#we got really into the trenches with this chapter

[eddiemunson-reader-shame]

A Freak and a Basket Case: Eddie Munson x Hispanic!Fem!Reader

Chapter 4: Paranoid

Ooooh baby, this was a doozy that turned into a semi rant at the end… hold on tight lads, the mental illness is really coming in bad tonite.

Trigger warnings: MINORS DNI, homophobic comments (not from Eddie or reader, don’t worry), jealousy issues, insecurity, codependent attachment, trust issues, anxiety, implied/referenced drug use, brief mentions of intimate acts

[Masterlist] - [Previous Chapter] - [Next Chapter]

***

“Mira, look who it is! The Queen of the Nerds!”

Fuck…! Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

You were trying to be subtle, to come in without a trace. Busting a mission to make it into the house without your family smelling you or seeing your tiny eyes. You didn’t want to deal with anyone’s bullshit tonight either. Too many overwhelming feelings and intrusive thoughts were scrambling all coherence out of your already zooted out mind. And yet fate was against you from the get go. Scruffy and Tiffany blew your cover the moment they heard the key turn in the lock of the doorknob. The dogs both came barking down the hallway to the door, and of course if the dogs were back inside and not in the dog run at four PM on a Tuesday, that meant only one thing:

Your brother Jamie hadn’t yet left for his shift working security at the Hawkins Water Utility Building…

“Shut up, huevon.” You snapped quickly. “Don’t you got work?”

“I do, smartass. I got an hour before my shift starts.”

Your brother, Jaime Luiz, anglicized for the people of Hawkins as “James” (and thence forth Jamie), was seated on your ratty mustard yellow couch in the living room. You could smell the clove cigarettes he’d been chain smoking, and you hoped the stench would drown out the smell of the pot on you. He turned away from the television to look up at you, evidently your homecoming held a little more interest than Tina Turner currently did on MTV.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked.

“School.” You immediately replied, looking away from him.

You booked it past him and heard your brother sniff.

FUCK!

You quickly made your way to your bedroom and shut the door, intending to shower off the smell of Eddie’s deodorant and the reefer before Jamie had any further suspicions. You took off your Carhartt jacket and tossed it in an inconspicuous corner of the room with your backpack, narrowly missing your milk crate of vinyls in the process. After smoothing out your hair and unlacing your chucks clumsily, you were just about to go into your connected bathroom to turn on the hot water when you heard a knock and then the creak of your door opening.

“So how was school?”

As usual. No boundaries in your own fucking house. The white kids got a polite knock and gave permission for anyone to enter. In your Hispanic house, knocking was a courtesy that only your brother adhered to, albeit briefly before he eventually just decided to walk in because he felt like he owned the place as the “man” of the house.

“Shit.” You said honestly, not looking at him. “Pure shit. Tired of dealing with people.”

“Yeah? What’re they saying?”

Jamie sat down on your bedspread, arms crossed over his chest as he watched you gather your pajamas. It was the same bullshit you always wore: a black shirt with fading patches of gray that used to be purple before you got a hold of it, and bright pink dolphin shorts.

“The usual. You know how the gringos are.” You said.

“You gotta be careful when you’re dealing with that shit.” Jamie said immediately. “You know how it is; they don’t like us here, but if you keep it cool you can coast on by. Just keep it straight and don’t make waves, esa.”

“Yeah, I’m hoping it could change though.” You said.

“I got a strong feeling that it won’t…” Jamie sighed. “Anyways, that’s not why I’m here. Whose cologne you wearing?”

“Excuse me?!”

“What? Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” he sniffed. “You smell like Old Spice, and mota. And you’re walking around all tirado.”

“Who the hell has you smelling me, you cochino!” You said, avoiding turning around so he wouldn’t see your red rimmed eyes.

“Ay, don’t get mad at me! You’re the one all coming home smelling like a skunk’s ass. A la ve, your eyes are redder than the devil’s pecker too!”

Jamie was so close to your face you could have slapped the grin right off of his. He had his hands on your shoulders, shaking them slightly as he tried to get you to turn around. You covered your burning cheeks.

“Get the fuck away from me, bro!” you couldn’t help the nervous pot giggles. Too high to even try and deny it.

“Come on, vieja. Whose cologne are you wearing?” He laughed.

“Oh my god…” You sighed, “If I tell you, will you leave me the fuck alone?!”

“Yes, I’ll stop bothering you.”

“… I kinda, maybe, just a little bit… might have a boyfriend now.”

“Enserio?” Jamie’s face dropped, his mouth hanging open as he searched your face for the ‘gotcha’ moment that would never come, “This isn’t like a prank, is it?”

“Nah uh, serio bro.” You laughed.

It was so worth it seeing Jamie’s smug demeanor drop into one of pure shock, almost awe.

“Oowee, and who’s the poor torcido you managed to convince?” Jamie asked.

“Not anyone you know, entrementido!” You yelled, “Jesus, you’re all fucking nosey!”

Jamie dodged the sock you threw weakly at him, laughing at your poor aim and at the way you teetered unsteadily on your feet.

“Calmase, mami! A la… Just trying to look out for you.” He laughed, “So… what… is he like a big nerd like you or what?”

How could you even deny it at this point? Eddie could pull more fantasy facts out of his ass high than you ever could sober.

“Yeah… Yeah he is. He’s into fantasy.” You replied.

“Of course he is… What’s the nerd’s name?”

“Eddie. His Name is Eddie.”

Jamie frowned slightly.

“Eddie? He’s a little gringito or what?” Jamie asked.

“Yeah. He likes Dungeons and Dragons, and the Lord of the Rings, and Dune, and music…”

“Ay dios… So my sister’s gonna turn into a nerdy pothead…”

“That’s rich coming from my marihuano ass brother!” You shot back.

“Hey, I don’t smoke pot that often!” He cried.

He wouldn’t ever admit it. Never owning up to his own mistakes like a man. Your brother could strut his shit around everyone like he was a king, but admitting his own shortcomings was not his strong suit. But that was life in your family. That was life in la raza too whether or not you wanted to admit it too. You hid the weakest points of your life under a mask of bravado whether or not you were a man or a woman, because the insults and judgement from the white community were nothing in comparison to the dressing down you got from within the confines of your own safe circle.

It pissed you off and made you angry that everyone just always wanted to hide shit to be normal.

“Bullshit! I could smell it in your room the first week we came to Hawkins, goddamn liar. I know you didn’t have any on you when we left New Mexico. So you had to have gotten it here.” You said.

“Okay, so I made a few connections here and there…” he admitted. “At least I don’t walk around the damn house reeking of it along with some dude’s cologne all mas puta like you!”

“No, you just walk around smelling like fucking Tres Flores and Tecate. Only the best for El Mas Chingon.”

Jamie’s easygoing demeanor only served to piss you off. It was like you were a tiny poodle barking at a Doberman. Immediately Jamie tried redirecting your anger.

“It could be worse, pendeja. I could smell like that weird kid on our street back in Albuquerque, remember the weird one? He always smelled like sovaco…” he put a finger to his lips, trying to remember the name that escaped him.

You knew immediately the face but not the name of who he was talking about, even high you wouldn’t forget the people back home.

“Oh fuck!” you laughed. “What the hell was his name… FUCKING RAYMOND!”

“Raymundo!” Jamie laughed. “Fucking Raymond, man… Can we at least agree that we both smell better than that torcido?”

“Whatever, bitch…” You laughed. “What the fuck made you think of him?”

“The Old Spice your vato got all over you. Raymond tried using it once to cover up the pit smell when he caught some putasos from the homegirls in Hernandez.” Jaime laughed. “Goddamn, I hope Eddie isn’t as lame as Raymond?”

“Oh hell no, bro.” You grinned, taking your clothes into the bathroom and dropping them on the countertop over your Gillette Supermax hairdryer, “Eddie’s the real deal, vato. He’s a metalhead... Puro chingon.”

Jamie mock whistled, clearly unimpressed. While your brother appreciated metal music, he still had the typical machismo mentality that long hair and tight pants were for girls, and any metathead he saw in public was branded cruelly for life by your brother. You could already hear the homophobic insults he was thinking about Eddie in his head just by the tone of voice alone.

“Eeee… So if he’s a metalhead, does he have like all the long hair like a girl, and the leather jackets and shit?” Jamie asked.

“He’s not gonna wear a fucking leather jacket in this heat you idiot.” You said, “But he does have a battle vest he made himself. And he’s got the ripped skinny jeans, the rings… He even plays in a band!”

“What’s the name of the band?” He asked.

“Corroded Coffin.”

“… Corroded Coffin?” Jamie looked genuinely confused, before he burst out laughing. “Corroded Coffin?! The hell kind of name is that joto shit?”

“Shut up asshole!” You hiss, “You just don’t get the genius behind the name; it’s metal as fuck! Dare I say gothic as hell too! Just perfect for me, you know how I’ve always wanted to be all goth.”

Jamie laughs even harder. It’s just like him. Typical bullshit sibling banter, but the way he’s so dismissive of you and of Eddie… it makes you angry and defensive.

“Dios mio… you’re probably his wet dream then, all dressed in your black clothes like you’re going to a fucking funeral.” He laughs.

“Simón! He’s my Paul, I’m his Chani. I’m his Leia, he’s my Han. He’s my Alan, I’m his Madison…” you rattled off names of every couple you could think of in the media you consumed.

After a while, when the reefer made you forget what you were even saying, you turned to see Jamie with his cheeks puffed out. Clearly trying not to just burst out again laughing in your face.

“… You’re such a fucking weirdo, esa.” He said, voice strained.

“Oh shut up and leave me alone!”

He did laugh at that, and it took everything in you not to beat the crap out of him.

“Okay, okay… I’m sorry.” He wheezed.

There was silence for a beat. You didn’t know what to say anymore, and neither did he. You were about to just kick him out of your room when he finally spoke up again.

“You sure you’re not rushing into this?” He asked gently. “Because if you’re already comparing yourself to stupid ass movie relationships, it sounds like you’re already falling for the guy…”

“Hey, I can go as fast or slow as I want.” You snapped, “Eddie said relationships don’t have rules. We can go at our own pace. Whatever feels right to us. And it feels right to jump on the chance before someone else gets to him.”

“Just so long as you promise me that you won’t rush to do anything stupid. I don’t want you getting hurt, and I don’t want you getting pregnant either.” He said.

“A la maquinas bro! What the hell do you think? I know I sound desperate, but I’m not that goddamn desperate to get knocked up to keep him.” You whined.

“You’re already jumping into this way too fast. You’ve known him what, like a day or two? I don’t know how many times I’ve seen this shit happen: girls meeting guys and falling in love, then the next thing, sas, she’s popping out a kid in nine months. Don’t think you’re any different from other girls, mami.”

“I know I’m different.” You growled, the irritation coming back full force. “I know it… Eddie said I was, and everyone else knows I’m different too...”

“Yeah but… You’re still just as vulnerable as any other girl. You’re already falling for it now. If you fall so easily, you’ll end up all fucked up in the end. I’m just trying to look out for you, just be careful with this Eddie guy, okay? He’s some virgin nerd. You don’t know what he’s after-…”

“… he’s not a virgin…” you said softly.

Jamie paused his rant, looking up at you wide eyed.

“What?! You… how the hell do you know that?!” He demanded.

“He told me…” you mumbled.

“… how many girls has he been with?”

He leaned forward, waiting for an answer.

“He said he had an ex that he did it with all the time in his van…” you admitted, “And that there were a couple girls at the high school that wanted to do it with him on a dare.”

“Chingao…” he breathed, “Have you guys…”

“NO! No… no he…”

You two had hit at least third base at Lover’s Lake through two layers of nylon tights, and denim, grinding in the van until there was an embarrassing wet spot on the fly of his ripped up Wrangler jeans. He came, you came, and it had been the first time you had been so goddamned careless. You’d opened your legs to him, and he’d stopped you short.

“Sorry sweetheart. Normally I would, but not this time…”

“He said he didn’t wanna do it like that in the van while we were too high out of our minds…” you replied, recalling the way he’d almost withdrawn completely away, “He said… He said he wanted us to be sober, for it to be special…”

“Well… at least he wanted it to be different… Just watch it with him, don’t fall too hard for it, entiendes?” Jamie said.

What difference did it make if it was the right thing to do? You were already bitter and moody about it, feeling rejected and all types of ways about how this night had gone down. And that wasn’t the only thing you were bitter about…

“I won’t fall for it. I won’t because… ugh… I’m so fucking pissed, bro…” you growled.

“Why?” Jamie asked.

“Because he didn’t fucking wait!”

You kicked your wicker laundry hamper, pouting and stomping like a petulant child.

“Fucking cochino ass vatos, bro! Just going along with whoever showed a passing fancy, instead of waiting for someone to show up who really cared… Why… why didn’t…”

The feelings were bubbling and frothing in your stomach, hurting you physically from the shock in taking in his revelations in the van. At first, you’d been too high to understand what Eddie was saying. And then the more he rambled on about his previous little sticky fumblings with sex, the angrier you got. What the fuck, you’d thought. Feelings of possessiveness and jealously had plagued you and made your heart hurt, and you had to pretend that his rambling about how you were special and different and how he wanted things to be better quelled the jealous fury.

“Why didn’t that dumbass wait for me?!” You finally sobbed.

Jamie began to laugh.

It was ugly. It was unchecked. It totally invalidated everything you felt. But he began to howl.

“Serious?!” He exclaimed, “You don’t own this guy, he had a life before you. You’re just being all celosas!”

“Shut the fuck up, cabron! No I’m not!” You cried.

“You are!” He laughed, “You’re jealous of girls that ain’t even in the picture anymore!”

Hold it back… hold it in… don’t go for him unchecked… because if you did it now you’d fall flat on your ass and only make your brother laugh harder.

“It’s not fucking funny!” You whined, “It’s not funny, you ass… Eddie’s… he’s the only guy that’s ever paid any attention to me… He’s perfect for me… Why couldn’t he just wait and hope that there was someone out there, that I was out there…?”

“Because that ain’t how shit works, mensa.”

Jamie suddenly looked serious, as if attempting to speak to your jealousy to quell its fury.

“Eddie’s his own man, he’s a person. He’s got his own needs and wants outside of you. You can’t expect someone to just sit on their thumbs waiting just because it’s what you want them to do. This is why I’m worried about you getting so attached. You’re already hurting yourself getting hung up on the what ifs…”

Jamie paused, but because he usually just said shit, he continued.

“And for real, your way of thinking is pretty selfish.”

“But…”

He held up a hand to you.

“Do you even hear yourself when you’re talking?” He asked, “I know you’re high right now, but goddamn dude. You’re basically reducing Eddie to nothing more than an object, like he’s a possession. That ain’t how real love works. You can’t get all worked up because he’s got a past that didn’t revolve around you.”

“But… but’s not fair, because I wouldn’t have treated him like the other girls did…” you tried to defend yourself.

“Mami, who cares? You ain’t above them just because you would have been nicer to him, regardless if they were shitty or not. You don’t know them, nor do you know what went down. I’m not saying it’s wrong to wait for the right person, but just because you made that choice to stay ‘pure’ or whatever doesn’t mean you get to act like you’re all bad and so better than everyone else-…”

“BUT I DIDN’T GET THAT CHOICE!”

You were at the breaking point. Fuck him. Fuck him! He didn’t know you. You realized then and there, Jamie didn’t even want to understand how you felt about all this.

“That’s a fucking crock of shit…” you hissed. “I didn’t get that choice to save myself for someone! Everyone else made it for me because no one fucking… Those girls he was with got a choice to do it with someone, Eddie got a choice to do it with someone… I didn’t get no fucking choice! No one… no one even wanted to…”

It’s too goddamned much. It’s too fucking much to think about. Your mind is a whirlpool, Charybdis incarnate as you’re pulled in twenty different emotional directions. No one gave you a choice to decide who you wanted to give yourself to, and god knows there were plenty of guys back in New Mexico who you would have shared everything with. You weren’t as prudish as everyone believed you to be. Frankly the thought of having sex thrilled and excited you, it was special attention that was exclusive to the individual, and Jesus Christ you wanted special attention. Any kind of attention really. So in those vulnerable moments of awkwardly awakening your thoughts and feelings, you began your hunt to find someone to share this love with. There were a lot of guys you projected a fantasy into. Each was a clone of some Prince Charming who didn’t exist. Comprised of qualities you naively believed a lover should have, a smattering of this and that: someone who could share your passion in music, someone you related to culturally, a lover of books, someone who lived with their head in the clouds as you did, those who had a zest for life and living that you had lost… They all had some amazing quality you’d projected onto them, and yet not a one gave you the fucking time of day.

The results were the same: they’d look you up and down, and then make the decision. A resounding no. They looked at you, with your baggy black clothes and oversized jacket, and they all thought the same thing: not a fucking chance in hell. No matter how hard you tried to understand why there was so much resounding rejection, you never could quite figure it out. All you knew was you were nothing to them. You were furniture. And if you went scrambling after them, trying to be what they wanted you to be, they spoke down to you. As if you were a child. As if you were stupid. Everyone did…

But not Eddie…

You think you’re the only one in this van that does weird out there shit?

Eddie had grabbed you by the backpack. Staked his claim on you. Stolen you from Hawkins High like a bundle of contraband…

We’re both weird.

The two of you could throw Dune references at one another, and he’d listen eagerly to you talk about the other books you’d read… not once did he ever judge or call you a fucking child. Only one other person in the world didn’t judge you either, and he was nowhere to be found…

We’re both freaks…

Eddie said he would lend you his copy of The Lord of the Rings, because you’d never read it before. Then he said something about how you were prettier than the Lady Galadriel… You wanted to get to that part of the book to confirm if that was a good thing or not. You wanted to know everything about him and share things with him, to fit in, to feel affection…

I don't care if you're weird. I like it.

Eddie taught you to do the tongue thing… With the promise of teaching so much more…

I like you…

“Get out of my room.” You said lowly to your brother.

“Hey, wait a minute-…”

I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer…

“Get. Out. Of. My. Room.” You hissed.

“Hermana-…”

“GET THE FUCK OUT!”

You didn’t wait to hear his sputtering protests. With a strength you didn’t know you possessed, you shoved Jamie as hard as you could out of your room, slamming the door behind him and locking it deftly before turning on your record player so loud it set off the barking of your dogs.

Jamie didn’t know shit from fuck. No one did… They didn’t get it. They were all just fine, going through their mundane lives like nothing was wrong, when everything in the entire world was wrong. The world wasn’t like in books. The world was messy and complicated and stupid… And it just wasn’t goddamned fair.

But deep down, you knew you deserved the pain. The world had your hand in a box, a poisoned needle at your throat. To move away, to flinch even the slightest bit, was to forfeit to death.

You weren’t going to let that happen. So you decided to go with what you knew: keep your mouth shut, your head down, and give Eddie Munson whatever in the hell he wanted. Even if you had to pretend like certain things didn’t hurt you.

I must not fear. Fear is the mind killer…

[flokali]

im so happy you agree because luke IS a puppy with a big heart !! i could talk about him all day because he's just so ?? my second favorite is artem. i love the little detail of being able to pull his tie down lolol

i haven't played in forever so im hoping the new cards are looking sick as hell! be careful not to spend too much ok?

- (luke lover)

OMG, Luke Lover !! I’ve limited myself, huhuhu;; Had a spiritual awakening when I saw the expression on my sibling’s face when I told them about the sixty bucks… I never thought a 15 year old’s gaze of disappointment could be so cold (TT)

Yes, Luke is so… puppy-coded, baby boy waited 8 years and never forgot you and is willing to sacrifice his own happiness and well-being for you, he makes me sick (positive). I love, love Luke because his love for MC is so pure and he’s just such an interesting character! Like, the little glimpses we see into his past, those 8 years training away from you, when he goes “Raven” and loses the spark in his eye, especially when it’s because he does it protect you (TT);; The scene in the first event, “Lost Gold”, where he breaks the guy’s finger? And is like… “talk or else you lose the other nine”, that’s one of the first times we see “Raven”, and it’s like, wow… do that again. And seeing him progress… especially his latest Sweet Chapter story, my boy is going through IT on the Main Story (all of them are tbh) but I’m delusional so the MS doesn’t exist for me and Luke is healthy, happy, blessed, rich, famous, loved, and totally 100% fine mentally and physically (^_^)

And Artem (TT), Mr. Wing give me one chance I’ll blow your mind and coc— he’s just so!! Malewife-house-husband-breadwinner-hopeless-romantic-coded, I feel like… even if you’re not an Artem stan, you can appreciate him! And! And! And! His tie… please, whenever I go bother him it’s the first thing I do, his face when you pull it down, the little blush before he fixes it, the way he adjusts it… he’s just so !!! There’s just something about how he’s the oldest LI but he’s also the shyest, the one who pins and pins to the point those around him are begging him to do something already! Celestine really is his number one hype-woman;; she’s probably going to be the one to celebrate the wedding the most when you get married (TT) And the little things he does to be with you? The watching romance movies, reading books, noting down things he thinks you may like, the going out of his way to be with you/near you, the way his demeanor changes when you’re around… All of his cards and stories are so !!!

