry and Ron (you know what, at least in the books they got detention, but ok). Despite Rickman's performance, Columbus as a director has framed this scene in the same context as the one Kloves cut. The tension is brief, and the focus is on Snape being foiled, because it's what children want to see - a mean adult experiencing consequences. It's down to the editing and soundtrack, choices Columbus made in the editing room. In addition, we don't know how many different ways an actor tries a scene, only what ends up in the final cut of a film. The process of the work done on a set is often much richer and more diverse than what an audience sees in the finished film.

Tbh I think this is also why Snape's feral moments were cut from PoA: it's a darker film, but had to straddle the line between being for both children and tweens and not getting too playful, nor too intense. As much as I want to see feral Snape on screen, it's extremely difficult to make work in a narrative that is about Harry and his friends. It either skews too intense, making the audience uncomfortable because seeing an adult becoming unhinged and in pain is difficult and frightening for most young people, even adults, and would therefore take away from Harry's goals and narrative as well as his changing relationship to Sirius (all of which is already barely supported by Kloves' writing). Alternately, it could also skew too comical and over the top, which takes the audience out of the tension of the film's climactic moments.

If Snape's story had gotten more focus and screen time, an unhinged moment would be better justified because the audience would have been more invested in the character and their arc. PoA sidesteps pretty much all of the most compelling parts of the book, which is the realization that Harry is not only connected to Sirius personally, but that his dad, Sirius, Lupin, and Pettigrew created the Marauders Map, that they were animagi, that Harry's patronus takes the form of his father's stag, and that Snape was initimately connected to all of them as well. For me, reading the end of PoA was what cemented Snape as someone who would be crucial to the narrative and whose role would increase as the series went on. As a result of Kloves skimming over these essential plot twists, Snape is a minor character in the film, showing up mostly as a foil who tries to expose Lupin and then catches him and Black in the Shrieking Shack (this also sets his character up to be minimized in every film down the line, which has a worsening impact as Snape becomes increasingly integral to the plot).

One thing I find interesting is that Snape's comical physicality changes over the films. In PS and CoS he's menacing, a looming, larger than life figure the children fear and easily assume to be a full-fledged villain. By GoF there's a relationship embedded in how he interacts with Harry and his friends. He's no longer terrifying, just intimidating, more of an adult Harry challenges than someone he must defeat. The comedic effect now comes from a rapport within an established dynamic between characters. By HBP, the only comical moment is at Slughorn's party, and it's no longer Rickman who uses physicality - the action happens around him, and the comedic effect is in his lack of reaction to any of it. In other words, he's no longer the comic one, he's become the straight man in a (badly written) comedy sketch (with abysmal timing, what even).

Ultimately, as with most of the characters in the HP films, Snape is undermined by the writing. Rickman was stuck working within the confines he was given. No matter how well he may have understood the character, the limited screen time and character development were always going to stifle how Snape was portrayed on screen. I'm very much pro Let Snape Be Feral but I also don't fault Rickman in how little we saw of that.

How Feral is Snape?

If I'm honest, I feel like the Snapedom has taken the Let Snape Be Feral thing and has started forgetting that he wasn't all-feral-all-the-time. The point of Feral Snape is that it's a heightened state of tension in a character whose trauma is being triggered. Apoplectic Snape wouldn't have an impact at the end of PoA if that was his usual way of being. And, as you so brilliantly showed @said-snape-softly Snape's speech patterns are primarily quiet and controlled, his speech gets softer the more dangerous his mood, and it's only after he reassumes his role as a spy that the description of his speech becomes increasingly volatile (but is still controlled). Feral Snape's definitive aspect is the lack of control shown by a character who usually is so exceptionally capable of self restraint and compartmentalization. So again, while I would have loved to see Feral Snape on screen, I think it's also important to acknowledge that this is not the defining feature of his character and is more about what those moments mean to his arc. Their absence is primarily due to poor writing that didn't create space for them (including what leads up to them), and the direction that didn't carve out any kind of niche for them, not Rickman's choices as an actor.

In fact, Snape as a character is defined by descriptors of his voice more than any other character by far. I have my own theory about why this is, and it has to do with Alan Rickman being inextricably connected with how Snape is written. Chris Columbus said that Alan Rickman was always Snape as far as he was concerned, because when JK Rowling showed him a sketch of Snape she had made, it looked exactly like Rickman. I don't think this is accidental.

Alan Rickman was always intended to be Snape

First, what's important to remember is that before Harry Potter, Alan Rickman was best known in the 90s for playing both villains and sad romantic leads. His signature defining feature was his voice. I think it was Ang Lee who described the casting choice of Greg Wise and Alan Rickman in Sense and Sensibility as wanting Willoughby (Wise) to be dashing and Brandon (Rickman) to be sexy (if this was Emma Thompson and not Ang Lee, my apologies, I can't remember where I read this and can't find the source). This is how Rickman was perceived by audiences up until Harry Potter. And I know a lot of the Snapedom considers him to be sexy as Snape too, but the general audiences of the films don't, so please don't @ me, I'm just setting up a point here.

This is relevant because, as we find out in the end of the books, Rowling wrote Snape's motivations to be rooted in romantic love (I'm very nobly putting aside, for the sake of focusing on Rowling's intentions, my personal interpretation that Snape's feelings for Lily were platonic, please acknowledge how brave I am for this). She pulls a lot from gothic tropes into how he's written, and as much as she's talked about the character having been inspired by a chemistry teacher she disliked, and as much as she's talked about Snape being both morally grey and someone she personally dislikes, she also romanticized him. Between this and what Chris Columbus said about her sketch of him, it's hard for me to ignore that this character, conceived of in the 90s, wasn't written with Alan Rickman in mind from the beginning, especially since Rowling herself has said that she envisioned him in the role. Whether or not he lived up to Rowling's imagination is, frankly, his choice and Rowling's problem.