Ughhh, I may love Vyn to hell and back (mostly to hell) but if I were MC, I have to say, Artem or Luke would probably be my choices as lovers. Don’t get me wrong, Marius and Vyn are probably one of my favorite characters in media, period, but Artem and Luke are peak boyfriend - fuck, even just friend - material. I don’t think there’s ever been a franchise where I’ve rooted so deeply for a character to end up with the MC/Player as ToT with Luke or Artem (+_+)^^

[fushiglow]

Gojō Satoru's rude awakening

I'm refusing to let myself seriously entertain the possibility that Gojō can come back after chapter 236. However, that's because I'm trying to protect my future self from disappointment, not because I think it's implausible — and I really want to talk about this image!

A couple of days ago, @runabout-river shared an interesting theory about what might happen next for Gojō. The post itself is well worth a read, but it was the choice of the above image that really set my mind alight. This scene is fresh in our minds after the anime adaptation of Hidden Inventory, and timing is clearly never an accident with Gege Akutami. So, why is it relevant now?

We see Gojō giving himself over to his past, lost in his happy dreams of his youth, only for Megumi — Gojō's first student and a symbol of the future that he envisions — to bring him back to the present by telling Gojō, "You're the one who called us here, please don't go dozing off."

In other words, "You're the one who dragged us into all of this, don't go pretending this isn't reality just because it's nicer in the past."

In my immediate reaction to 236, I said:

Gojō's dying bloody smile shows he's at least happy in his final moments. [...] Although, if Gojō actually is at peace in death, maybe that's the reason Gege will bring him back. He'll *never* let that man be happy, I swear.

It was just a joke, but seeing @runabout-river's post made me realise that Akutami has already set a precedent for 'punishing' Gojō for looking backwards. When he's dreaming about his past, Megumi scolds him and brings him back to the present. When he 'lets his mind wander' to his blue spring in Shibuya, he literally gets locked in a box where time doesn't pass, only to immediately find himself at the bottom of Japan's deepest ocean trench when his students bust him out to fix the problem he created.

As a side note, in both of these moments, the anime adaptation played a melancholy version of Gojō's Limitless theme — the audio representation of Gojō's youth. I'll eat my hat if it doesn't play again when chapter 236 is eventually adapted (I shared some more insights into some of the easter eggs hidden in the season 2 score in my mini review of the Hidden Inventory soundtrack if you wanna read).

If Gojō dies here, looking backwards to his youth, then he's taking the easy way out and that's what I find hardest to swallow about 236. Gojō leaves what is potentially the most difficult conversation he'll ever have — telling Megumi the truth about his father — to Shōko. He leaves his students to deal with the fallout of his failure to cremate Getō's body. He's saddling the people he loves with the responsibilities he leaves behind, and that's not fair.

However, we won't know if that's what's happened for sure until the whole story is told. Gojō doesn't mention his students in this chapter, and lots of people were bewildered that he seems unconcerned about their safety in a world without him. While that could simply be explained by his faith that they've "got it from here", there's a chance that he genuinely didn't think about it and he's about to get a rude awakening as his punishment — hence, "I pray that this isn't just a delusion".

I would *adore* it if Shōko dragged him back to life kicking and screaming, hauling him away from his pleasant fantasy of youth to tell him, 'No, you and Getō don't get to leave me behind to pick up the pieces again'. Because isn't that Shōko as a character? The one who's left to pick up the pieces in their wake? The one to heal the wounds and lay the bodies to rest while everyone forgets she's even there?

It would be the most character development she ever receives, and I'd love to see how Gojō and Shōko's dynamic changes when he's not the 'Strongest' anymore. So, in Shōko's own words:

[chiffxna]

A Love Too Dark (02)

The Marquis Vincent de Gramont x Reader

Chapter 02: Chaos and Risks

WARNING: THIS IS A DARK FIC.

This story will contain 18+ mature themes, dark romance, toxic behaviour, blood, violence, stalking, manipulation, a lot of smut, dubious consent, non-consensual content, yandere Marquis de Gramont, power play, and power imbalance, obsession, dark Marquis de Gramont, and abuse of power. The list will be added more as the story progresses. Minors, don't read.

Story Masterlist

PREV : Chapter 01

NEXT : Chapter 03

Several hours later, Yn finished her shift and she immediately changed her clothes, ending up with a long trench coat and a casual white T-shirt and jeans underneath. Just as she was about to leave the staff's changing room, she chanced upon Emily and the latter was quick to pull her back into the room to hear some tea. The two of them finally got the chance to talk since they were so preoccupied with their job in the casino.

"Yn! You better tell me exactly what happened with the Marquis!" exclaimed Emily with her eyes wide, glimmering with great curiosity to know more.

Yn chuckled, finding it humorous to see her close friend being this excited about some drama. Instead of answering, she asked, "Have you seen Mr. Malone?"

"Oh, he was looking over the result of the renovation. You know, the big renovation that made this casino shut down for a few hours yesterday," replied Emily. Then she hit Yn lightly on the arm and reprimanded her playfully, "Don't ignore my question! Tell me what happened!"

Yn sighed, knowing that the latter would not let her escape so easily. So she relented and apprised her of what had transpired in the VIP room.

"No way!" vociferated Emily, "That fuckwad is our boss now?!"

"He is our boss now," confirmed Yn.

Emily crossed her arms, looking displeased, "Damn, I don't like that. He sounds like a major asshole for what he said about Amy."

Yn nodded in agreement, "I know. But we can't do anything about it now that the deal is done."

"Yeah but it's a hard pill to swallow," Emily let out a sigh before she gave a burning stare at Yn and asked solemnly, "But... Did he say anything to you?"

Yn stayed quiet and Emily noticed it in an instant. The former did not tell her a single thing about her interaction with the Marquis. She felt embarrassed about what had occurred. She didn't want anyone to know about it. She wanted nothing more than to erase the memory of such a conversation and pretend like it never happened.

Emily could sense that there was something off with Yn's demeanor. She nudged her friend with her elbow and asked softly, "Come on, Yn. You can tell me. What did he do?"

Yn hesitated for a moment before murmuring, "He just…"

Emily was sitting next to Yn, her eyes focused and kind, as she waited for her friend to find the courage to share. The staff's changing room was empty, illuminated only by very few ceiling lamps, casting faint shadows on the walls. There was an air of calm in the quiet space, the only sound being their steady breathing.

After a quick consideration, Yn believed that it would be better not to tell anyone about the eerie interaction she had with the Marquis. She put on a fake smile and shook her head as if pretending that there was nothing to worry about. She then said, "It was nothing, really. All he asked was about the art I gave to Mr. Malone. That's all."

Emily's suspicion didn't wane as she looked at Yn intently. She knew her friend was hiding something but she decided not to push it any further. Instead, she stood up and patted Yn on the back reassuringly.

"Well, I hope that's all it was. Just be careful around him, okay?" Emily said with concern etched on her face.

Yn nodded, feeling grateful for her friend's concern and also for not pushing the subject more. She knew Emily long enough to know that she had a keen perception. But fortunately, she didn't persist and Yn was thankful for that.

"You just finished your shift, right?" asked Emily.

"Yeah, I have to go right now," answered Yn, "I'm worried about my sister at home."

"Oh yeah, you should go on ahead," said Emily, "Say hi to Sydney for me."

"Sure! See you next time, Em!"

As Yn stepped out of the staff's changing room, she felt a sense of relief for not having to disclose to someone about her odd interaction with the Frenchman. Plus, she didn't want to think about her interaction with the Marquis anymore. She just wanted to go home, take a hot shower, and forget about the day's events.

Yn managed to catch the last bus to her apartment, her mind still preoccupied with the events of the day. As she stepped off the bus, she saw her apartment building standing tall and proud in front of her. The building was old and had seen better days, but it was home, and it was where she felt the safest.

She walked up to her apartment and unlocked the door, stepping inside to be greeted by her cat who immediately leaped off of the couch and rushed towards her.

"Rosie!" Yn called for her in a sweet, high-pitched tone, "Where's Sydney?"

The cat reached her and brushed her own body against Yn's leg. She then gazed up at her owner and meowed at her for so long as if reprimanding her for being late.

Without warning, someone appeared in the corridor and walked toward Yn. It was Barbara, a middle-aged woman who was a cousin to Yn and often watched over Sydney when Yn wasn't available.

"Hey, how's your night?" queried Barbara with a grin.

"It was just okay," answered Yn, suddenly remembering the Marquis again when she was asked that. She shook her head, trying to dispel the image in her head, as she spoke, "By the way, thanks for taking care of Sydney for me again."

Barbara shrugged and waved it off, "No problem, Yn. You know I love her. She is easy to handle. Anyway, she's asleep in her bedroom now."

Yn smiled at Barbara and then she fetched her purse and took out several dollars. Yn was about to hand it to her cousin when the latter put up a hand and said, "Yn, don't. How many times have I told you that I did it for free?"

"I'm serious this time, Bar. Take it," said Yn as she pushed the dollars against her cousin's chest.

"No, take it back, sis," persisted Barbara as she grabbed the dollars and pushed them against Yn's hands.

"Please take it, sis," Yn pushed back, "I finished my shift later than usual after all."

"No, no, no," answered Barbara who countered, "I don't mind that at all."

That's when Yn firmly clasped Barbara's hand and smacked the cash into her palm with a loud clap, and insisted, "Just take it!"

As politely as she could, Yn kicked Barbara out of her apartment since the latter seemed like she was seconds away from throwing the cash back at her. Once all had calmed down, Yn chuckled, finding it amusing how the situation played out.

After ensuring that Rosie was well-fed, Yn quietly crept up to Sydney's bedroom. When she peeked inside, her stepsister was fast asleep, her blanket tucked tightly around her and her doll clasped close to her chest. A soft smile curved Yn's mouth, evidently warmed to see her looking well, before she closed the door and walked off.

The next morning, despite not having enough sleep due to Yn finishing her shift at the casino at two in the morning, woke up early and began to prepare breakfast for both her and Sydney.

"Yn! Morning!" greeted Sydney who had just woken up and entered the kitchen to see Yn preparing sandwiches.

"Good morning, Syd. Did you sleep well?" Yn asked, turning to face her stepsister with a smile.

Sydney nodded, "Yes! I dreamt that Peter Pan flew me out to Neverland! I flew in the sky, Yn!"

"Aww, that's amazing!" Yn replied as she finished preparing the sandwiches, "There. Now come, let's take a shower. We better hurry up for your school!"

Sydney jumped up and down with excitement and followed Yn to the bathroom, chattering on and on about her dream.

After they showered, got dressed, and had breakfast, Yn walked Sydney to school, holding her hand tightly the whole way. It took them ten minutes to arrive at her preschool.

Upon entering the school gate, Yn crouched down in front of Sydney and adjusted her clothing before saying with the same eye level as the young girl, "Alright, Syd. Be careful, okay? Don't be a mess and don't be naughty. Don't run around."

"Okay, Yn," replied Sydney, "Will you be back home early?"

Yn went quiet, staring at the little girl before her and perceiving the longing in her eyes. Yn did not tell anyone about her job as a bunny-girl in the casino. No one in her family knew, including Barbara. Such a job would stagger them all, especially her sick mom who would undoubtedly feel guilty for causing her daughter to work like that.

The pay as the bunny-girl in the casino was surprisingly tremendous and she got tips from the customers daily, despite having worn the mask the whole time. It helped her a lot in saving up enough money for her mother's treatment in the hospital. But the downside was that she had to return home past midnight. She couldn't spend much time with Sydney and the little girl evidently began to feel lonely despite being accompanied by Barbara.

Yn wished she could rest and be with Sydney, but the job at the casino provided her with an essential financial grounding. She needed it to survive, yet it left her feeling guilty for not spending enough time with her stepsister.

But with the way things were going, Yn knew it would take a while before she could finish paying the overall bill for her mother's medication. It pained her to think of deceiving Sydney, but she couldn't bear the thought of not being able to provide for her family. She felt emotionally torn and in the end, she knew her decision remained the same.

"I'll try to be back as soon as I can, okay?" Yn finally answered, brushing Sydney's hair away from her face, "But if I'm not, Barbara will be there."

Sydney pouted her lips in dejection and nodded, her eyes still pleading for Yn to come back early. But Yn merely frowned ruefully, knowing she had to go to the casino again tonight, just like every night, to earn the money she needed for her mother's treatments.

As Sydney walked into the school building, Yn stood outside, watching her step-sister disappear out of sight. She couldn't help but feel another pang of guilt for having to disappoint her stepsister like that. But she had to stay strong for her family. Everything was riding on her shoulder.

As she turned and waited for a bus, Yn couldn't help but feel a sense of dread. She was tired of deceiving her family, tired of returning home late past midnight, and tired of carrying the burden all by herself. But she reminded herself that she was doing it all for her mother. That thought alone gave her the strength to keep going.

In only a fraction of an hour, she had alighted from the bus and walked toward the cafe. Here, she was working a morning shift, since taking two jobs in one day was required for her to make enough money to stay afloat and pay her mother's medical expenses.

Yn made her way inside the building, her eyes scanning the familiar surroundings. There were only a few customers present at the moment, and she could see her co-workers bustling around in the kitchen and behind the counter.

After greeting her fellow coworkers, she made her way to the back of the cafe where the employees kept their belongings. She stripped off her coat and hung it up and wore the cafe company's apron over her casual clothing.

As Yn made her way to her assigned station, she couldn't help but feel a sense of numbness wash over her. She had been working non-stop for weeks and the exhaustion was starting to take its toll.

The day started busy as the morning rush began. She busied herself with serving the customers as a waitress, wiping down tables, and filling up condiment containers. She had been working as a waitress for a while now and she could say she was good at it. She was familiar with all the regular customers and knew exactly how they liked their coffee.

Eventually, the morning rush ended and the flow of customers coming in and out of the cafe since then had been slow. Yn's mind started to wander, thinking about her mother's treatments and the mounting bills that needed to be paid, feeling the weight of the responsibility on her shoulders.

As she was lost in thought, Yn felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned around to see Edric, one of her coworkers standing behind her. Edric had always had a crush on her and despite her polite rejections, he continued to care for her at work. She was grateful for his worry, but she didn't want to give him false hope.

"Hey, Yn. You okay?" Edric asked with a concerned look on his face.

Yn forced a smile, "Yeah, I'm okay. Just a little tired, that's all."

Edric nodded, "Why don't you take a break? I'll cover for you."

Yn was hesitant. She was about to deny the offer when she remembered that she had another shift that night. She didn't get enough sleep too. So this offer was an opportunity for her to rest and have some shut-eye. She finally nodded to him, "Thanks, Edric. Tell me when the boss comes back, okay?"

Edric chuckled, "Trust me. Big boss won't come back anytime today. He is with his mistress in Thailand."

She walked to the back of the cafe and sat down on a chair. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, trying to calm her nerves.

But as she sat there in silence, finally resting up her mind, body, and spirit, she took the time to encourage herself. She knew it wouldn't be easy, but she was willing to do whatever it takes to provide for her family. Plus, she was close to collecting the overall payment of her mother's treatment bills. She was so close. All she had to do was endure for one or two months.

As she sat there, she couldn't help but let her thoughts drift to the possibility of a better life. What if she didn't have to work herself to the bone every day? What if she had someone to lean on? Someone to share the burden with? Someone who could provide for her and her family?

That's when the face of a certain Frenchman entered her mind.

She laughed at herself for considering such an idea, as she must have been quite tired. Plus, the Marquis de Gramont appeared to be arrogant and unapproachable. It would have been a disaster to pair with someone like him. Yn was thankful that it was only a fleeting thought.

Once she had enough rest, she went outside to clock in for the day and complete her job until her shift was over. With a friendly farewell to her coworkers, she then left the cafe and hopped on a bus bound for Sydney's preschool to pick her up.

As she stepped off the bus, Yn spotted Sydney playing with the other kids in the playground. The little girl's face lit up as soon as she saw her big sister walking towards her and she immediately rushed off. With a big smile, Yn held her hand and asked, "Hey, Syd. Do you want to visit mom in the hospital?"

"Yes, I want!" enthused Sydney.

Yn smiled, happy to see her sister excited. She knew that visiting their mother would lift their spirits and give them the strength they needed to keep going.

Together, they made their way to the hospital. Yn held Sydney's hand tightly, guiding her through the busy corridors until they reached their mother's room. Their mother looked weak and frail, but her eyes lit up when she saw her daughters. Yn took a seat beside her mother while Sydney sat down on the bed next to her mother's thigh.

"Mom!" crowed Sydney, "Are you okay, mom?"

Their mother beamed radiantly and nodded, "I'm as okay as I can be."

"How are you feeling, Mom?" Yn asked, concern etched on her face.

"I'm okay, dear. Just a little bored of staying in bed for so long," her mother replied, "I bet I couldn't feel my legs if I ever get out of this bed."

"Why can't you get out of bed, mom?" asked Sydney.

Their mom leaned forward to gently comb the little girl's hair with her fingers, "Because I need to rest, my dearie. Anyway, how's school?"

Sydney's face lit up at the mention of school, "It's great, mom! We learned about space today. Did you know that there are billions of stars in the universe?"

Their mother smiled, happy to see her daughter's enthusiasm for learning, "That's amazing, sweetie. How many planets are there?"

Yn smiled at the exchange between her mother and sister, grateful for the moment of joy amidst the hardships. Sydney chattered away about her day as her mother listened with a smile. Yn watched them both with a sense of bittersweet longing, knowing that their time together in the hospital was limited. But she pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the present moment, enjoying the simple joy of being together with her family.

"Oh, but Yn," her mom suddenly addressed her, "Why do you look so tired? You got them bags under your eyes."

A fake smile etched Yn's lips as she replied, "It's nothing, mom."

Her mom's face was filled with worry and concern as a small frown creased her forehead. She could tell that her daughter was exhausted. It was obvious. She could even feel the exhaustion radiating from Yn. The latter did apprise her about having two jobs daily. She knew her job as a waitress in a cafe, but she was clueless about her night shift. It was a mystery to her - one that Yn refused to tell her till now.

"Yn, there's something you're not telling me. Please, tell me what's going on," her mother urged with a gentle tone.

Sydney's mood fell as she observed the two grown women conversing. Yn averted her gaze from her mother and said with a fake facade, "I'm just tired, mom. But I'm so close to collecting the full payment of your medical bills, mom. I just have to endure this for one or two months."

"That's great and all but please don't do anything degrading because of me," said the mother, "It would kill me."

"Then you have nothing to worry about," smiled Yn and this time it was genuine, "I found a job with a night shift that doesn't make me do bad stuff. All I have to do is just be a waitress for the night. It'll be okay, mom."

Her mother sighed, "Okay then. You can skip a day or two to get enough rest too. Don't overwork yourself."

Yn's smile nearly reached her eyes, and her nodding was subtle but sure. Her mother watched her quietly for a moment, perceiving the stubborn look on Yn's face that showed she would not rest until she had collected enough money to pay off the hospital bills.

Then her mother suddenly spoke, "If only there is a rich man who loves you and could provide for you. You wouldn't have to work two jobs and tire yourself out like this."

Yn was taken aback to hear her mother bring up a subject like this. Immediately, the tall frame and face of the Marquis de Gramont resounded in her mind. She bashfully glanced away and chuckled to herself in incredulity as it was quite a coincidence that she had met one of the wealthiest men in France just the night before and now her mother was talking about finding someone like that.

Yn chuckled, "Mom, I can take care of myself and you two just fine. And love doesn't just come from money."

"I know that, dear," her mother replied with a smile, "I just want you to be happy and not have to work so hard."

Yn nodded, appreciating her mother's concern. She knew that her mother only wanted the best for her, but finding a rich man to take care of her wasn't exactly a priority. Her focus was on taking care of her family and making sure they were okay.

"I'll be okay, Mom. Don't worry," Yn reassured her mother with a small smile.

As the visit came to an end, Yn and Sydney hugged their mother tightly and promised to visit again soon. The both of them then made their way out of the hospital, hand in hand, and boarded a bus together to their apartment.

Once inside the apartment, Rosie greeted them with a pur. Yn checked the wall clock and realized she had two hours left to prepare before her night shift at the casino at eight o'clock in the evening. She had to call up Barbara again to take care of Sydney who was eating the donuts Yn brought from the cafe she worked the morning shift at.

She headed to her bedroom and shut the door, not wanting the little girl to overhear her. She then made the call and informed Barbara about the situation and needed her help once more. Barbara agreed to babysit Sydney again and would come by in a matter of minutes. With their conversation done, Yn went to her room to change and get ready for her night shift.

Yn was finally dressed and ready to leave in her long trench coat, but she decided to stay for a little while longer and watched a movie with Sydney. When Barbara showed up, Yn kissed Sydney on the forehead as a farewell and left, trying to ignore the guilt that bubbled up inside her upon seeing Sydney's despondent face at being babysat again.

As she entered the casino, Yn felt a sense of familiarity wash over her. She had been working there for months now, and it was her only source of income, apart from the café job. The casino was bustling with activity and she could hear the sound of slot machines in the background.

She went straight for the staff's changing room and met with her fellow bunny-girls. All of them seemed chaotic. More murmurs and chatters filled the room than usual. Just as Yn reached her makeup table, Emily rushed towards her and said, "Oh my God, Yn! Everyone knows now!"

"Know what?" quizzed Yn with wide eyes in curiosity and puzzlement.

"About the Marquis being our owner," Emily took a deep breath as if she had run a marathon to get to her makeup table, "Mr. Malone told some of us to be fast and gather at the lobby so we have to get ready early. He hasn't told us but the staff have already heard about the rumors."

Yn was probably the first person to know about that so she wasn't all that surprised. Though, she hadn't known about another assembly soon so she hurriedly started her skincare routine and makeup. Emily once again helped her by hanging her bunny costume next to her table.

Once their makeup and hair were done, Yn and the other bunny-girls headed out to the lobby to meet with Mr. Malone and the other staff members such as the bouncers, the kitchen staffs, and the cleaning service staffs. The lobby was already packed with customers since the casino had never closed since Yn finished her shift. As she advanced towards Mr. Malone, who was already standing there awaiting them, the woman couldn't help but feel a bit apprehensive.

"Alright," Mr. Malone began, "Good evening, everyone."

"Good evening," chorused the rest of the staffs.

"I have very exciting news for all of you," he stated with a beam, "Some of you may have heard it. Well, let me say this. It's all true. From now on, the Marquis de Gramont from France will be our owner and I will remain as the managing director. He will bring our casino to a whole new level with his resources and influence."

Some of the staffs glanced at one another, each one having their own opinion about having a new boss or having a question such as what kind of person he was. Mr. Malone continued, surveying the reaction of the employees, "I know some of you may have reservations or questions, but I assure you that he is a great man who cares for those under him. He has even given me a huge amount of money to be distributed to each and every one of you as a bonus."

There were gasps and cheers from the staff as they heard about the bonus. An applause resounded throughout the casino as they all were evidently jubilant upon hearing it. Yn also felt relieved about the bonus she's getting as she would need it so much for her mother's hospital bills.

"Also," added Mr. Malone, "One more thing. The VIP room will no longer be open to anyone. The Marquis wants to turn it into his office. Well, because..."

"Because I like the room."

A male voice, thick with a French accent, suddenly enacted from behind all of the staffs. All eyes were thrown in that direction and those who knew him were astounded to see it was the Marquis de Gramont in the flesh, striding towards them from the entrance door with his hands in his pants pocket. His bodyguard was following behind him. He was donning a three-piece suit again; this time the suit jacket was sparkly black, the waistcoat was black with glinting checkered texture, and his tie and shirt were both gray.

He was obviously the tallest person among them all as he reached them and stood behind the employees. He continued speaking, "And... the abstract painting inside it is what I want to see every day."

Yn couldn't help but be mesmerized by his striking appearance, admiring how the suit hugged his body in all the right places. Apparently, the others were feeling the same way too as they were nonplussed to see him among them. He stood out the most, even among the rich patrons of the casino.

"Sir!" Mr. Malone was startled as well upon seeing him, "I didn't know you were here already. You told me you would be late tonight."

The Marquis started advancing forward and the employees began to part a path for him like the Red Sea for Moses. With his hands in his pockets, he proceeded to the front, moving towards Mr. Malone when suddenly, his gaze shifted to the side and looked straight at Yn. He did not even scan through the staffs and look for her. It's as if he knew where exactly she was. It's like he had already looked for her beforehand.

Yn's heart skipped a beat as the Marquis's eyes met hers. She suddenly felt self-conscious in her revealing bunny costume. The Marquis' gaze was intense, almost as if he could see right through her. His eyes were an icy green, framed by dark lashes that made them appear even more piercing than usual. His expression was unreadable yet powerful. She felt as though he could see right through her as if he knew every thought that ran through her mind.

The Marquis' gaze lingered on her for a moment before he cast his eyes away and addressed Mr. Malone while striding at a slow pace towards him, "I did. But I finished it up as soon as possible to attend your assembly."

Mr. Malone coughed nervously, "Glad to hear it, sir. I was just telling the staff about you. It's great that you could make it here."

The Marquis stood next to Mr. Malone, facing the staffs around them, and said, "Of course. I would hate to miss this. Good evening."

"Good evening," all of the staffs answered back simultaneously.

"A pleasure to meet all of you," the Marquis said, his voice was spoken slowly yet with great charisma and smoothness that attracted everyone's attention. His French accent was thick as he added, "I am excited to work alongside all of you. I have a vision for this establishment, and I believe that together we can accomplish great things."

Yn couldn't help but feel a shiver run down her spine as the Marquis's gaze swept over her once more. There was something about him that made her feel nervous and intimidated.

"Great!" Mr. Malone spoke up, "Now, allow me to introduce each of the staff to you, sir."

As the Marquis and Mr. Malone walked around and got to know the workers, Yn observed how the bunny-girls behaved towards them as they were being introduced to the Frenchman.

"This is Sabrina, one of our most popular bunny-girls here," said Mr. Malone, gesturing to the busty lady in a bunny costume as he and the Marquis moved along the staffs' line.

Sabrina smiled flirtatiously and extended one hand out towards the Marquis, "I'm Sabrina. It's a pleasure to meet you, monsieur beau."

The Marquis raised an eyebrow, even glancing at her hand for a second or two, before taking her hand. His other hand was placed inside his pants pocket. The two of them exchanged handshakes and he replied with a smile, "Likewise."

The Marquis and Mr. Malone then moved to the next bunny-girl and the managing director spoke up, "This is Rachel. She is a very quiet girl."

Just like how he did with the other staffs, the Marquis shook hands again with Rachel who refused to make eye contact with him. His free left hand was still hidden in his pocket. The same thing happened to the other employees until both of them finally reached Yn.

Once the two of them stood before Yn, Mr. Malone began, "And this is-"

"Yn Ln," the Marquis uttered her full name out of the blue, cutting off Mr. Malone. The Marquis took a step closer to Yn and said with a cunning smile as he looked down at her, "It is a pleasure to see you again."

"It's nice to meet you too, sir," replied the anxious Yn as she grasped his hand which was reaching out to her. She then shook hands with the Frenchman, ignoring the way his hand felt huge against hers.

Suddenly, his free left hand was brought out of his pocket and he placed it atop Yn's hand which was still shaking with his right one. Both of his hands were covering hers and it filled her skin with warmth which she was uncertain if she liked it or not. His action caught her off guard and baffled her as he didn't do this to anyone before her. It seemed extra and unnecessary.

She felt every burning eye on them, watching their interaction. That made her feel all the more insecure. She didn't want to attract any attention, but the Marquis made it impossible. For a second she thought about running away to hide but she knew that would make her seem all the more embarrassing.

The Marquis' smirk widened as he kept a watchful stare on her. His fingers, which were on top of the back of her hand, then gave a few pats to her skin and he nodded at her while saying, "Let's work together."

Yn nodded her head with uncertainty, "Yeah..."

The Marquis' smile widened in satisfaction before he let her hand go. With a last piercing stare at her, the Marquis walked to the next bunny-girl and Mr. Malone introduced Emily to him. This time, the Frenchman shook hands with her normally, with his other hand hidden in his pocket.

As the Marquis continued to get to know the casino workers personally, Yn observed him quietly. She couldn't shake off the strange feeling that he gave her. There was something about him, something dark and mysterious that she couldn't quite put her finger on. She watched him move through the crowd with ease, his confidence and charisma drawing everyone towards him.

"Where's Amelia?" asked Sophia to the bunny-girls nearby.

"She texted me," answered Emma, "She said she's going to take a break today."

Emily spoke up, "Does she know about the Marquis being our owner now?"

"Yes, and she was so shocked she burnt herself while cooking," clarified Emma, "We were calling when I told her about it."

The Marquis and Mr. Malone then stood on the previous spot after having the former get to know the employees personally. The Marquis put on a friendly smile and said, "Thank you, everyone, for the warm welcome. I can tell that this is going to be a successful collaboration between us."

The staff members all smiled and nodded, some more enthusiastic than others. Yn couldn't help but feel a wave of anxiety wash over her as she realized that the Marquis would be her new boss - and she didn't know anything about him.

"Is there anything else you would like to do, sir?" asked Mr. Malone, "Before I dismiss them?"

"No, that would be all," replied the Marquis.

"Very well," Mr. Malone then turned to the employees and announced, "You heard him, everyone. You are dismissed. Now, chop chop! Give them two hundred percent! And don't forget your mask, ladies."

The staff members of the casino dispersed in an instant, each one headed straight for their station or their next task. Yn immediately walked off to grab a mask for herself. She had just put on a mask when Emily grabbed her arm and inquired her with wide eyes full of curiosity, "Hey, what was that about?"

Yn knew what she was implying but she still asked, "What was what?"

"You and the Marquis," pointed out Emily. Her black eyes looked deep into Yn's eyes as the former said, "The way he talked with you was so different."

"Em," Yn answered, "It was nothing. He was just being friendly."

Emily retaliated, "Being friendly is not like that! You know that trend on Tiktalk with the words, 'Stop looking at me with those eyes'? That's how he looked at you!"

"That's absurd," responded Yn as she walked towards the roulette table to tend to it, seeing the customers were already flocking around it.

"No, I saw it!" pressed Emily, "He was practically undressing you with his eyes!"

Yn couldn't deny the shiver that ran down her spine at the thought, but she brushed it off and focused on her job. She had to put the Marquis out of her mind as it was time for work.

She greeted the customers politely, even smiling although her mouth was concealed by the black mask she was donning, and announced she would be the dealer of the roulette table. Once the customers had placed their bets and chips, she began spinning the roulette wheel, calling out the numbers as they landed.

At one point, she had to wait for a customer to count his remaining chips and she looked around the casino, noting the busy yet fun atmosphere around them as the patrons gambled their savings away. That was when her eyes landed on the door of the VIP room.

The Marquis de Gramont stood tall and imposing with an air of authority and power as he commanded several foreign workers renovating the room as his office. She could see the paintings being brought in, framed in ornate gold frames, ready to be hung on the wall. He stood there silently, observing the workers around him as they went about their work. Then he chanced a glance in her direction and stared directly at her.

His gaze was intense, almost as if she was a painting and he was studying her from afar. She quickly tore her eyes away and resumed dealing with the game, trying to ignore the burning sensation in her cheeks. She could feel the Marquis' gaze on her, watching her every move. She tried to ignore it, but it was impossible.

As the night progressed, more customers came in, and Yn found herself getting busier by the minute. She barely had time to take a break, and when she did, it was only for a few minutes to catch her breath and drink some water.

After a few hours of work, Yn's shift ended. She was exhausted and eager to go home. Still in her revealing bunny costume and donning a black mask over her nose and mouth, she headed towards the staff's changing room when she realized there was a certain, noticeable change in her pathway.

A massive abstract painting hung on the wall of the open hallway leading to the changing room, easily visible from the main hall of the casino. Some of the patrons stood and chatted in front of it. The people around the painting whispered in awe and admiration, their hushed tones muffled by the sound of slot machines and other games in the casino.

Yn slowed down to a stop in front of the abstract art. With a pair of wide eyes of surprise, she stared up at the painting. Her entire body was facing it as she quietly admired it, mesmerized by the colors and shapes that seemed to dance before her eyes. As she stood there, she felt a presence behind her and turned to see the Marquis de Gramont standing tall, his eyes locked on her.

"Caught your eye?" he said, his voice low and smooth.

"Yeah..." she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

That's when the Marquis moved from behind Yn, slowly circling her and scanning her up close with his eyes. His eyes were unblinking as he slowly walked around her in a slow, counter-clockwise circle. He moved gracefully and with purpose, like a predator sizing up its prey. His gaze seemed to be studying her from all angles as if she was a prized possession.

Yn felt on edge as his eyes scanned her upside down and could almost feel the intensity of his gaze as if she was an art piece admired by him. His presence felt oppressive and overwhelming, and it was at that moment she truly felt what Emily had told her.

"He was practically undressing you with his eyes!"

"I bought it hours ago from a very talented artist," the Marquis said as he was still circling around her. His heavy French accent added a touch of sophistication to his words.

At some point, he tore his gaze away from Yn. His eyes became dark and cold as he glanced at the men nearby. His stare was ominous and serious, radiating an aura of power that commanded respect and screamed murder as if he was wordlessly telling them to scram. His presence was intimidating and oppressive and it made Yn feel smothered despite how huge the space was.

With his dark eyes locked on the people surrounding them, he continued speaking to the lady he ensnared and circled around on, "It represents the chaos and unpredictability of life. I find it quite fitting for a casino."

As Yn absorbed the Marquis's words, she couldn't help but feel a chill creep up her spine. The juxtaposition of his suave demeanor and the underlying sense of danger in his presence left her feeling trapped, like prey caught in a predator's snare.

Yn's voice trembled slightly as she responded with uncertainty, "It does look... nice..."

The Marquis's lips curled into a subtle, knowing smile as he glanced back at Yn, still circling around her leisurely and invading her personal space.

His voice, still low and smooth, resonated in her ears like a whisper laced with hidden intentions, "Yes, chaos has a certain charm, wouldn't you say? It pulls people in and seduces them with its tempting nature. And in this building of gamblers and dreamers, chaos reigns supreme."

Yn felt a surge of unease ripple through her as the Marquis' words echoed in her mind. There was something unnerving about what he said. It's as if he was hinting at something to her. Something so obvious to him yet so obscure to her. If she pondered about it so simply, only one thing crossed her mind. And it's downright sinful and filthy. There’s no way he was implying that, she thought.

As Yn stood there, enveloped in the Marquis' aura, she couldn't shake the feeling that there was far more to him than met the eye. The art, the chaos, the intensity of his gaze - all seemed to be pieces of a larger puzzle, one she wasn't sure she was ready to unravel.

While circling her and arriving behind her, the Marquis leaned in even closer to Yn, his hot breath tickling the back of her neck. She could feel his body heat radiating off of him, and her heart raced as his lips brushed against her ear.

"Tell me, ma lapine," he whispered as he looked from her seductive bunny costume to her eyes, "Do you like to take risks?"

Yn's heart pounded in her chest. She did not understand what 'ma lapine' meant. Her voice was barely audible as she responded, "I don’t..."

Her response hung in the air, her voice filled with trepidation. The Marquis pulled back slightly, his intense gaze still fixed on her.

"Don't what?" he asked, his tone laced with curiosity and a hint of amusement.

Yn hesitated, unsure of how to proceed. She felt trapped in the Marquis' web of intrigue, unsure of his intentions and the risks that lay ahead. Taking a deep breath, she mustered her courage and decided to respond honestly.

"I don't know if I like to take risks," Yn admitted, her voice wavering. "I've always been cautious."

The Marquis, just arriving in front of her while circling, regarded her for a moment, his expression inscrutable. Then, a small smile played at the corners of his lips.

"I can see you like to play it safe. But it can be tiresome," he said, his voice tinged with a hint of mischief. "Sometimes, the most exhilarating moments in life come when we dare to step out of our comfort zones."

Yn stayed quiet, knowing that he was somewhat right, but she could not find it in herself to take any risk. Not when the consequence of her failure may result in her mother’s fall to her illness. No. She had to remain cautious, even if she was so close to earning enough money for the full payment for her mother’s medical treatment.

Yn responded, her voice clearly laced with wariness, "But it's also important to consider the consequences.”

The Marquis chuckled softly, his gaze never leaving hers.

"Ah, consequences," he mused, his voice carrying a note of intrigue. "They are indeed part of the equation. But sometimes, the rewards outweigh the risks. It all depends on how far you're willing to go."

He stopped his circle around Yn and stood beside her. He inched closer to her and whispered, “Don’t worry. I will help you know the pleasure of taking a risk.”

That was when she felt warm skin touch her back. She did not have to look to know it was the Marquis’ hand. He slowly moved the aforementioned limb to her waist and grasped it, sensing that his hand fit there perfectly. The Marquis chuckled, a deep, throaty sound that sent shivers down Yn's spine.

"Tonight is the perfect night to find out," he said, his voice low and dangerous.

Yn's eyes gradually widened in terror as she registered his words. She took a step away from him, feeling a surge of fear coursing through her veins, and his hand was released from her waist. At that moment, she felt a deep sense of unease and danger. She was now certain that the Marquis de Gramont's intentions were far from innocent, and she realized she had unknowingly stumbled into a precarious situation.

Fear gripped Yn as she realized she was alone with this mysterious man in a secluded open hallway of the casino. The art viewers surrounding them moments ago had disappeared without her notice. She glanced around, hoping to find an escape route or someone who could help her, but the casino seemed to be engulfed in its own world of oblivious gamblers.

Knowing that she had to do something to save herself, Yn mustered her strength and replied, her voice shaky but determined, "I... I'm sorry, but I have to go."

The Marquis smirked as if he found her denial funny, his eyes gleaming with a mix of amusement and something far more lustful and sinister. His voice was laced with a subtle threat as he said, "Oh, but the night is young."

Yn's instincts screamed at her to leave, to escape from this unsettling encounter. She glanced around, searching for an exit, but the Marquis positioned himself between her and the nearest door. Panic began to take hold as she realized the gravity of her situation.

"Please, I need to go," she said, her voice a tad stronger now, though it trembled slightly.

Not waiting for any response, Yn swiftly sidestepped the Marquis and briskly walked away, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't shake off the feeling of his eyes burning into her back as she hurried towards the staff's changing room.

Just as she opened the door, the Marquis' voice, thick with his French accent, spoke up, "Cherish this moment, ma lapine. It may be the last time you can escape."

Yn's hand froze on the doorknob, and she slowly turned her head to look back at the Marquis. He was standing with his whole body facing her, his hands on his hips, exuding an aura of ominous confidence as if he knew everything would go his way eventually. His gaze pierced through her, and a chill ran down her spine. She could sense a dark and malevolent undertone in his words as if he was hinting at something far more sinister than she could comprehend.

Without uttering another word, Yn quickly entered the changing room and closed the door behind her. Once safely inside, she locked the door behind her and leaned against it, her breathing heavy and rapid. She was relieved that the room was devoid of anyone. The encounter had left her shaken and wary, but she knew she needed to act fast.

Yn quickly changed out of her bunny costume, discarding it and the black mask. She retrieved her belongings and decided it was best to leave the casino immediately. As she stepped out onto the bustling streets, she couldn't shake off the feeling of being watched, as if the Marquis's intense gaze was still fixed upon her.

Determined to put the encounter behind her, Yn hastened her steps to make it back home. She hopped onto the bus that she normally took and plopped down on one of its seats. Despite her efforts, thoughts of her earlier encounter with the Marquis de Gramont filled her mind: his piercing gaze and sinister words refused to go away. To take her mind off things, Yn shifted her gaze out the window where the city lights streaked past in a colorful blur.

The bus ride felt longer than usual, and Yn's unease only grew with each passing moment. She couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, as if the Marquis was somehow still present, his presence lingering in the shadows. Soon enough, in minutes, the bus finally arrived at her stop and Yn hastily got off.