The story of how Harry Potter was written according to JK Rowling is that it started with the idea coming to her on a train ride in 1990. She completed the PS manuscript in 1995. While everything I'm about to say is absolute conjecture, I can't help but wonder at the connection between these films and the way Snape was written (spoilers ahead, no regrets, these films have been out for over a quarter of a century - forgive my reviews, I can't help myself):

1988: Die Hard comes out. Alan Rickman plays Hans Gruber, a villain who is a genius, composed, controlled, and soft-spoken. (Great film, a classic, the only valid Christmas movie.)

1990: Truly, Madly, Deeply. Rickman plays a man whose wife can't get over his tragic death, nor can his own ghost, who comes back to spend more time with her. No one else can see him, and they can't really share a life anymore. She eventually lets him go as she realizes that his spirit doesn't belong in the mortal world and her own life can't move on as long as she clings to it. (Beautiful film, will break your heart and put it through a shredder.)

1991: Robin Hood, Prince of Thieves. Rickman is the Sheriff of Nottingham, an unhinged, feral villain who wears all black complete with billowing cape. (Terrible film, disaster of a period piece, Rickman's performance is the only redeeming thing about it. Halfway through its press tour talk shows started booking Rickman instead of the lead, Kevin Costner, because Rickman stole every scene.)

1995: An Awfully Big Adventure. Rickman is an actor who comes back to his hometown to revive his role as Captain Hook in a local theatre production of Peter Pan. In the process he has an affair with a young ginger stagehand who reminds him of his lost love, a vivacious woman named Stella with bright red hair who, as far as he knows, birthed his child - a son - before she died. It turns out the girl he has an affair with is his daughter, which he realizes when he visits her home where she lives in the care of her aunt and uncle - whose name is Vernon - and connects the dots of who this girl's mother was. (He then rides his motorcycle out to the pier, screams "Stella" at the heavens like he's in a revival production of Streetcar Named Desire, trips and hits his head on the edge of the pier and falls into the water, drowning. I can't make this up. Mike Newell directed this. The same guy who directed GoF. As if following in the vein of the 90s movie obsession with incest as the controversial-trope-du-jour wasn't enough. I don't even need to review this, just sum it up.)

1995: Sense and Sensibility. Rickman plays Colonel Brandon, a forlorn, grieving man who lost his first love at a young age and spends most of the film pining for the only other woman he's ever had a romantic interest in. Wears all black, rides a black horse.

Given what a well-known actor Rickman was in the 90s - especially in England - and how connected his characters all seem to be to various aspects of Snape, it's hard not to see a connection. The entire premise of Truly, Madly, Deeply sounds like the inspiration for the Resurrection Stone in Deathly Hallows. The redheaded lost love whose child is left in the care of an Uncle Vernon in An Awfully Big Adventure is difficult to look past. All of these characters either exude menacingly soft-spoken Snape energy, feral Snape energy, or forlorn because of his lost love Snape energy. As a result, I feel like it's almost inevitable that Rickman inspired Snape, especially when you consider how known he was for his voice and how frequently Snape's voice is used to describe him. When Rowling said that she envisioned him in the role, it makes me wonder if she meant during the casting process for the first film, or well before it. I think his previous roles were a contributing factor in how the character was written in the books. After Tim Roth - who was originally cast in the role - had to back out due to scheduling conflicts, she got her way. Authors don't often get to choose who plays their characters, but in this case it worked out as the production thought Rickman was a good fit as well.

I'm done, I promise

So where does this leave things at the end of this horrendously long post? Rickman's choices of how he physicalized Snape - comedic or not - are only part of a larger whole. He was playing a character who was written based on his other roles, and limited by the shortcomings of how Steve Kloves translated that character from Rowling's books into his own screenplays. Whatever Rickman did on set was limited by that writing, by the directors he worked with, and by the choices made in the editing room.

I'm fascinated by the idea that Rickman was playing a character written with him in mind - but not really him, the him who embodied other characters whose echoes show up in Snape. It's difficult enough to contend with an actor playing a character in a screenplay you wrote with them in mind when you're directing your own script, because they'll never be what you imagined in your head. But for that process to get filtered through several directors, a team of producers, another writer who changes your work, and an editor, let alone throughout a decade of films - that's downright wild. The original intention gets lost and reinterpreted like a game of telephone, and I think that a lot of the consistencies between Movie!Snape and Book!Snape are down to Alan Rickman's nuanced and generous nature as an actor. If I'm honest, I'm not convinced that every Snape moment that comes off comical was meant to be so by Rickman. But again, film is such a collaborative medium that his intentions aren't the only ones that matter, ultimately, at least they aren't the only thing that ends up in the final cut.

My take, personally, is that I'm more interested in critical analysis than personal criticism. I respect that everyone has their own vision of a character and fandom is absolutely here for, among other things, having a place to share those thoughts and feelings. But a character is rarely going to appear on screen the same way you see them in your head, and that's not always going to be a fault, even if it's a disappointment to you. It's interesting to hear different people's perceptions, but there isn't that much to discuss there - you can't refute how someone feels, and you can't argue that their truth is what it is, to them. Whereas with critical analysis there's a lot more to talk about and examine, so it's where my own interest is much more invested.

#asks #long post #said-snape-softly #do I have regrets about the length? not one.#is anyone still reading? not one.

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