Walking briskly through the dimly lit streets, Yn couldn't help but glance over her shoulder every now and then, her senses on high alert. The night seemed eerily quiet, and she couldn't shake off the feeling of being followed. Her footsteps quickened as she made her way toward her apartment building, her heart pounding in her chest.

Finally reaching the safety of her building, Yn loosened up a bit as she stepped into the well-lit lobby. She greeted the security guard with a tense smile, trying to appear calm and composed despite the fear gnawing at her insides. She hurriedly made her way to the elevator, pressing the button repeatedly, urging it to arrive faster.

As the elevator doors closed and she ascended to her floor, Yn's mind was still consumed by thoughts of the Marquis. She wondered what he had meant by his parting words and what kind of situation she had unwittingly walked into. The encounter had left her shaken and wary of everything that moved, and she couldn't help but question her own safety.

Finally reaching her apartment, Yn quickly unlocked the door and stepped inside, immediately feeling a sense of relief as she closed and locked it behind her. She leaned against the door, taking a moment to catch her breath and calm her racing thoughts. It was in the safety of her own space that she could begin to process the events of the night.

Suddenly, a meow was heard in the silence of the apartment and Yn jumped in complete fright, yelping quietly, before she glanced down and realized it was her cat, Rosie. She was innocently moving closer to the spooked owner and brushed her body against Yn's legs.

"Yn?"

Yn brought her eyes up from the floor and looked to see it was Barbara. The latter stared at her in bewilderment and curiosity and quizzed her, "What's wrong? You look like you saw a ghost."

Yn took a deep breath, trying to steady herself and regain composure. She realized that she must have appeared quite shaken to Barbara, and she didn't want to alarm her cousin unnecessarily.

"It's... it's nothing," Yn replied, forcing a smile onto her face. "I just had a strange encounter at work."

Barbara's eyebrows furrowed with concern. "What happened?"

Yn faked a smile and shook her head as if wordlessly indicating to not ask any questions. She said, "Nothing. Where is Sydney?"

Barbara gestured to the little girl's bedroom and replied, "Asleep in her bedroom..."

Yn let out a sigh and told, "Okay. Thanks, Barbara."

The cousin stared at her quietly, clearly getting the message that Yn did not want to talk about whatever it was that bothered her.

"Alright," Barbara grabbed her belongings and went to the door. She turned to Yn and said with a stretched smile, "Just call me if you ever need help or a friend. Take care of yourself, okay?"

Yn smiled gratefully at Barbara's offer of support, "Okay. Thank you again, Bar."

Barbara nodded and exited the apartment, leaving Yn alone with her thoughts. After ensuring that Sydney was sound asleep, Yn decided to pour herself a glass of water in the kitchen. As she stood by the sink, she took a few deep breaths, trying to calm her racing thoughts.

As she sipped her water, Yn pondered for a long while in the safety of her humble abode. She knew that no matter what, she had to return to the casino the following evening. Much as she disliked it, she needed the job more than she wanted to admit, even though the Marquis was her boss.

After a long contemplation, she arrived to a conclusion. Her plan was simple: stay away from him. Avoid being in close proximity with him and avoid any chance of having to talk to with him at all. Make sure she never found herself alone inside the casino walls. She would do whatever it took to keep her distance from him, no matter the cost.

Once she got enough money for the payment of her mother's medical bills, she would quit and leave the casino without looking back.

PREV : Chapter 01

NEXT : Chapter 03

Story Masterlist

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[lousypotatoes]

Women Think I'm Tasty

Pt. 1 Pt. 2 Pt. 3

Reader has grey skin, and monarch butterfly wings, they can be any color that you want. This is reader's outfit and shoes. If you want something different, you're more than welcome to imagine something else!!

This chapter takes place during the pilot episode.

Song Recommendation:

Set Fire To The Rain - Adele

"Charlie? Are you okay?"

Charlie turned around and saw her aunt walking towards her, a concerned look on her face.

"Yeah, I'm fine, Y/N," Charlie said. "The extermination just has me thinking that's all.

"Hey, it's gonna be okay," Y/N said gently, grabbing onto Charlie's shoulders. "Your idea is amazing and its gonna work, I'm sure of it."

Charlie smiled. "Thanks Y/N,"

"That's what I'm here for, kiddo," Y/N smiled back. "Now c'mon, let's go back inside. It smells gross out here."

Y/N was sitting on the couch in the hotel, scrolling on her phone, reading about the latest extermination and the turf wars.

"This is all so fucking stupid," she muttered as she scrolled. "I hate the end of extermination day so fucking much."

"Y/N, are you coming?" said a voice.

Y/N looked up and saw her niece's girlfriend, Vaggie.

"What do you mean?" Y/N asked.

"We're going to the news station to try and get the hotel out there," Vaggie explained.

"Oh shit!" Y/N exclaimed, jumping off the couch. "I totally forgot that was today! Yeah, I'm coming, let me just get my shoes on."

"You don't have to come if you don't want to," Charlie said.

"No, I want to," Y/N said as she put her boots on. "You're gonna need all the support you can get. Besides, I want this to happen almost as much as you do."

"Thanks Y/N," Charlie said hugging her aunt. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

"The feeling is mutual," Y/N laughed, hugging Charlie back. "Now c'mon we don't wanna be late do we?"

"Good afternoon, I'm Katie Killjoy,"

"And I'm Tom Trench,"

Y/N sat on the couch in the dressing room, watching the news play on the T.V., her leg bouncing up and down nervously.

"Chaos out of Pentagram City today as the turf war is raging on the west side," Tom Trench said on the T.V. "Between notable king pin Sir Pentious and self-proclaimed spunky powerhouse, Cherri Bomb."

"That's right Tom," Katie Killjoy said. "After the recent extermination, many areas are now up for grabs."

The T.V showed footage of the fight between Sir Pentious and Cherri Bomb, the two of them throwing egg creatures and bombs at each other.

"Demons all over Hell are already duking it out to gain new territory," Katie said as the footage played.

"Those two seem to be really going at it, huh?" Tom said as the footage finished.

"It looks like they're fighting tooth and nail for that hot spot," Katie said, putting an actual tooth in her mouth and eating it.

'Gross,' Y/N thought, grimacing.

"And I'd sure like to nail her hot spot," Tom chuckled.

"You are a limp dick jackass, Tom. Or should I say..." Katie said, pouring hot coffee onto Tom's lap. "No dick."

Tom held his lap, trying to keep his sounds of pain down.

"Coming up next, we have an exclusive interview with the daughter of Hell's own head honcho," Katie said, ignoring Tom. "Who's here to discuss her brand-new passion project. All that and more after the break."

Y/N got up, walking over to Charlie and Vaggie.

"You remember what to say?" Vaggie asked as she finished fixing Charlie's bow tie.

Charlie took in a deep breath. "Yes! Let's do this!"

"Just look at me and I'll mouth it to you," Vaggie said, making Charlie frown.

"Come on Vaggie, I know what to say," Charlie groaned. "I just feel like we need to...I don't know, make things sound more exciting."

Charlie gasped. "Ohhhh what if I s-"

"Sing a song about it?" Y/N finished. "Charlie, sweetie, I love you and your ideas, but please for the love of Satan, please don't sing.

"Your aunt's right, this is serious." Vaggie said, grabbing onto Charlie's shoulders.

"Well you know, I'm better at expressing myself and my goals through song," Charlie said, climbing on the table.

"I know and you're great at it but," Y/N struggled to find the right words. "Life isn't a musical hun."

"Fine. But I have these other ideas of what to say," Charlie said, jumping up and down. "The highlighted bits are the best parts!"

Vaggie took the paper and read it, Y/N skimmed through it over Vaggie's shoulder.

"It's all highlighted," Vaggie said.

"Is that a drawing?" Y/N asked.

"Yes! That's the happy ending scene!" Charlie exclaimed, grabbing Vaggie's and Y/N's shoulders. "Everyone's smiling and happy in Heaven!"

"I don't think it's that simple," Vaggie said, rubbing the bridge of her nose. "Just please follow the talking points that the three of us went over."

"And do NOT sing!" Y/N said.

"Okayyy fine," Charlie groaned as an alarm bell went off, signaling that the commercial break was over. "I'll just have to result to my impeccable improv skills." she said, walking away.

Y/N looked over at Vaggie, who had a worried look on her face.

"Hey," Y/N said, putting her arm around Vaggie's shoulders. "She'll be fine, I know it."

"I hope so," Vaggie sighed.

Suddenly, the T.V. screen turned on. The two of them watched intently.

"Welcome back," Katie said, her neck cracking in an unnatural way. "So, Charlotte,"

"It's Charlie," Charlie said awkwardly.

"Whatever," Katie dismissed. "Tell us about this new passion project you've been insistently pestering our news station about!"

"How many times did Charlie call the new station?" Y/N asked.

"37 times," Vaggie muttered.

"37!? What!?"

"Well," Charlie said, looking around. She made eye contact with Vaggie and Y/N, and they urged her to go on.

"As most of you know, I was born here in Hell and growing up, I always tried to see the good in everything around me," she said, as Katie killed a bug, the bug's blood landing on Charlie's cheek. "Hell is my home and you are my people. We...we just went through another extermination. We lost so many souls, and it breaks my heart to see my people being slaughtered every year and no one is even given a chance!" she banged her fist on the table.

"I can't stand idly by while the place I live is subjected to such violence," she said, getting up and walking around.

Vaggie and Y/N looked at each other in concern.

"Soo, I've been thinking," Charlie said. "Isn't there a more humane way to endure overpopulation here in Hell? Perhaps we can create an alternative way to change souls through...redemption? Well, I think yes! So that's what this project aims to achieve!"

"Ladies and gentlemen," she said, walking back over to the reporter's desk and sitting down. "I'm opening up a first of its kind! A hotel that rehabilitates sinners!"

It was quiet, people stared at her in confusion and shock.

"You know, 'cause hotels are for people passing through, temporarily," Charlie laughed awkwardly.

Y/N slapped her forehead. "She's getting killed out there," she muttered.

"I figure it would serve a purpose," Charlie said looking down. "A place to work towards redemption...yay!"

"Hah! Stupid bitch," the cameraman beside Y/N laughed. In one swift move, Y/N punched him in the face, knocking him to the ground.

"Serves you right asshole," she muttered.

"Look, every single one of you has something good deep down inside, I know you do." Charlie said sincerely. Suddenly her eyes widened, and she smirked. "Maybe I'm not getting through to you."

"Oh no," Vaggie and Y/N said at the same time.

~Happy Day In Hell song plays out (I'm too lazy to write out the whole thing)~

After Charlie was done singing her song, she was standing on the desk, breathing heavily.

"Wow," said a random demon. "That was shit."

Everybody started to laugh. Charlie's face started to fall.

Y/N looked around, wanting to punch everybody in there in the face for laughing.

"What in the nine circles makes you think a single citizen of Hell would give two shits about becoming a better person?" Katie laughed. "You have no proof that this little experiment even works! You want people to be good? Just because?"

"Well," Charlie said. "We have a patron already, who believes in our cause, and he's shown incredible progress!"

The crowd oohed.

"Oh?" Katie said. "And who might that be?"

"Don't say his name, don't say his name," Y/N said.

"Oh, just someone named Angel Dust,"

"The porn star?" Tom asked.

"You fucking mutt, Tom," Katie said, scratching the desk "In any case, That's not even an accomplishment. I'm sure you can get that hooker to do anything with enough sugar and lube."

"Oh, I beg to differ," Charlie leaned in closer to Katie. "He's been behaved, clean, and out of trouble for two weeks now."

Suddenly, Katie pushed Charlie off the desk. "We are receiving word that a new player has entered the ongoing turf war!" she said cheerfully. "Let's go to the live feed."

The footage showed Angel Dust stepping on the egg creatures and shooting guns

"Oh shit," Y/N muttered. "I swear, I'm gonna kick that spider's ass."

"It looks like the one who just joined the battle is none other than porn actor, Angel Dust!" Katie said. "What a juicy coincidence! You must feel really stupid right now."

Katie and Tom started to laugh. "Ratings!" The two of them said, doing jazz hands.

"Don't look at this!" Charlie said, trying to block out the green screen footage.

"Well, it sure looks like your little project is dead on arrival." Katie said. "Tell us, how does it feel to be such a total failure?" Katie started laughing

"That's it," Y/N said, walking towards the front, pushing the crowd out of the way.

"Yeah, well, how does it feel that I got your pen huh? Bitch!"

Katie stopped laughing.

Charlie laughed awkwardly, already knowing that she was in some deep shit. "Oops," she said, putting the pen back down.

Tom immediately ran, and Katie jumped on Charlie.

"Hey, cock sucker!" Y/N yelled, jumping onto Katie's back. "Get the FUCK off my niece!"

Using all the strength she could muster she kicked Katie as hard as she could, making Katie pull on her wings.

Charlie and Katie fought for a little while longer, with Y/N trying to pull Katie off her. Somehow, Tom Trench caught on fire. The four of them started screaming.

"I said get the FUCK off of her!" Y/N screamed, pulling Katie off and grabbing onto Charlie's hand. "Vaggie! C'mon! Let's go!"

"I swear I'm gonna fucking kill Angel!"

Y/N, Charlie, Vaggie, and Angel Dust sat in the limo.

Charlie was looking out the window, Angel was playing with window button, and Y/N and Vaggie were glaring at him.

"What?" Angel asked.

"Are you fucking kidding me!?" Y/N cried out. "What the fuck were you doing!?"

"I owed my girl buddy a solid," Angel said. "Isn't that a 'redeeming' quality? Helping friends with stuff."

"Not with turf wars that result in territorial genocide!" Vaggie yelled.

"You win some, you lose a few hundred," Angel laughed, putting his feet up on the seat. "It wasn't that bad anyway,"

He continued to play with the window button until Vaggie threw a knife at it, breaking it.

"Oh, come on! I had to!" he said. "My credibility was on the line! I mean, what kind of repuation would I have if people found out I was tryin' to go clean? It just throws out my entire persona."

"Your credibilty, are you serious?" Y/N asked. "What about the hotels? You made us look like a fucking joke!"

"No, no, no, babe," Angel said. "Jokes are funny. I made you look...uhh...sad. And pathetic! Like an orphan with no arms or legs...with progeria! Right, now I'm bummed thinkin' about it. This thing have any liquor?"

"Can you please just try to take this seriously?" Vaggie asked.

"Fine, I'll try, just don't get your taco in a twist, baby."

"Was that you trying to be sexist or racist?"

"Whatever pisses you off more," Angel said, looking for booze. "Is there seriously no liquor in here?"

"We should just kill him," Y/N said to Vaggie.

"Too late, toots," Angel said. "Wait, would that make me double dead? Where exactly do I go? To double hell?" Angel started laughing. "Sorry, you're stuck with me, bitches, get used to it."

Vaggie started muttering in Spanish.

"Listen, who cares is some jackoffs got hurt?" Angel said. "Most of them are ugly freaks. Look around, you got a bunch of Harley Quinn babies down here."

"You're one to talk," Y/N muttered, making sure Angel heard.

"Hey! This body is flawless. Everyone wants some of me, and I got the creepy fan letters to prove it."

"Ew, gross, put that fucking thing away," Y/N said, not wanting to look at the creepy fan letter any longer.

"That was really uncool, you know, Angel," Charlie said, finally speaking up.

"Uncool!?" Vaggie cried. "After that trainwreck there is no way anyone is gonna want to stay at the hotel! All thanks to you and your selfish bullshit!"

"Does that mean I don't have a free room anymore?"

It was quiet for a moment. Y/N debated whether she should kill him right then and there.

"Hey, come on, we don't know if things are over yet," Charlie said. "Y/N, Vaggie, try to relax, it'll be okay!"

Vaggie smiled softly when Charlie put her hand on her shoulder. It made Y/N happy knowing that Charlie found someone who cared about her just as much as she and Lucifer did.

Finally, the limo reached the hotel, the four of them getting out and walking into the hotel.

Y/N flopped down on the couch, Vaggie sat down next to her.

"It's probably a good idea to get some actual food in this place," Angel said, sucking on a popsicle. "You know, to feed all the wayward souls you got in here." Angel laughed.

Sensing that Charlie wasn't in the mood, Angel stopped laughing and walked away.

Y/N was sore and tired, she didn't even pay attention to when Charlie walked away. Right as she was about to doze off, Charlie ran into the room.

"Vaggie! Y/N!"

"What now?" Y/N groaned.

"The Radio Demon is at the door,"

"What!?" Vaggie and Y/N said.

"Uhh who?" Angel asked.

"What should I do?" Charlie asked.

"Okay, well, um, whatever you do, don't let him in!" Y/N said, standing up.

Charlie walked to the front door and opened it up.

"What did I just say?"

Vaggie got up and grabbed her spear, Y/N not far behind her.

"Stop right there!" Vaggie yelled, holding her spear to his throat. "I know your game, and I'm not gonna let you hurt anyone here you pompous, cheesy, talk show, shit lord!"

"Dear, if I wanted to hurt anyone here," Alastor said, his mouth not moving. "I would have done so."

Y/N very slowly started to back up, not wanting to be close to the Radio Demon.

"Now, I'm here because I want to help!" Alastor said cheerfully.

"Umm excuse me?" Y/N asked, dumbfounded.

"Hello? Is this thing on?" Alastor asked, tapping his cane/microphone.

"No, no, I heard you loud and clear," Y/N said warily. "You want to help us?"

"Yes! I want to help with you with this ridiculous you're trying to do! This hotel!" Alastor said. "I want to help you run it."

"Uhhh why?" Charlie asked.

"Why does anyone do anything?" Alastor laughed. "Sheer, absolute boredom!"

Y/N suspiciously eyes him up and down.

"I've lacked inspiration for decades," Alastor said, pushing Vaggie. "My work became mundane, lacking focus, aimless! I've come to create a new form of entertainment!"

"Does getting into a fist fight with a reporter count as entertainment?" Charlie said awkwardly.

Alastor laughed. "It's the purest kind, my dear," he said. "Reality! Cruel passion! And after all, the world is a stage, and the stage, is a world of entertainment."

"So, does this mean you think it's possible to rehabilitate a demon?" Charlie asked hopefully but was cut off by Alastor laughing.

"Of course not!" he laughed. "That's wacky nonsense! Redemption, oh the non-existent humanity! No, no, no, no, I don't think there's anything left that can save such loathsome sinners," he said, looking over at Y/N, Vaggie, and Angel. "The chance given was the life they lived before, the punishment is this! There is no undoing what is done."

"Then why are you here, if you don't believe in our cause?" Y/N asked, her eyebrow raised.

"Consider is an investment in ongoing entertainment for myself!" Alastor said, spinning Charlie. "I want to watch the scum of the world struggle to climb up the hill of betterment, only to repeatedly trip and tumble down to the fiery pit of failure,"

Y/N stared at him with uneasiness.

"Right," Charlie said, removing herself from Alastor's grasp.

"Yes indeedy!" Alastor said, leading Charlie away. "I see big things coming our way, and who better to help you then..."

Y/N, Vaggie, and Angel stared at him as he walked off with Charlie.

"So, uh, what's the deal with smiles over there?" Angel asked.

"You've never heard of Alastor before?" Y/N asked. "You've been down here longer than me and Vaggie."

Angel shrugged his shoulders.

"The Radio Demon? One of the most powerful beings Hell has ever seen?" Y/N asked.

"Eh, not big on politics," Angel said, crossing his arms.

"Ugh, you explain, Vaggie," Y/N said. "I have a headache."

"Fine," Vaggie groaned, then cleared her throat. "Decades ago, Alastor manifested in Hell, seemingly overnight. He began to topple overlords who had been dominant for centuries. That kind of raw power had never been harnessed by a mortal soul before. Then, he broadcasted his carnage all throughout Hell, just so everyone could witness his ability. Sinners started calling him the Radio Demon, as lazy as that is. Many have speculated what unimaginable forces enabled him to rival our world's most ancient and destructive evils. But one thing's for sure, he's an unpredictable source of danger, a wicked spirit of mystery, and a violent monster of chaos, the likes of which we can't risk getting involved with unless we want to end up erased!" Vaggie finished.

"Are ya done?" Angel said. "He looks like a strawberry pimp!"

"Well, I don't trust him!" Vaggie said.

"To be fair," Angel said. "Do you trust any man?"

Y/N elbowed him in his ribcage, hard, as Vaggie got up and walked over to Charlie.

"Ow!" he said, rubbing his side. "That fucking hurt!"

"Yeah, well maybe you shouldn't act like a self asorbed asshole then!"

"Says you, you uptight, prissy bitch!"

"At least I don't have to fuck greasy truckers to make some cash!"

"At least greasy truckers want to actually fuck me!"

"How is that an insult? That's just sad!"

The two of them continued to argue until Charlie started to speaking to Alastor, catching Y/N's attention.

"Okay, so, Al," she said. "You're sketchy as fuck and you clearly see what I'm trying to do here as a joke. But I don't. I think everyone deserves a chance to prove that they can be better, so I'm taking your offer to help, on the condition that there be no trickster, voodoo strings attached." she finished, a fake smile plastered on her face.

"So it's a deal then?" Alastor asked, holding out his hand.

Green light started to emit in the room, almost knocking Y/N, Vaggie and Angel over.

"Nope!" Charlie said. "No shaking, no deals, I....hmm...as princess of Hell and heir to the throne, I uh hearby order that you help out with this hotel, for as long as you desire.

It was quiet for a moment. Charlie looked over at Vaggie and Y/N, Vaggie looked to the side, a concerned look on her face. Y/N shrugged her shoulders.

"Sound fair?" Charlie asked.

"Hmm, fair enough,"

"Cool beans,"

Alastor hummed while he looked around, suddenly he grabbed Vaggie by the chin. "Smile my dear!" he said. "You know you're never fully dressed without one."

Alastor continued to walk around, humming.

"What's he doing?" Y/N whispered to Vaggie.

"No clue," she whispered back. "But whatever it is, I don't like it."

"So where is your hotel staff?" Alastor asked Charlie.

"Uhh well..." Charlie said, looking over at Vaggie and Y/N.

Alastor laughed. "You're going to need more than that,"

Behind Alastor's back, Y/N flipped him off.

"And what you can do my feminine fellow?" Alastor asked Angel.

"I can suck your dick!"

"Hah! No!"

"Your loss,"

"Well, this just won't do," Alastor said. "I supposed I can cash in a few favors to liven things up."

"Um, what do you mean by that?" Y/N asked, Alastor ignored her.

He snapped his fingers, and something appeared in the fireplace.

He walked over and picked it up. It was small and had soot all over it, whatever it was.

Suddenly, it's eye opened, staring at them all. Y/N backed up.

It moved and all the soot off of it was gone. It was a little demon, resembling a cockroach. She smiled at the four of them, her one eye looking around.

"This little darling is Niffty," Alastor said, dropping her.

"Hi! I'm Niffty!" she said, waving at them "It's been a while since I've made new friends! Why are you all women? Is there any men here!? I'm sorry, that's rude. Oh man, this place is filthy! This place really needs a lady's touch, which is weird because you're all ladies, no offense. Oh my gosh this is awful!" she said, running around, dusting.

The four of them stared at Niffty in confusion, and a little bit of fear.

Alastor snapped his fingers again and a grumpy looking cat hybrid appeared.

"What the fuck is this?" the cat asked.

"You!" he said, pointing at Alastor.

"Oh, Husker, my good friend, glad you could make it!" Alastor said.

'So that's his name,' Y/N thought. 'He's not that bad looking.'

"Don't you 'Husker' me you son of a bitch!" Husker said. "I was about to win the whole damn pot!"

"Good to see you too!"

"What the hell do you want with me this time?"

"My friend, I am doing some charity work, so I took it upon myself to volunteer your services, I hope that's okay!" Alastor said.

"Are you shittin' me?"

"Hmm, no I don't think so!" Alastor said cheerfully.

Husker pushed Alastor off of him. "You thought it would be some kind of big fucking riot just to pull me out of nowhere!?" he said. "You think I'm some kind of fucking clown!?"

"Maybe,"

"I ain't doing no fucking charity job," Husker said.

"Well, I figured you would be the perfect face to man the front desk of this fine establishment." Alastor said, pointing at the hotel bar. "With your charming smile and welcoming energy, this job was made for you. Don't worry my friend, I can make this more welcoming, if you wish," Alastor said, summoning a bottle of booze.

Husker stared at the bottle for a moment.

"What? You think you can buy me with a wink and some cheap booze!?" Husker said, grabbing the bottle. "Well you can," he said downing the bottle.

'An alchoholic, even better.' Y/N thought.

"Hey! Hey! Hey!" Vaggie said. "No bar! No alchohol! This is supposed to be a place that discourages sin, not some kind of brothel man cave!"

"Shut up!" Angel said, tackling Vaggie. "We are keeping this!" he said, pointing to Husker.

"Hey," he said, leaning on the bar.

"Go fuck yourself," Husk said

"Only if you watch me,"

Y/N pushed Angel out of the way. "Sorry about him, he's horny all the time, you get used to it after a while."

Husk looked her up and down, a small smile coming onto his face. Before he could say something, Charlie came and pushed herself in between them.

"Oh my gosh! Welcome to the Happy Hotel!" she exclaimed, stars in her eyes. "You are going to love it here!"

"I lost the ability to love years ago," he said, drinking more of the booze.

"So, what do you think?" Alastor asked.

"This is amazing!" Charlie said, a huge smile on her face.

"Not bad, I'll give you that," Y/N said, walking towards him.

"It's okay," Vaggie said.

Alastor laughed, pulling the three of them closer to him. "This is going to be very entertaining!"

Vaggie and Y/N removed themselves from his grasp, Y/N walked back to the bar.

~Alastor's song plays. I forgot the name of it~

Before Alastor could finish his song, there was an explosion outside, creating a hole in the wall. That piece of wall flew and hit Niffty.

Looking outside, Y/N saw the steampunk looking blimp that was on the news that day.

"Well, well, well, we meet yet again, Alasstor," Sir Pentious said.

"Do I know you?" Alastor asked.

Sir Pentious' face fell. "Oh yes you do, and this time I have the element of surprisse!"

A ray gun came out of the blimp, pointing at the seven of them.

"I'm so evil!" Sir Pentious laughed.

Suddenly, a portal opened up beneath the blimp, black tentacles came out of it, grabbing onto the blimp.

Y/N could hear Sir Pentious screaming.

Suddenly, the portal dissapered and the blimp exploded.

Everyone was looking at Alastor with a 'what the fuck' look on their faces.

"Well, I'm starved!" Alastor said. "Who wants some jambalaya! My mother once showed me a wonderful recipe for jambalaya. In fact, it nearly killed her!"

"I hate my life," Y/N heard Husker mutter.

"Don't we all?" Y/N said as they walked back into the hotel. "I'm Y/N by the way, do you mind if I call you Husk instead of Husker? It takes less time to say."

Husker looked at her, confusion on his face, then that small smile cmae back onto his face.

"No, I wouldn't mind one bit, Isabell,"

sorry that there isn't more husk, he doesnt have a lot of screen time in the pilot 😭

i wanna try the mcrib from mcdonalds

this lovely banner was made by the lovely @al-of-the-stars

and also i wont be uploading the next chapter of singin in the rain fro a few days, cuz my amazon prime isnt working for some weird reason

also, y/n isn't charlie's bio aunt

stay safe and drink lots of water <33

xoxo, Izzy

Taglist 💃

@mysticwitchcraftco

@diffidentphantom

@wendigonamecaller

@barrythestrawberry041

@jx3-xd

[jo-harrington]

Stranger Than (Fan)Fiction - Chapter 3: Lore Dump

Previous Chapter: Out of Character

Summary: After your bombshell revelation, Eddie finds it difficult to wrap his head around what is now his reality to empathize with your shared predicament.

Word Count: 8k

Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader

Warnings/Themes: No-Upside-Down AU, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Lore Dump (literally), Isekai, Mentions of FOI-compliant events and characters, Various References to Movies and Television, Criticism of Fanfiction, Meta Fiction

Note: Ok besties here we are and the chapter, or at least one part of it, is very much as the title says. It's a Lore Dump as we figure out how Reader and Eddie have found themselves in this predicament. Warning everyone that it might be a little mind-fucky but a lot more will be explained in detail in future chapters. We've only just scratched the surface here.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

You'd never run so much in your entire life.

Alright, that might have been a little dramatic.

But that didn't mean it wasn't true.

"Is it always like this?" you panted as you chased after the flopping brown coat of the man a few steps ahead of you. "With the running?"

"Oh yes!" he called out. He looked back at you with a charming, crooked grin and pointed ahead. "You'll get used to it. Allons-y!"

This whole nightmare started when you crashed your car into, what you thought was, an unassuming blue "police box."

And now, several days later, you were running, ducking, diving...surviving all manner of monsters that seemingly popped up out of nowhere in the middle of Texas. With a goofy man with unbrushed hair and a buzzing screwdriver called The Doctor, and his companion--whatever that meant; it sounded suspicious to you--Martha, who kept staring at you like you'd grown another head.

You supposed adventure was the idea when you left the borders of Port Geneva proper, but this kind of adventure wasn't exactly what you had in mind. Static monsters who could literally take the words out of your mouth and a hive-mind controlling overlord whose goal it was to steal knowledge.

You might have been a lover of fantastical stories, but this was something beyond your wildest fantasies, and apparently something Martha and the Doctor encountered regularly, if their cool reaction to some of the atrocities you'd seen was indicator enough.

They both seemed to have it in mind that you were joining them for this type of ordeal from now on, though.

Especially the Doctor, if that "you'll get used to it" was something to go by.

"Come on, faster, faster," Martha called out to you from the threshold of a solid metal door just up ahead. "They can't get in through the iron."

You pumped your legs faster and ignored the burn in your lungs as you passed the Doctor and joined Martha in the safety of the bunker, with the man of the hour himself following shortly after. Martha slammed the door shut and then used the sonic to ensure the lock would hold.

They let you have a moment to catch your breath as they strategized plans for the next steps, which seemed impossible now that you were stuck in a bunker filled with junk and no exit.

"Nothing's impossible," the Doctor exclaimed as though he could read your mind. Maybe he could; you wouldn't put it past him. "And we're not stuck."

He removed the brown trench coat and got to work sorting through the junk in the bunker, while Martha took a seat beside you and patted your knee.

"You should be proud of yourself," she said gently. "It's really hard, dealing with all of this. And I've been with him for almost a year now. All the running, the monsters, all of the...impossible--

"Nothing's impossible Martha," the Doctor interjected.

"--improbable things," she amended. "It doesn't get easier, but you will get used to it. Besides, you'd think you were on the track team like Sam with how fast you've been running. Maybe you should have been the star relay runner instead of her."

Martha might have laughed.

But you didn't.

You felt a cold sense of dread overtake you. You'd told them about your friends back home earlier in the day, when you'd panicked over your impending doom. You cried and told them you wished you were still back there, safe and sound; in hindsight, it was a pathetic moment.

It wasn't what you'd said that gave you pause now, though; it's what you hadn't.

"Martha," you muttered nervously. "How did you know that Sam did relay?"

Martha's eyes went wide and she looked to the doctor in a sudden panic.

"I...I never told you she was on the track team."

It was a standoff.

A staring contest.

You and Eddie watched each other, unblinking, as if to see who would break first.

Eddie knew it would probably be him because his mind was racing, but he would give you the chance to repeat yourself, or elaborate, or maybe yell "surprise" first.

None of those things happened of course, so he was left in stunned silence trying to formulate the words to respond to your groundbreaking revelation.

We are in a fanfiction.

Fanfiction.

He had heard about fanfiction before. Drove the guys out to some comic book shop in Fort Wayne to celebrate Jeff's birthday and the nerds behind the counter were talking about a Star Trek fanfiction they read in some celebratory fan magazine.

He'd honestly never thought about Kirk and Spock like that and he really didn't want to again.

Even though it kind of made sense.

He just wasn’t that big of a Trek guy either.

But damn, even though he and the guys might not have been the popular kids, they were definitely not dorky like that, were they?

Except that they were. He was.

He wrote his favorite characters into his DnD campaigns as NPCs and he fantasized about what it would be like if he was Han Solo instead of Han himself, and tucked away in a drawer at home, there was definitely that story about you...

"Shit," he finally breathed out, blinking and breaking eye contact with you. "Shit, I did this. I mean, I know I did this, but did...did I do this?"

"What?" You frowned at him. "What do you mean, did you do this? Eddie, did you hear what I said?"

"No, yeah, of course I did," he began rambling. "I just...before you showed up in Hawkins, I...I wrote about you. I wrote about you leaving Port Geneva and coming to Hawkins and meeting me and...fuck...that means you know."

You stared at him blankly.

"You know that Port Geneva is a TV show," he clarified and then ran a hand through his hair. "Jesus Christ, how did I...how could I have done this? Shit. Shit."

You crossed the short distance and took a seat on the couch beside him, comforting hand finding his knee instantly.

"Eddie--"

"I'm sorry I did this. I'm sorry I just...you're my...my favorite character and I..."

"--you didn't do this. Someone else did."

He took a few breaths, heart pounding in his chest, and then swallowed hard.

"Who?"

"That's...a little harder to answer. But I think the thing you need to focus on right now--the thing you're missing--is that we are in a fanfiction. You and me. Together. Because I'm not the only one from a TV show. You are too."

Eddie was dumbstruck for a second.

Well, he was pretty dumbstruck about this whole thing. But he only had a second to really process it, because the next thing he knew, you were in his lap, lips pressed to his, hands fisting his jacket, and the door to the greenroom burst open as his friends walked in.

You pulled away from him as the catcalls and whistles and jokes began and glanced over your shoulder at the guys to bite your lip bashfully.

"Ah, looks like the original song worked after all," Jeff teased.

"Good, cuz then we don't have to play it anymore, bleh," Gareth stuck his tongue out. "You know, for everything you preach about metal and only metal Eddie, you sure wrote some sappy Greg Brady shit."

Eddie's ears rang as he answered. Well, as his mouth moved and voice spoke, saying something that got everyone laughing. Something that he had no control over once again. You turned back to him and he widened his eyes in some silent plea but you simply shook your head at him.

Instead you leaned forward and kissed him again, softer this time. Gentler. Different from the unexpected kiss just moments before, this was one of understanding and comfort.

He relaxed under your touch.

"Alright guys," you announced as you pulled away, words and tone of your voice not quite matching the softness of your gaze as you continued to watch him. "Your set's over. You don't have to go home but you can't stay here. Bev wants you out."

"What was all of that?" he demanded as you stepped out of your car.

After driving the guys home, he sat on your porch and waited. Chain smoking and lost in his thoughts until you got back to Forest Hills after your shift.

"Can I at least get inside first?" you asked with a nervous laugh. "Do you want to wake Granny up? Jesus."

He was on your heels as you unlocked your door and stepped inside, almost followed you to your bedroom when you said you'd wanted to change into PJs, and even declined a soda when you got settled back in the living room.

And once you couldn't stall for any more time, sitting next to each other on your couch, he stared at you and begged, "please, I need to know I'm not in a nightmare here. Or dead."

You let out a honk of laughter and then reached over to take his hand in yours, and he felt the slight edge of abject terror start to lessen.

"You're not in a nightmare," you reassured him. "Or dead."

"Then...then what is this?" he whispered desperately. "Is this a trick? A joke? Start from the beginning. Please."

You took a breath and began.

"It's fanfiction." You hummed contemplatively for a moment. "This is...I don't know when it started, actually. For me, that is. For you...well, there's no way we could say for sure; I can only talk about my own experience."

You paused and then said your name, the same way that you had introduced yourself originally. And then Eddie realized that you were introducing yourself again as you squeezed his hand in yours.

"I was born and raised in Port Geneva, and then in 1985 after graduation, I left to start my adventure. And from that moment on--for years--I got to have it. I got to have...a hundred adventures. A thousand. A million maybe? As many adventures as there have been people to imagine them. As many adventures as there have been fans to write them.

"Fans like you, Eddie," you smiled at him. "You said you wrote a story where I came to see you."

"Yeah," he nodded, cheeks hot under your gaze. "I did."

"And I'm your favorite character?"

He thought about you, thought about himself and the countless nights that he watched you on the screen.

"How could you not be my favorite?" he asked gently in return.

Your gaze turned soft and you looked down at his hand, clasped tightly within yours, and then you continued with your story.

"I got to see the world, got to meet so many people, I got to fall in love...except I never realized it. Until...until I met him."

"Him?" Eddie asked sharply, thoughts immediately spiraling.

Love.

You said love.

Who was this Him that you were in love with? Even through Eddie's confusion and panic about the predicament he was currently in, he could still feel a bitter jealousy roiling deep inside his gut.

"The Doctor," you whispered.

"Doctor Who?"

You snorted. "Exactly."

"I don't get it," he shook his head.

"Doctor Who...that's...it's the name of a television show. Been around for a long time, but I'm not sure how popular it is here. If it even exists. You have a lot of media that we didn't have in Port Geneva but there's a few things that...I dunno...that your writers haven't mentioned. Or The Writer hasn't included yet."

You explained it to him, or the gist of it at least.

An immortal time-traveling alien and his usually human companion, all of the adventures and misadventures and danger. Being able to go to different times and timelines and universes.

In any other scenario, it would have sounded cool. Maybe a little scary. But now, all Eddie could think about was this mess you were in.

"And...this Doctor...he's what brought you to Hawkins?" he questioned hesitantly, figuring that it made the most sense. "He thought he was bringing you back to Port Geneva's universe and brought you here instead?"

"Uh, no," you frowned. "That was The Writer. The Author. Whatever you want to call them."

"Because this is a fanfiction."

"Yeah. That was. And this is. I just...didn't know it yet. I didn't realize it was fanfiction until later. But, uh, whoever wrote that crossover story just brought me from my world into Doctor Who, and that was when I realized I was a fictional character from a TV Show. Because they wrote me as a character who jumped from a television show into the 'real world' of the Doctor and his friends."

Just like you were now: a fictional character in his world.

"It's hard to explain, but the Doctor made me aware of it. Made it make sense." You faltered. "Well...not really, but that's when it started. He told me that I wasn't real--"

"Wait,” he interrupted you. “But you said I was from a tv show back at the hideout. So you're telling me I'm not real?"

"Ed--"

"Because you’re from a tv show and so am I and this Doctor is too.”

“I wouldn’t try to think about it so hard.”

“Is that...the Doctor told you that you were a character in a TV show and you weren't real? And that's what you're telling me right now too?"

"It's hard to explain--"

"Because I don't know sweetheart," Eddie chuckled sardonically and shook his hands out of yours so he could run them over his face, through his hair. "I...I feel plenty real. And if there's anyone who isn't real here...well, I have a stack of video tapes back home that can provide enough evidence."

He’d thought about the barebones of it when he’d been outside waiting for you to get home, but faced with the truth of it now, the dominoes were starting to fall.

He was real, he had to be. His whole life, all of his memories, all of his friends, what about th—

"Can you let me fucking finish?" you snapped at him with a sharp clap.

His shoulders heaved and he stared at you with wild eyes.

"You're real," you explained calmly. "I'm real. We're both real. Real people. Real lives. Real memories. For the most part."

Eddie didn't like the sound of that.

"But this world...is your world and I don't belong here. Just like I didn't belong in the Doctor's world either. He explained it to me in some way I didn't quite understand; I'm just a girl from the midwest. I barely graduated high school and suddenly he was telling me there was some cosmic anomaly that pulled me out of my world, my tv show world, and that I was transported into his world. It was wild.

“The important thing though was that he didn't know how to get me home. So, until he could figure it out, I was stuck. And I traveled with him for a while. With him and his friend Martha…and then with another friend Donna. Until somewhere at the end of it all...I died."

Eddie's heart stopped in his chest; you...died?

The question was stuck on his lips, the demand to know more, but he felt himself choke up when he thought about it. Even more when he watched the tears well in your eyes as you remembered your own death.

"I died alone, bleeding out in the middle of an alien planet..." you recalled, wrenching your eyes shut. There was a beat of silence and he let you have a moment to recover. He watched your eyes dart around beneath your eyelids as you gathered your thoughts, as you recalled whatever horror you went through. When you were through, you blinked and looked up at him with the weight of a thousand truths in your gaze. "And then I wasn't dead anymore."

"What?!"

"Well obviously I'm alive,” you motioned down to yourself. “Maybe I’m a little worse for wear inside but I’m fine. Back then though...I was dead. One second I was in oblivion. And then next, I woke up in the driver's seat of my car, outside of a hotel in Odessa, Texas. With a man from the future named Hiro Nakamura, who told me I had to save the cheerleader if I wanted to save the world.

"And it all just started over again," you sighed.

You recounted this next place to him. Places, actually; plural. Names that meant nothing to him but seemed to mean something to you--Hiro, Claire, Peter, Sylar--and it all sounded fantastic. Another unbelievable adventure, but there was still something off.

"I...I tried to ask questions. About where I was, about where the Doctor was. It was always ignored. I tried to control things but it seemed like I couldn't, no matter how hard I tried. Tried to do things that I instinctively knew I wanted to do, but I just couldn't. It seemed like there was something controlling me instead. Like I was a puppet on a string. And everything that happened around me...never seemed to make any sense, no matter how hard I tried to wrap my head around it.

"Sound familiar?" you asked.

Eddie scoffed, thinking about the traumatic, out of control moments he had had the past few days. That hopeless, helpless, sinking feeling he'd had.

"It fucking sucks, sweetheart. You feel like that...all the time?"

"You get used to it." You shook your head. "Get used to playing along. I learned that really quickly; I resigned myself to this life where I was just a passenger in my own body. Until I realized if I just played the part that whatever forces-that-be wanted me to play, I could have a little more control."

There was a tense pause as you let Eddie absorb the information. And absorb it he did. He didn't like it, the idea that he had to play a part; it was something he'd been fighting all his life. But maybe if you said it was something that would make him feel more in control, he could try.

He turned to the next thought ever-present in his mind.

"So," he cleared his throat to start again. "How do you know this is a fanfiction? When did you figure that out? Because...when you showed up, I thought about all the possibilities--a dream, a nightmare, hell, heaven, a portal, a wormhole like in a comic book--and that was never one of them."

"Because of the interviews."

"Interviews..."

"They're fun and silly, I guess," you shrugged apathetically. "You'll be in the middle of your life, middle of your day, middle of a fight...and then the world goes dark and you'll find yourself sitting in a room alongside the people you know...and The Writer. An Interview with the Characters.

"I was already familiar with the fact that I was from a television show and in a world I didn't belong in. But I was the only person aware of that fact; to the Doctor, I was a fictional character, but here Port Geneva the television show...didn't exist. I was just another citizen of planet earth, and my home was a real place on the map, as real as Odessa or New York.

"But suddenly my friends and I were in that room sitting in front of someone. A writer. The Writer--SylaireIsMyOTP117--and they were all aware that they were characters in a television show called Heroes, that I was a character from Port Geneva, and that we were all in some kind of...story in another universe, written by this SylaireismyOTP117. Something they never seemed aware of before.

"And SylaireismyOTP117...she acted like she was our friend too, like she had our best interest in mind and valued our opinions. Everyone laughed along with all of her jokes. Answered all of her questions. Except me, because then it all came into perspective. She was the one playing with our lives--playing with my life--and putting us in danger. She made us travel through time to dangerous places, she created more dangers, she even killed Peter's older brother--something that apparently hadn't happened in the show. Well...not yet anyway."

Your hands clenched and unclenched.

"I thought I figured it out," you said through gritted teeth. "Found the person responsible for this predicament I was in. Because she was so...sure of herself. She even had the audacity to apologize for pulling me out of my world and into Heroes. I asked her why she made me die with the Doctor just so I could be a part of this world instead... but she didn't know what I was talking about.

"Suddenly she had this pink magazine in her hand. Pulled it out of her back pocket and waved it around, saying she found it in her mom's childhood bedroom. Said I must have been thinking about one of the stories from it. The Port Geneva Teen Fanzine. SylaireismyOTP117 told me she was sad that people had written me the way they did. Out of Character. That she wanted to give me something better than than had. A better adventure. Then the interview was over. And that was the end of that. Or just the beginning actually.

"Mystery solved." You held your hands out in front of you like you were presenting the secrets of the universe. Eddie could even imagine a glowing sphere floating there if he tried hard enough.

You started naming names then, of movies and books and television shows. Heroes and Lost and Vampire Diaries and The Dark Knight.

And. And. And.

The list just kept going and going.

It made Eddie's head spin to hear all of the places you had been, all of the lives you had lived, the things that all of these Writers had put you through.

To hear how sometimes you'd wake up in a new world, sometimes you'd seemingly get your happily ever after, sometimes none of the above. Sometimes you were even back home in Port Geneva--relieved--only to get ripped away all over again.

It never seemed to end the same way, but it always started with you in the driver's seat of your car. Chugging along to the next destination. Sometimes for the better, sometimes for the worse.

"And that's how you ended up here in Hawkins?" Eddie asked, then paused. "Do you know...what my show is called?"

"Uh," you winced and folded your hands together in your lap. "Yes. I do. And I know it seems like I know all of these things. I don’t. Rarely, actually. But sometimes the Writers think they're funny and they work the title into the story; that’s how I find out. Because it's out of place.

"But, uh, it’s not the first time I've been here in Hawkins, actually."

It was a record scratch moment for Eddie.

"You...you have?" He smiled and suddenly felt a sense of hope; alright, so his love for you was so undeniable that this wasn't the first time someone had brought you to him. To give him something good in his miserable shit life. "Well so, what happened last time? Why can't I remember? Is that just...well, I guess, what makes this time different? Why am I aware of it all this time?

"Wait! Wait! What's my show about? Is it...is it like...the Misadventures of a Wannabe Rockstar or something? You said that when we had breakfast at Benny's. Is that the title? It has to be."

He rambled for a second, excitedly trying to predict his future, a future where you got to see the ups and downs of his life as he and Corroded Coffin navigated their way to fame.

You let him ramble, let him live in hope for those few moments. Until he realized you weren't chattering excitedly with him.

Until he saw the pain in your eyes.

He deflated, mind suddenly turning to the worst scenarios. At least in his mind.

"We don't make it, do we?" Was the conclusion he could come to. "But it's Wannabe Rockstar, right?. Not Future Rockstar. I'm gonna end up working at Thatcher Tires instead or something. Dead end job, stuck in this town..."

"It isn't your show," you whispered. "Just like Port Geneva...wasn't really mine."

Eddie swallowed hard.

"It's called Stranger Things," you explained. "And it's...I dunno...there are monsters. The first time I was here, I wasn't transported in as someone's favorite TV character. It was 1983, Port Geneva was a real place, and I was a transfer student at Hawkins High. And awful things happened. But there was no Eddie Munson. They must've written you in later in the show."

You continued your own rambling then, as you tried to make him feel better about it all. How he must've been a beloved character for someone to write a story about him. How whatever story they were writing was a good story too, because there didn't seem to be any monsters in Hawkins, not like there were the first time you'd been there.

"And...and The Writer of this story must love you a lot," you concluded. "To bring your favorite tv character in to be your girlfriend. For us to...like each other, love each other--and I do like you Eddie, I want to make that very clear. You make me feel like I'm close to home for the first time in a long time--but it seems like they want to give you a happy ending too. One you deserve."

But your words didn't help. The sinking feeling was back, but this time The Writer didn't have anything to do with it.

It was him, all him. All this misery and he wasn't even the main character of his own show. He should've seen that coming. And yeah he could live with being someone's favorite, enough for them to write a happy ending or something but...

"'s that mean I have a sad ending in the show?" he wondered. "If there are usually monsters here but there aren't, and I get something...something good, does that mean I die or something?"

"Eddie, it's..." you trailed off, but the rest of the sentence was hanging in the air, clear to both of you.

It's better not to think about it that way.

He nodded slowly and pulled his hand away from you to run it over his face.

It was confusing, it was upsetting.

All of it.

The cherry on top of the shit sundae that was his week. His life.

Fuck, but none of it was real, right? Contrary to everything you said. So could he really be upset? Should he? At least he knew he had something good to look forward to. A happy ending.

But how could he look forward to it when he knew that...well, when he knew that he didn't deserve it in the first place. That wasn't what fate had in store for him.

Or the writers of this Stranger Things show.

His happiness was at the whim of The Writer. At the whim of some...loser nerd writing about him in another universe.

A nerd just like him.

Fuck, it was giving him a headache.

"I uh...have a lot to think about," he whispered. You nodded as he stood and crossed towards the door of your trailer so he could leave. He paused at the door, instinctively remembering that he had to kiss you goodbye. Until everything hit him all over again and he decided it was better not to. "I'll, uh, I'll call you. Ok?"

"Yeah," you nodded eagerly. "Call me whenever. Please. It's...it is a lot. And honestly, we only scratched the surface. But we can figure the rest out together. I can help you through it. I promise. I'll be here."

He left without another word.

Denial was the easiest way for Eddie to go about this whole ordeal, or so he thought. How the fuck else was someone supposed to come to terms with the fact that...

Nope he wasn't gonna go there. Not yet.

He knew that he would need to deal with it eventually--need to think it through and talk to you--but until then, he was just going to live his life like he normally would.

So he avoided those feelings, and avoided you.

And it seemed to work.

School, home, trip to Rick's to re-up his inventory on Wednesday, grocery run for Wayne on Thursday, Hellfire on Friday, no date on Saturday.

Dealing at a few parties, band practice where the music was all normal, and then finally back at the Hideout for their gig on Tuesday.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

It was a normal week and aside from the still-obvious markers of this new life he was living, like the mess in the trailer and the fancy renovations at the Hideout, Eddie felt relieved and a little less like he was about to lose his mind.

It was both a blessing and a curse though, because at the end of every day he realized just how much missed you.

You'd rooted yourself solidly in his life--both on tv and now in the flesh--for years. Even when he didn't have new episodes to watch and stories to enjoy, he had his reruns. His tapes. Then you were suddenly there in person and on the phone.

So the you-shaped hole that he punched in his life, when he decided to ignore his predicament, was gaping and obvious.

Yeah, he could tell Wayne about the great battle he'd come up with for Hellfire, or complain to the guys about the bogus chemistry homework. But it wasn't the same. Not anymore.

So he resolved to talk to you on Tuesday after the set, only you weren't there.

"Shouldn't you know Junior? That's your girl," Bev dismissed him with a wave of her hand. She must have taken pity on him at the sight of his sad eyes, and she just sighed and continued. "She called in sick. Took the night off. She seemed fine yesterday; better not be cuz of you, kid."

He feared you might have left town, maybe to spare him or something--how that would work with the fanfiction Gods? Weren't you supposed to stay in Hawkins? He wasn't sure--but your car was in front of your trailer by the time he got home.

Everything was quiet, and all the lights were off, even the porch light which you usually kept on. He debated knocking on your door, waking you up, but decided against it.

If you really were trying to give him space, or simply avoid him like he had avoided you, it was best not to wake you up and piss you off.

"Tomorrow," he told himself. "I'll talk to her after school tomorrow."

Of course, that was the plan and fanfiction or not, sometimes even the best laid plans went awry.

He was still Eddie Munson, after all.

Things never went his way.

Once again, he had Chrissy Cunningham to thank for his plight.

It was on this, the day of his reconciliation with you, that she decided her hunt or conquest or humiliation of him would take place.

Maybe all of the above.

It was raining, he was running late.

He would have cut classes--should have just cut--but despite all odds being against him now more than ever, he promised himself that he was going to try when it came to school.

He had just opened the door to his locker when she appeared, the tips of her pristine white sneakers kissing the sides of his muddied converse.

"Hey Eddie!" Chrissy greeted with a too-big smile and sparkling eyes.

Eddie jumped and looked around the hallway, conveniently lacking its usual amount of students who loitered around before class. Thankfully, no other cheerleaders or jocks in sight either, though; it was either a blessing or a curse, he couldn't tell for sure.

"Hey, uh," he coughed and glanced at Chrissy for a second, before distracting himself with the contents of his locker. Fuck, it was pretty messy in there too; now was as good a time as any to clean it. "What's up?"

"Nothing, I just wanted to talk to you," she beamed.

He felt a bubbling of annoyance build within him, somewhat out of his control.

"You can't want to talk to me and also not want anything Chrissy," he scoffed pretty harshly as he grabbed a handful of papers to sort through. "So do you want to buy weed for a slumber party or something? Or have you suddenly decided to throw your Homecoming crown in the trash so you could join Hellfire ?"

She shuffled her feet and clutched her books to her chest and then took a deep breath.

"I wanted to know if you'd like to hang out some time," she announced loudly, bravely. Eddie froze in shock and then turned to her; her cheeks were red but there was a resolve in her eyes that he'd never seen in her before. "There's a new movie playing at the Hawk. Clue. I don't know if you've heard of it, it looks a little spooky..."

She rambled on and Eddie was left to stare at her, dumbfounded.

Chrissy Cunningham? Asking him out? Ok so Gareth was right?

But was Gareth right? Was she really hot for him or was she just using him for her own amusement? Or was this another little...storytelling mishap that the Writer was putting him through?

Shit, how could he tell?

This kind of shit sort of always, sort of never happened to him before.

Plenty of popular girls thought it was fun to go out with The Freak just to get off or to have a laugh, sure. But everything else in his life was turning upside down thanks to the Writer. So was this just another layer to that absolute shit show?

Gah, what the fuck could it be?

The anger bubbled inside of him again, and he had the vaguest realization that the anger didn't really belong to him. It felt too intense, almost manufactured. He was hit with the sense of deja vu that he'd felt this way before--in the cafeteria before the almost-food-fight and then at Family Video--and he decided to put a stop to it immediately.

"Listen Chrissy," he interrupted her with a cool, indifferent tone. "The movie sounds cool, but I'm really not interested in going out with you." He turned back to shut his locker and get to class when she stopped him with a hand on his arm.

"If this is because of Jason," she began softly. "I'm...you don't have to worry. I'd break up with him if we went out."

"It's not about Jason," he snapped, out of control once again. Well and truly out of control. He felt himself shrug her hand away. "I have a girlfriend. A girlfriend who is actually cool and nice and interesting. Who likes the things that I like and doesn't like silly things like magazines and cheer and scrunchies." He watched in horror as he lifted his hand and flicked at her ponytail, and then felt angry at himself, at this situation, at The Writer when Chrissy flinched and dropped her books on the floor.

"It's almost funny that you'd think I'd be interested in someone like you," he spat at her venomously.

He felt the sudden urge to slam the locker, felt the urge to walk away, felt the urge to laugh in Chrissy's face.

But he resisted all of those urges with every fiber of his being.

He just stood there until the puppet strings were cut once again and he felt the rage and anger dissipate.

All the while, Chrissy went from a fearful, trembling mess in front of him, eyes welling with tears, to...nothing.

She just stood there too.

She looked down at her feet, shuffled back and forth for a moment, and then she scuffed her shoes against the floor, nudging the fallen textbooks.

She suddenly didn't look like Queen of Hawkins High Chrissy Cunningham, or someone that was afraid of the Wrath of the Freak, or some lash-batting temptress like she had been just moments ago.

She just looked like the girl who was hiding in the Auditorium at the Hawkins Middle School talent show all those years ago.

A person. Just like him.

Eddie cleared his throat and knelt down to help Chrissy pick up her books.

"Sorry," he muttered when she knelt beside him. "Sorry I--"

"No, it's ok. I guess...I don't know. I guess I just felt a little lost for a while," she explained softly. "And the only thing that seemed like it could fix it was you."

Interesting.

"But not anymore?" he wondered.

"Uh, no," she shook her head. "I don't even know...why I asked you out Eddie. No offense...but you're not really my type."

The two of them laughed for a second as they stood back up.

"You know," Eddie turned Chrissy's books over in his hand, "if you wanna break up with Carver, you can just do that. You don't need to use me as an excuse."

She froze in front of him, cheeks red again, as she hummed nervously.

"Thanks Eddie," she whispered. They both smiled softly, a silent understanding shared between them, and then Chrissy held out her books so he could stack the ones in his hand atop them.

And that's when he saw the book--magazine--at the top of her stack.

A pink-covered, handmade looking thing with a familiar name printed at the top of it.

Port Geneva Teen Fanzine.

His heart stopped.

That was the thing you said your Writer had shown you once upon a time, in your Interview.

For a second he wondered how Chrissy had it, but then he tried to figure out the logic that you were from a TV show and transported here. If he was a fan, there must be other people watching the show and fans of it too. Maybe the magazine transcended universes. Just like the show did.

It honestly made his head hurt trying to think about it.

"You...you like Port Geneva?" he asked, trying to remain as casual as possible.

"Hmm, yeah," Chrissy smiled down at the 'zine. "It's one of my favorite shows. My mom and I used to watch it together. Sam is my favorite character."

Somehow, that didn't surprise him one bit.

"Do you watch?" she questioned, brow quirked curiously. "It doesn't seem like your kind of show."

"I mean, I'm full of surprises," he teased, trying to keep his tone as lighthearted as possible. "But, uh...yeah. I used to."

"It's a bummer that it's over right?"

"Yeah...hey Chrissy, I know you don't owe me any favors or anything but, uh, can I borrow that?"

"Seriously?" she snorted. "It's just got like personality quizzes and little stories and stuff in it. Nothing special."

Little stories? Bingo.

"Yeah, just curious."

"Sure." They traded her textbooks for the magazine, and then with a shrill ring of the bell overhead, they went off to class.

He sat in his room after school, holding the Port Geneva Teen Fanzine like it was some sacred document not meant for the eyes of a mere mortal peasant like him.

The Dead Sea Scrolls or the Magna Carta or The Declaration of Independence.

It had burned a hole in his backpack the whole day, anticipation getting the better of him, but he knew that he didn't want to read the 'zine in front of his friends.

"So stupid," he scoffed at his own antics. "What was gonna happen? Davey wouldn't want to take the 'which character would make the best chemistry lab partner' quiz."

Maybe just in case there was something just inside the pink paper cover that would change his life forever.

"Like what? It's not like your yearbook picture's gonna be on the first page, idiot," he sighed and tightened his grip on the magazine. "Just gotta rip off that bandaid."

He closed his eyes tightly, took a breath, and flipped open the cover.

When he cracked one eye open to take a peek, he sighed in relief.

His face wasn't staring back up at him. No faces, actually. Just a table of contents that looked a little grainy, like it was copied on a Xerox machine and haphazardly thrown together.

There were different headlines just like there would be in a regular magazine--interviews, behind the scenes, quizzes--and then some unique ones--fan art, fan submissions, show theories. At the bottom of the Table of Contents, there was a little slip that could be cut out, filled, and mailed along with a few dollars to some address in California to get the next copy of the 'zine.

Eddie flipped through the pages curiously, and he truly enjoyed some of the pictures of fans visiting the set and getting pictures with a few cast members. Then an interview with the actress who played Sam's mom, who said what a joy it was to see her young co-stars grow up and come into their own, just like their characters.

Then about half-way through, he reached the Fan Submissions.

A section filled with fanfiction stories.

A section where your name was plastered practically everywhere.

Stories of you getting to go to big cities, ones where you finally returned home. A heartbreaking one where you returned in time for Sam and Pat's wedding and you cried because...

Because...you'd actually been in love with Patrick the whole time?

Eddie made a noise of shock as he read the detailed description of your heartbreak and the way that you recalled how sad you had been the day Pat had come to ask for your help with the proposal.

"Were we even watching the same show?" Eddie scoffed.

There were a few fanfiction submissions that characterized you that way, having this unrequited love for him.

But you never really showed any interest in him, other than friendship. Aside from Mark, you never had any romantic feelings in the show.

How had these so-called fans misread your relationship with Pat so terribly?

Or had Eddie's obsession with you clouded his ability to perceive the signs? Maybe he had been watching a different show than everyone else.

He wallowed in that feeling as he waded through the fan stories slowly--although one story about Bonnie and Bill seemed a little interesting: a Bakery/Flower Shop soulmate romance--until he got to one at the very end that caused the hair on his arms to stand on end.

A story about you...and Alex P. Keaton?

It was the only crossover in the fan submission, and it made Eddie nervous once again that he misunderstood your character.

Alex P. Keaton who read the Wall Street Journal for fun?! And you, and artist who followed your heart and went on an adventure to find yourself?! No, there was no way.

"This is a bunch of bullshit," he muttered. He shut the magazine and ran a hand over his face and into his hair.

Eddie wasn't the one who misunderstood you; it was everyone else who did. And if they had written you so wrong in this magazine, he could only dream of how wrongly they'd written you in all of those other stories you told him about. How miserable you must have felt in all of those different worlds.

Shit, and it was not only you who felt miserable, but him now too.

The wild events of the past few weeks had made him feel like he was going crazy. Yeah, at least he had an explanation for it now, but it didn't negate the fact that he suddenly felt like a stranger in his own life.

And if he felt like that, God only knows how you must've felt.

"Shit," he muttered.

He needed to talk to you.

He quickly got up from the bed and raced out of the house, panting as he jogged across the trailer park to get to your door.

He knocked frantically and impatiently waited for you to answer.

His resolve broke when you finally did.

Clothes--pajamas, actually--mussed, eyes bloodshot and puffy, you looked a lot like you had during the episode where Mark had broken your heart and you'd cried to Sam.

Had you thought that he was ending things with you because he had been avoiding you? Because of this whole situation? He ached to think that he'd hurt you like that.

"Sweetheart," Eddie whispered softly. "I should've called. Shit. I'm sorry I--"

"No," you sniffed and shook your head. You were smart enough to put two and two together and realize what he was apologizing for. "No, it's...Eddie this isn't because of you...I mean yeah, actually it is but..."

"I'm sorry," you both said simultaneously.

"I'm sorry that I just left the other night," Eddie elaborated. "I'm sorry that I avoided the whole thing, but I needed...I needed some sense of normalcy in all of this."

When he paused for breath, you immediately swooped in with your own apology and explanation.

"Well I'm sorry I seemed to have brought all of this bullshit with me to Hawkins," you stared at him pathetically. "I've never...no one has ever seemed aware of it before. I've been dealing with this alone for so long. I know I sort of dumped it on you; not only to explain, but maybe because I found some sort of relief that I wouldn't be going through it all alone anymore. I'd have you with me at least.

"And then, after you left, I really had time to think...how long it's been. My show aired in the 80's. And your show...Stranger Things? I mean...between my last time here...someone put me in a modern movie for a short time...and then I guess your season was a few years later maybe? Twenty-twenty-something?"

Eddie's throat tightened. They were still writing stories about the 80's that far in the future? Sure there were war movies and stuff. Man, people must've been really nostalgic and weird otherwise...

"It must be like...a historical documentary at that point," he laughed dryly.

"You calling me old?" you choked on a laugh, and then looked down at your hands. "I guess I am, though. I've lived through all of these different stories for...lifetimes. One story might take...I dunno, a few months for its Writer to finish, but it spans years. Years that I've lived through, one day at a time, with no break."

"Shit...that sounds..."

"Terrible?"

"Yeah."

"It is. I've been dealing with all of this...alone...for hundreds of years at this point I guess. Through stories that still write me as a teenager, or a middle-aged woman. I've lived and died over and over. I've been an artist, a writer, a dancer, a private investigator...I can't even remember the last time I got to go back to Port Geneva.

"And now that you're stuck in this hell too," your voice dropped to a whisper. "It made me sort of dread that for you too. Dread what kind of life that Writers might put you through, especially if your story in your show had a tragic ending like you said. They could give you everything you ever wanted, or they could just kill you again and again, for fun.

"And it's horrible and beautiful and great sometimes, but at the end of it all, it's tiring. Talking through it with you made me realize how much I wished I could be free, that maybe...maybe this Writer who brought me here would just be happy writing a story about the two of us for the rest of their lives or something. Spare us both anymore torture.

"Because at this point...I don't even know who I am anymore."

Your eyes welled with tears again and your shoulders heaved as you held back a sob.

And Eddie wished that he could tell you that he understood.

That his few days experience being aware that he was in a story could compare to everything that you'd seen.

He could tell you he appreciated your concern, that he felt that sense of dread that you felt for him. Assure you that he'd be fine. That it would be alright as long as you were in it together, just like you said.

But truthfully before hearing you say it right now, he hadn't come to that conclusion that he might be stuck in some endless loop of happiness and misery forever.

Because he did what he always did: he avoided the bad things. He ran away from this problem.

So what could say that could help you? That would make you feel better?

He wracked his brain for a moment, coming up with the right words.

But if there was anything Eddie did better than run away, it was say the right thing at the right time.

And he did.

"I know who you are," Eddie finally found his voice.

He took one of your hands in his and then cupped your cheek so you could look into his eyes.

"You might have forgotten who you are, but I know. I've always known. From the first time I saw you on screen, I felt such a connection to you."

He felt nervous, revealing his feelings to you. Confessing his fanatic behavior, his love for you. They were things he never said aloud to anyone and it made him nervous and vulnerable. Made him feel like he needed to run again. But your eyes glittered with unshed tears, and he knew he had to soldier on.

"Meeting you was like...the happiest day of my life. And you weren't anything that I expected, but everything I knew you were, deep down. And you...you've always seen the real me too, which is something very few people have the patience for. You're exactly who I've been waiting for.

"So maybe," he paused and cleared his throat. "Maybe we only have a few weeks together, or a few months, or maybe it'll be a few years for this Writer to give us a Happily Ever After. Maybe they'll put us through hell. But at least we're in it together. And I'll be here to remind you who you are if you ever forget, and to make sure you're not alone for as long as I can. As long as you promise that you'll do the same for me too."

In hindsight, a kiss was probably not the best end to his little declaration, but it felt right, so he did it anyway.

He leaned in and softly kissed your forehead, then the tip of your nose, then caught the softness of your lips between his.

The sound of your sigh, and the feeling of you melting against him, were the sweetest sensations he'd ever felt. It was a relief.

For a moment, right before he pulled away, Eddie felt a smug sense of superiority over everyone. All the writers who had made you question who you were, all of the love interests that they'd written for you--Alex P. Keaton could get fucked--and he resolved to make this a story for the ages, even if it never wound up on some fanfiction writer's page.

"Thank you Eddie," you whispered against his lips when all was said and done.

"We have a deal?"

"Yeah," you bit your lip and grinned at him. "It's a deal."

You backed away and, hands still locked together Eddie looked around the trailer park and sighed.

"So..." he scratched the back of his neck. "What happens now?"

Next Chapter: Reader Suggestions

There is no taglist for this series, please follow the STFF Updates tag or check the series out on AO3.

[97keanu]

Digital Angel

Premise: In chapter four, we finally reconcile these two nerds into speaking again. A new deal is struck, and our two hackers might just be able to find love along the way. That is, if Neo can quell his new obsession with watching you without your knowledge…

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Slowburn, eventual smut, loser!neo, perv!neo, goth!reader, hacker!reader, reader is trying to forget Neo existed, Neo is not going to let that happen, enemies to friends to lovers, stalking, obsession, themes of loneliness and longing.

Words: 2.4k

Read chapters 1-3 here! Be added to Neo’s taglist here!

Last night’s rain has begun to tame the heat of Chicago, which you now walk down without a care in sight. You bounce on platform heels that come up just under your knees, hair teased to delightful extremes, and a black lipped smirk that has strangers moving out of your way. You were sick of being holed up in your apartment for so long, waiting on some half assed ‘knight in shining armor’, or should you say, trench coat. Even though it still hurt that Neo ghosted you, after a few weeks, you had to move on. It was more important than any hacking case he sent you tonight, you needed to feel like yourself again, first and foremost.

You enter Club Hel and greet the bouncer, who of course asks where you have been. You shrug and give a nonchalant answer before moving towards the call of the dance floor inside. Nine Inch Nails blasts through the speakers, Reznor whispering all sorts of filthy things he would like to do to all who can listen. You find the beat in your body and join the other gothic souls trying to get lucky on a Friday night.

You grind into a girl who has bright purple hair and a lip piercing, she laughs along with you as you kiss along her neck and hold her hips into yours. Tonight was all about having fun, you’ve decided. Not to think about Neo and his stupid cute face and the way he has avoided you for so long. You instead, turn your attention to feeling the fishnets on the thighs of the girl dancing with you, and soon enough the wind changes and you’re happily dancing with someone else.

That’s what you liked about being here. That you were so free. Free to do what you pleased, enjoy others' company without even saying a word, perhaps even quell that deep pit of loneliness that has opened inside you with a kiss from a stranger. You do just that as someone else pulls you in, letting their drunken lips taste yours, red lipstick meeting your black ones.

You have no idea that while you forget your inhibitions, the person whose attention you want most is watching from the balcony…

———

Neo knew you were coming out tonight. He saw you getting ready through your webcam, and broke down and checked your IM’s to see where exactly you would be. That’s why he’s standing here, holding some kind of red liquid he doesn’t even really want to drink in a cheap black goblet. He leans his elbows on the balcony’s edge, looking down at the dance floor, watching as your lips connect with another’s. A part of him is pissed seeing this kind of behavior. He wants you all to himself, that much he has come to understand. The other part of him is turned on by watching your form move, tight black latex dress holding your curves better than any dance partner, the color glistening under the red lights.

Neo knows what he has to do. He has to get your attention, but he was never a good dancer. Or at least, he had never tried, he should say. This type of crowd was a place he had never been invited to before you, so the idea of going down there, working his way through the sweaty bodies, until he could plant himself there to grind against your lovely form, was a nightmare. He tried not to let his nerves get to him, instead watching you.

Despite initial jealousy, he knows he can’t be mad since you two aren’t officially dating, nor have you been on an official date whatsoever, no thanks to him. He was the one who got scared, who got too close to your flame that the warmth frightened him off. What could he expect from you? To have you wait forever? You were never the type, that much was easy to see. Instead, Neo finds himself appreciating that you kept doing what you do, being yourself in face of his rejection. It was really quite sexy actually.

He watches as you’re sandwiched between two other women, screaming out the lyrics to Love My Way by The Psychedelic Furs, full of life and laughter. Neo considers leaving, not ruining your night, letting you have fun with people your own age and all but forgetting about him besides the hacking projects you two complete together. Even that, he could try to turn away from, if it meant you more happiness. It was clear how down the whole situation had made you, too many nights spent all alone in your room, too many nights coming home early when you should have been out.

Letting you go would be the right thing to do.

But Neo has never done the right thing when it comes to you.

———

Your fair share of drinks have been bought for the night, and you feel the world around you move hypnotically. Your thoughts are lost in heavy bass and droning music, songs that you love coming on so you can shout your heart out without shame. You had almost forgotten that hole in your heart that had been consuming you the past few weeks.

That was until you felt a new pair of hands snake around your hips, fingers enjoying the feeling of the latex on your dress. You grind into the stranger as you have been doing, letting them feel your ass against them. To your surprise, they react differently than the other club patrons have been to such a move. Usually, you were being fondled and groped deeper when you invited it in such a way, but instead, the fingers of this stranger linger, slowly moving down your dress to touch your exposed thighs, almost marveling at how soft your skin feels there. Everything was perfect until you turned to see who this unusual, mysterious stranger was, your drunken eyes going wide with the sight.

There, in his best gothic attire(which wasn’t saying much), stood Neo. You looked into those dark eyes of his and could see there was caution there as well, as if he was unsure of how you would react to finding out your dance partner for the last minute or so was him.

“What are you doing here?” You blurt out over the speakers, confusion bringing your thin eyebrows together.

“Only place I knew you frequented.” He responded plainly, walking a bit as if to offer to find a better place to speak, knowing that a talk was in order.

You watch as he begins to move through the crowd of writhing bodies, and for a second you consider not following, letting him go after how cruel he’s been to you. Instead, you stomp after him on your platforms, wobbly after so many drinks.

You feel frustrated as he moves from you, making you physically chase after him now, not to mention ruining your night of fun away from thoughts of him by simply just being here. You two finally make it to a nearby booth, a few discarded drinks still sitting there, but Neo moves them to the side. You sit across from him, your chest bared and waist tight from your latex dress, putting you on almost full display in front of him. You hope he doesn’t think you dressed this way just for him to see.

“Look, I think an apology is owed…” He begins, looking around as if he’s nervous to be seen talking to you.

You almost scoff in his face. Who does this guy think he is?

”Um, yeah, I think it is,” you say bluntly, the liquor making you madder than you probably have a right to be in this situation. “You totally ran out on me.”

Once again, the thought that you two aren’t officially dating, so he doesn’t technically owe you anything as such crosses your mind. You throw that thought to the wind, you’re too pissed to care about the ethics of it all.

Neo hears your words, the tone in your voice, and looks down, fiddling with a black napkin that was sitting nearby. He opens his mouth to speak, his shoulders moving towards his ears as if to protect himself. He doesn’t know what to say, that much is clear.

“I just…” He tries to get out, but nothing more passes through his soft lips.

“Just? Just what Neo? Didn’t care if it hurt that you left without saying anything? Didn’t even want to come check on me at all? Just want to order me around to help you with your hacking, which I still haven’t seen a lick of pay from by the way.” You add the last part as an insult to injury here, crossing your arms underneath your breasts with a huff.

Not checked on you? If only you knew…

Neo clears his throat and puts a hand into the inner pocket of his trench coat. He pulls out a small, black bag. He passes it over the expanding space between the two of you on the table, then taps his fingers against it.

You say nothing, taking the bag and opening it. It was filled with cash, and from your short look through, enough to cover your rent for a few months or more. It was fair, for the work you’ve been doing. Your eyes glance up to where he sits nervously across from you.

“So, what? You grind up on me in the club just to hand me what you owe?” You say with snark.

“Hey, I seem to remember it was you who was doing the grinding.” He pipes back, holding up his hands in defense.

And in that second, you’re drunk enough to laugh out loud at the look on his face and the whole situation. This seems to calm his nerves for a second.

“Well, thank you, I guess,” You finally say, getting ready to stand and leave, seeing as there isn’t much else to talk about if he isn’t willing to talk about it.

As your hand moves across the table when you try to leave, Neo’s large one wraps around your wrist.

“Wait,” He starts, deep eyes looking into yours, a sense of pleading coming from him.

“You have every right to be mad at me. I shouldn’t have left when I did, and I especially should have reached out to you for more than just work after that night. I’m sorry.” He closes his eyes as he talks, as he’s afraid to see what your face will betray to him from being so open.

You say nothing, watching his eyes open, unable to contain seeing your reaction for that long, and you crack into a smile.

“Okay, okay. You’re forgiven,” You sit back down across from him. “But, I want to add a condition to our agreement.”

Neo nods along as you talk, almost ready to agree to whatever terms and conditions you have so long as you’re not mad at him anymore.

“And that condition is?” He says with wide eyes.

”That condition is,” You drag the moment out, looking down at the table before the confidence to say what you want comes. “I want us to be friends.”

Neo blinks, then blinks again, as if he hadn’t heard you right.

“Friends?” He says, as if the word is a foreign concept.

“Yep,” You say with a nod, holding out a black manicured hand across the table. “Friends. I want us to be able to talk to each other whenever we like without all the awkwardness. And I would appreciate it if we could go and hang out with each other sometimes.”

Neo’s hand nervously slides into yours, as if he’s afraid of what he’s gotten himself into.

“Go out together, sure, we could do that sometime.” He says, then looks down at the table. “But why?”

Now, it’s your turn to be confused.

“What do you mean?” You tilt your head, curious as to why he would ask such a thing.

“I mean,” He sighs out, then looks around again before speaking, then leans in. “I mean, why do you want to hang out with me? I’m hardly the type you usually go for if your dance partners for tonight were any hint.”

“I don’t ask my dance partners to go out with me during the day…Usually.” You say with a laugh, trying to make him understand that what happens here isn’t as deep of a connection as he thinks it is.

“But, I’m like ten years older than you, at least. And I’m not super into all this,” He waves a hand to the environment around him. “Goth-y kind of stuff. Not that there’s anything wrong with it…”

“I’m sure there’s a baby bat hiding in you somewhere, Neo.” You tease him, leaning forward as you speak. “Besides, I don’t care if you like the stuff I like. I just want someone to talk to…”

You don’t know if it was the liquor that made you comfortable enough to say that last part, or if your overwhelming need for true connection had finally come to a head, but you’re glad you said it. After you did, Neo sank back into the booth, thinking the whole thing over, before leaning in once more.

“Okay. Friends. I think I can manage that…” he says with a smile, a genuine smile that sneaks up to his eyes, makes his ears move with a tinge of delight at the concept.

“Friends it is.” You hold out a hand, and he takes it once more. “Now, as friends, let’s get our ass out on that dance floor!”

You yell with glee as Neo lets you pull him along back into the crowd, anger in each other forgotten. The promise of having a genuine connection with someone in this city was enough to sedate both of you into a more blissful night.

Still, you couldn’t help but kick yourself a little. You knew you wanted to be more with him, knew that you touched yourself just last night thinking of him, his name falling off your lips sweet like honey. But there was no way you could admit that this early. You still had no idea if he felt the same way.

[all-mirth-no-matter]

Time After Time | Chapter Eight

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader, Tommy Shelby x Original Female Character

Summary: Chapters two through seven from Tommy’s POV.

Warning: language, smoking, war mention(ish), PTSD mention(ish), suicide thought, ethnic slur

Side Note: Taking some liberties with some of the back and pre-pilot stories, as well as some of the stuff we just don’t know (Harry’s backstory and involvement in the war, as an example). Just go with it lol.

ao3 link | catch up on tumblr here

Chapter Eight: Devil Inside Me

There’s a devil inside of me, and he’s holding on. And I don’t know if he’s staying, or for how long.  Pulling at my heart-strings, kicking in my mind. And I’m sad to say he’s got me thinking, about the bad parts of my life.  — Devil Inside Me, Frank Carter & The Rattlesnakes

Tommy was a dead man, walking through a life he knew he shouldn’t be walking, breathing an air that he shouldn’t be breathing. The realization that he hadn’t in fact died, or that he was actually going to go home, hadn’t even set in until hours after he stepped out of the train station the day they all came home. 

Well, not all of them came home. The faces of those he left with, who he fought with, who hadn’t been “as lucky” as him were always there, flashing just behind his eyelids with each blink. 

Ghosts of a fate that should have been his. 

He knew he wasn’t the same Tommy Shelby who’d left those handful of years ago. None of the men who were returning with him were. He could see it in Polly’s eyes the moment she saw them — a relief that was immediately replaced with a new coat of worry. 

Looking around as he stepped off the train, he was surrounded by men of all ages embracing their loved ones, crying, weeping. He watched John cradle his wife’s face as he kiss her, his children surrounding his legs. He watched Ada hug Arthur, then Freddie, before pulling him in for an extra tight hug. Tommy should have felt that same level of relief that he could see on his brothers and best mate’s faces, to be walking on English soil. 

But he still felt like a dead man. And it was all because of her. 

The first face Tommy saw as he stepped off the train was hers — the same face he saw while he laid in the mud. Another ghost, standing amongst the sea of people. 

The girl seemed just as surprised to see him as he’d been, and in a moment she was dropping her head and turning to leave. Tommy started to move forward faster, determined to reach her before she disappeared again. But by the time he breached the crowd in front of him, she was gone, and the cries of welcome from Polly, Ada, Finn, Martha, and John’s kids pulled him out of his odd trance. But still, in the back of his mind he wrestled with whether she’d really been there in the flesh this time, or if she were just another vision. 

Riding back into Birmingham, into Small Heath, and then walking down Watery Lane felt like a dream. His brothers and mates wanted to go to the Garrison first thing, but Tommy just wasn’t ready. After years of living in the trenches, the world around him felt very loud, very crowded, and he just needed a moment of peace in his old bedroom. 

Polly had kept his room the same as when he left. The clothes and sheets were recently washed, she’d told them on their way in. Tommy wondered if he could even fit in those old clothes of his anymore, instead choosing to pull out a shirt to sleep in from his luggage, breathing in the familiar scent. 

As he dug around further in his bag, he found the medals they’d given him. Acts of heroism and gallantry, the voices of those who’d presented them to him echoed through his mind as he scoffed. He picked them up and threw them in a drawer, then laid down on his bed. A few minutes later, he sat up and dropped his head into his hands, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands. He could hear the cheers outside, the music, the merriment and excitement of the war end, of husbands and fathers and sons returning home. 

Suddenly furious, he tore the drawer open and grabbed the medals and his coat, barreling out of his room and into the streets. 

“Tommy!” A female voice he barely recognized called out to him from the outside of the Garrison. 

He turned in time to Lizzie Stark wave a handkerchief at him, starting to walk his way. Ignoring her, he turned away and continued to walk, knowing that would be enough response to keep her from following as he walked down to the bridge. He waited at the ledge for a moment to see if anyone had followed him, but the music and merriment remained behind him as he pulled out a cigarette and looked down into the watery darkness of the Cut. 

The canal always made him think about his mother — another ghost in his life — and he wondered for a moment how much better it would be if he joined her. He wasn’t supposed to be here anyway, how easy would it be to just lean his weight forward. 

Right now, he reasoned that there were only two futures at play for him. He already saw the effects the war had on some of the other survivors, some of his comrades — the Flanders Blues. 

Danny had nightmares, and now it was starting to effect his waking hours, taking him ages to come back even after he’d already awoken. And there were others who were suffering far worse — like Barney, who had what they were now referring to as shell-shock, and Tommy feared would never be able to shake it and wondered if he’d ever leave the institution they’d admitted him in. 

Even now, Tommy could close his eyes and still hear the guns, the shouts, of shovels and picks breaking into the earth. He could feel the ever looming threat of breaking through the mud and finding the enemy — of always being so close to death.

He couldn’t even imagine a world where the things he’d seen would ever fade from his memory. The gore, the blood, the flesh. The smell of burning, of gas, of fire, of dirt, of blood. 

Whether those who’d died had found their way to a better place, Tommy no longer believed such a place existed. There was only a hell, and he’d volunteered to enter. 

The medals burned in his hand as he thought about all those ghosts — his friends, his comrades, even his enemies. They were gone, and he was here. 

He thought back to what he’d said to his brothers and comrades after they found out the war had officially ended. That this was their second life, their bonus life. Even then, Tommy wasn’t sure if he actually believed what he’d said in the throws of victory, of finding out that they weren’t going to die after accepting their fates. But now, standing over the Cut, Tommy knew that the only option for him was the second option. 

No one was ever going to put him or his family in the mud again. That one day, he’d build his family up so high that not even the King himself would be able to touch them. That was the only way they’d ever truly be able to find safety and peace. 

Lifting the medals into the street light, he read the engraving one final time before letting them slip through his fingers. He closed his eyes until he heard the expected splash. 

What he hadn’t expected to hear was a person exclaiming below the bridge. 

“Oi!” Tommy shouted, suspicion that he’d been followed creeping into his paranoid mind. “Someone down there?” 

Not waiting for a response, Tommy was already off the bridge and walking toward the underpass when he heard a woman respond. 

“You almost took me out,” the voice quipped, the body still leaning over the waters edge near where the waves were still bouncing. 

When the body straightened and turned toward him, he instantly recognized it. 

It was her — it was you. 

He breathed in deep, remembering his lit cigarette, and for a moment he had the thought that he’d actually jumped. 

Tommy could tell by the look on your face that you recognized him as well, and that the fact that you were standing there together was just as a surprise to you as it was for him.

“You were at the train station,” he tested, moving closer to the street light to get a better view and hope that it would prompt you to follow suit. Which, you did. 

The last two times he’d seen you felt different than this. Where before, even at the train station, you’d felt ethereal, otherworldly. Now, in this moment, you felt real, your body fidgeting uncomfortably as your eyes moved everywhere but refused to meet his own. He took the opportunity to get a better look at the mystery woman. 

The first thing he noticed was how different you looked now than you had in his vision. You were dressed in something similar to what his sister had been wearing earlier that evening. And while your hair seemed slightly in disarray and face looked flushed, you looked just as beautiful as you had the first time he’d seen you. 

His vision flashed before him, and he recalled the different version of you he’d seen. In his vision, you had on considerably less clothes, the recollection of your long, bare legs had him moving his eyes down your body. 

When his eyes reached back up to your face, your eyes finally met his again and a blush crept across your cheeks. Part of him wondered if you could read his thoughts. 

“I was,” you finally replied, your voice a little stronger than he’d expected. You motioned toward the water. “And you were throwing some medals into the river, yeah?” 

Sobering up, Tommy felt his back straighten a little at the notion. He hadn’t expected you to notice what exactly he’d thrown into the water. He narrowed his eyes, took a long drag of his cigarette, and made some comment about how the fish could have them. 

“Don’t think the fish’ll have much use for them,” you replied back, and he didn’t miss the way your eyes wrinkled and mouth flinched, as if holding back a smile at your own joke. 

Despite himself, the sight actually amused him enough to breathe out a shrug. “Seems we have that in common, then.” 

Not prompted at all by the thought of your legs from his vision, Tommy began to wonder how difficult it would be to persuade you to join his bed. It’d been a while since the last time he’d slept with someone. 

Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he realized you’d indicated that you were leaving. He didn’t want you to leave though.

“You a whore?” He asked, reasoning that if he could pay you to stay with him, it’d be the easiest way to keep you from disappearing again. 

It wasn’t a crazy question. There weren’t many women walking around alone, at night, in Birmingham, who weren’t offering some intimate services. He knew it was where his unmarried brother and mates would be ending their nights tonight. Hell, one of them was probably giving Lizzie the attention he’d denied her at this very moment. 

He didn’t have anything against prostitutes, it was just another business transaction in his opinion. Plus, it was an easy way to have sex without the mess of feelings. 

But the way you’d rounded on him, planting your feet just a step away from him as your face contorted into something different than the one he’d just seen, his opinion on the question changed. 

You dove into a rant asking what the hell was wrong with him. 

“No, I’m not a whore!” You’d finally said. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t support a woman’s choice to sell her services to men who will pay if it means making enough to survive in this God awful existence!”

Tommy chuckled, realizing that the two of you felt the same way about the profession. “So, you aren’t a whore, but you respect ‘em, is that it?”

You rolled your eyes and the sight made him want to smile again. He reasoned that this woman before him had no idea who he was — no person in Small Heath outside of his own family dared to talk to him like this, much less roll their eyes at him without the fear of his blade cutting through them, male or female. You were fearless, it seemed — or stupid. Either way, for the moment it intrigued him.

“Everyone sells part of themselves for something eventually. Sometimes it’s a woman laying on her back for a man. Sometimes it’s a man crawling through the mud for a King.” 

Your comment made Tommy shift immediately from amused and intrigued to angry. 

No, you weren’t afraid of him, but you should be. 

His eyes narrowed as he took a step closer to you, straightening his back and shoulders, expecting you to flinch. But you didn’t, and he couldn’t figure out why the refusal to back away or even break eye contact made him want to kiss you rather than punish you. 

“You should go home,” he decided to say, choosing to soften his voice instead of raise it. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t stop himself from scanning down your face to your lips. “The next man you meet alone, under a bridge, at night, might not be as accepting to your ideologies as I am.” He darted his tongue out to lick his own lips when you pulled your bottom lip in between your teeth. While he was willing to let you get away with what you said to him this time, he still wanted to make you realize the vulnerable state you were in, how much power he really had. “If he says you’re a whore, he might treat you like one in spite of your pretty words.” 

He watched you finally react, a shiver running through you as your eyes met his again. He noticed the blush on your cheeks deepen as you took a step back, telling him you appreciated the advice before a strong breeze caused you to wrap your arms around your body. 

Tommy hadn’t even felt the cold since the minute he laid eyes on you, the adrenaline from marching down to the Cut and then finally getting to speak to you had his blood boiling. Without even realizing it, Tommy was shrugging his coat off his own shoulders and offering it to you, who hesitated slightly before accepting it. The sight of the oversized coat hanging around your shoulders made his chest tighten. He couldn’t figure out why it looked so right on you. 

Before he realized it, you were stepping away from him toward the steps of the bridge. His eyes met yours again, and something shifted behind them. Before he could ask, you welcomed him home and turned to finally disappear into the darkness, leaving him alone by the water’s edge again. 

Tommy didn’t know why he’d had a vision of you months ago. He didn’t know why he had met you tonight, or how it seemed you also knew about him. But he did know one thing — he was going to find out. 

——

Despite his initial internal promise to find out more about the mystery woman, Tommy found his attention otherwise occupied as he threw his energy into building back up the family name and reputation. And despite Polly’s insistence that they take a few days to get back in the swing of things, Tommy spent all his free time reacquainting himself with the family books, starting with the furthest back and moving his way forward. He was happy to discover that true to her letters, Polly had been keeping the betting business going with no qualms. Even with the amount of men in the war, there was enough steady flow of cash to keep everything afloat. 

The family business side of things hadn’t been as lucky. While still viable thanks in part to members of their gang who hadn’t enlisted, there had definitely been a drop in income. Tommy made a note of all the people he was going to need to visit. 

He could feel Polly hovering as he read through the books throughout the days. Having grown up with his aunt practically raising him, he knew how overprotective she was over her kin, so part of him thought nothing of it at first. 

He was nearly done with all the books, finally getting halfway through this year’s ledgers, when he discovered the real reason for Polly’s hovering. 

“Polly!” he shouted from his office, standing up and grabbing both books he’d been looking at before moving into the kitchen. He threw the first book open on the table in front of his aunt and pointed to the margins. “Who the fuck’s handwriting is this?” 

“Tommy—“ Polly began, moving quickly to close the doors to the bustling betting den. 

“Who the fuck’s handwriting is this, hmm?” He tapped against the book pages harder, leaning against the table as Polly closed the other doors, concealing them from any eyes or ears that may have followed Tommy’s tirade. “Fuckin’ answer me, Pol.” 

“I hired someone, alright Thomas?” her voice answered softly in contrast to his volume as she shook her head, waving him off. “You didn’t expect after all this time that we wouldn’t bring in new help.” 

Tommy threw a second book on top of the first and pointed again at the same handwriting in the margins. “And what is the same fucking handwriting doin’ in the family book, eh?”

Polly held his gaze. 

“Did an estranged family member show up while we were away? Perhaps a bastard looking for a father, or a long lost brother?”

She didn’t answer, her eyes narrowing at her nephew’s condescending questions as he went on, taking her silence as a no. 

“Okay then, how ‘bout a new uncle? Did you get married and you just forgot to bloody mention it, Pol? Is there a new last name we should be calling ‘ya?”

“No,” Polly answered straight, crossing her arms defensively as Tommy rose up. 

“No,” Tommy repeated as a mock and his body mirrored hers, crossing his own arms. “So, there is a non-family member auditing our family books then, yeah?” 

“Yes,” Polly answered again. 

Tommy took a deep breath, trying not to let his aunt’s stubbornness rile him up. There was information she was keeping from him, that she’d been keeping from him, and he wanted to know everything immediately. 

“Go on, Pol,” he went on, his voice still even despite its rise a few moments ago. “Tell me what you were thinking.” 

Polly held Tommy’s gaze for a moment before finally relenting, taking a deep breath that matched his own. 

“She’s a friend of Ada’s—“

“Fucking hell—“ Tommy’s eyes shot upward as he felt his entire body groan at the mention of his sister. 

He loved Ada, but the girl had never shown any interest in their business, either business, her entire life. In fact, the girl had never taken anything serious, so he couldn’t imagine the kind of company she chose. 

“She’s smart, Thomas,” Polly insisted, the use of his full name showing her seriousness. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, handing it to him. “Here, see for yourself. That’s a list of everyone who has tried to steal or skim money from us since she started.”

Tommy opened the paper, and immediately recognized most of the names. Two had been men he’d hired himself years ago. 

“It started with the betting books. Then I gave her one of our books just to see if she could spot anything. She didn’t know what it meant, just told her to cross check names and numbers.”

Tommy took another deep breath, “If she’s so smart, how do you know she didn’t know what it meant, eh? How do you know you can trust her?”

“Ask around,” she offered. “You’ll come to the same conclusion I did.”

“Where is she now?”

“I told her to stay away until you made your decision.”

“What decision is that? Whether to invite her back or kill her?” Polly’s eyes narrowed, and the reaction actually surprised him. He scoffed, “Really, ‘ave you gone soft on us now, Pol?”

She held her glare before raising her hand. “Just— just look into her first. Do that, and I’ll tell you everything I’ve learned. But, be discreet. Her employment was and still is a secret. Plenty of men were angry when we started taking care of that list.”

Tommy noticed some of the names next to the list had symbols next to them, understanding the meaning behind them. The two men he’d brought in both had black stars next to theirs. 

“Any threats?” Without realizing, Tommy began to take a closer look at Polly, searching for any new cuts, scars, or faded bruises. 

She scoffed, smiling as she shook her head. “Nothing we couldn’t handle.”

Tommy took a deep breath, taking another look at the list. This really was impressive, and he was curious how exactly the girl had come to discover all of this. He’d paid close attention to her notes in the margins of the books and could already believe Polly’s insistence of her intelligence. 

But that didn’t mean she was trustworthy. This wouldn’t be the first time they’d been double crossed or infiltrated by an enemy or copper. 

“Fine. You’ve got a deal,” he finally said, folding the list up and putting it in his own pocket. “Just tell me her name.”

“Y/N.”

——

It didn’t take long for Tommy to find out where this Y/N lived and worked. Not only was the number of people moving into Small Heath minimal, but especially young women. 

Tommy had been avoiding the pubs since he came home, he still wasn’t ready to dive back into the crowds. But he heard the rumors of a pretty, out-of-town barmaid at the Garrison, and his curiosity finally won over. 

He thought his chances would be better if he went over early, and despite being gone for a few years, the old pub hadn’t changed a bit. Which meant, he knew exactly which nook and cranny to hide inconspicuously while the afternoon bustle began to ramp up. 

So far, it was just Harry tending the bar, the sitting area still sparse enough for one person to manage. Tommy watched as a couple men filtered in and out of the snug, and an idea began to formulate as he waited. 

He’d always liked the Garrison — it was conveniently closer to the house than any of the other pubs in the area, and it was slowly becoming the heart of the town for the everyday man. Presumably, all were welcome, even the men who preferred pubs that catered more toward the commies or Fenians. 

And he liked Harry. The man had never treated he or his family any different for being gypsies — Tommy chalked that up to him coming from Irish travelers himself. Even after Harry began to pay the Shelbys for their protection, he’d still treated them without some of the passive aggressive bitterness that some other patrons held. There was always a layer of respect, of common sense, and even a hint of humor that Tommy always appreciated. 

Even now, when Harry found him sitting in the dark corner of the bar with his paper raised like a shield, he hadn’t questioned and didn’t bring attention, an unspoken understanding it seemed and instead simply dropped a tumbler down in front of him and kept an eye on its fill level. And as if the man needed any more of a reason, Harry had fought in the war, up until he was sent home, and Tommy respected any man who fought for his country.

Yes, Tommy liked Harry, and decided in that moment to make the Garrison the Shelbys official pub.

He was beginning to formulate the deal proposal when the office door to his right opened and a body emerged. He pulled back up his racing paper, lowering it just enough so he could take in the backside form of a young woman as the door closed behind her and she walked toward the bar. He tried to listen as the women sat a book on the counter in front of Harry. The owner scratched his head as he looked at the page and shrugged. Tommy could read Harry’s lips as he shoved the book back toward the woman and told her he trusted her. She grabbed it and practically skipped away from the counter, obviously happy with the outcome of the exchange, and turned back toward the office door. 

It was you. 

The girl from his vision, from the train station, from the Cut. 

You were Y/N. 

Tommy felt his blood run cold at the realization and froze as you continued to look down at the book and walked right back into the office. You hadn’t seen him this time, and for that he was grateful. 

Because right now, he was angry. 

Who the hell were you, and what right did you have invading his space like this? First his mind, then his home, and now his business? Who the hell did you think you were? 

His blood turned from ice to a boil as he stood up and stormed out of the front door. Tommy could feel Harry’s gaze follow him with a silent question that he knew better than to ask. 

Tommy’s feet took him to the person who led him there: his aunt. 

Polly was near the fire, stacking some of the logs from the shed in preparation for a cold night. It was mid-December now, and the days were growing shorter than ever. All outdoor chores had to be done before supper and Polly always liked to get everything squared up and out of the way before she had to begin.

She heard Tommy storm in through the front door, she could always identify the sound of his footsteps over his brothers, even at a young age. He was heavy in the heels and he was always in a hurry, walking with his shoulders forward. Polly took it as a sign that he would be a leader one day, always firm in his resolve and destined to forever chase a dream bigger than himself. 

“Welcome back,” she said evenly, already feeling his attitude before he even made it through the doorway. 

Tommy didn’t answer her, only moved to close the door behind him, and then the betting doors, despite the house being quiet at the moment. 

Polly wiped her hands on her skirt and rose to look at her nephew, the sight bringing a crease to her brow. 

Tommy was always composed, the number of times she hadn’t seen him so could be counted on one hand. But now, in front of her, she could add another count to her list as she reached for him. 

“Tommy,” she started calmly, urging him to sit before taking the seat next to him. She was trying to decipher if his expression was one of anger, shock, or something worse. “Tell me, what is it?”

His eyes finally flicked up to his aunt, and the anger returned. “Y/N.”

Polly took in a deep breath, more of the picture starting to fall in place as her back straightened. “You saw her?”

He nodded. 

“You talked to her?”

He shook his head. 

Polly licked her lips and tightened them. “Why not?”

Tommy ran a hand over his face and assessed his aunt. He was contemplating whether he should tell her his vision. Polly was more in tune to visions and spirits than he was. And despite his outward skepticism of most things religious or religious adjacent, there was something deep within him that was never able to fully dismiss some of the mysteries that came from the Romani people. That’s why he was always respectful toward old gypsy women, and took extra caution to his aunt’s warnings. Same with Curly, his Uncle Charlie, and even his mother back in the day. Whether it was real or just something familiar from his upbringing, he knew without a doubt his aunt could have some insight into all this. 

Hell, she probably already had some insight. It wasn’t lost on him that his aunt often knew things that he didn’t. And while usually that was something he trusted to use to the family’s advantage, right now he wanted to know everything. 

“We’ve already met,” he decided to begin there, not totally lying but not divulging the whole truth yet. “The night we returned, down by the Cut. It wasn’t exactly the best of introductions.”

“Oh Thomas, tell me you didn’t —“

His brow creased at her response, noticing the look on her face and realizing what she must have thought. He breathed out of his nose, “Nothing like that, Pol. We just talked. I did ask if she was a whore and she nearly pushed me in the water.”

The corner of Polly’s lips flew into a smirk as she tried to refrain from chuckling. It was difficult though, she could only imagine what that must have looked like. 

“Tell me what you know,” he continued, back to business. “This girl keeps showing up in my life and I want to know why.”

Polly took a deep breath, her smile turning serious as she leaned back in her chair. He wondered if she caught his use of the word ‘keeps’ and would push on it. 

She didn’t, for now at least. “I told you I would tell you once you found out more for yourself.”

“I’ll keep looking into her — discreetly,” he added when he saw she was about to remind him of her secrecy. “But right now I know enough and if I don’t hear what you have to say it might make things worse.”

The anger he was feeling before crept back up. He thought about facing you again in this state, and truly he wasn’t sure how he’d react. Part of him believed he’d just torture you into telling what you wanted from him, who you were working for, what your game was. The other part of him believed he’d fling you over his shoulder and bring you to his bedroom. Both of which would be unhelpful to his current situation. 

Something bigger was going on here. He could feel it. And he wanted to know what. 

Polly was watching him during his internal battle and could sense his edge. She took a deep breath before nodding. “I believe she’s gypsy,” she stated simply. “Maybe not bred, but by blood.”

Tommy hadn’t expected Polly’s big insight to be this. He restrained himself from scoffing. “That’s it? Just because she might be gypsy you think she’s trustworthy to be privy to our family books?”

Yes, Tommy and his family came from a long line of Romani blood. But that didn’t mean it held any stock with him. Outside of his own family and extended family, other gypsies would be some of the last people Tommy would trust. 

“I think she has a gift, Thomas,” Polly continued seriously. “The first day I saw her, the day she met Ada, she predicted the end of the war months before it happened. To the day.”

Tommy’s brow creased. “One correct guess and suddenly she’s a fortune teller?”

“It’s not just that. There was gossip when she first arrived. Mrs. Tully was chirping about a batty new tenant who finally arrived in the empty lodgings they’d been keeping. Said she acted like she’d been living under a rock all her life — didn’t even act like she knew there was a war going on. Strange that a girl who barely knew about the war could guess the exact date of its end, isn’t it?”

Tommy made a mental note to add Mrs. Tully to his list of people to question. “I suppose. But still doesn’t sound concrete to me.”

“Perhaps, but there’s one piece that solidified my guess,” Polly replied, straightening in her seat. “She has a tattoo on her back — I only caught a glimpse but I’m sure of what I saw. I’ve seen the symbol before, once, when I was a girl. The crest of the Delphi family.”

Tommy’s shoulders squared at the name. He, like most gypsies, were familiar with the name and the crest. It was one of the oldest Romani families still around, and there was a reason for that. Their age and their affinity for fortune telling deepened their pockets enough to provide them with muscle and protection. They were ruthless when wronged, and their leader was said to unleash unimaginable curses on her enemies. 

And according to Polly — you, his mystery woman, had their symbol branded on your back. 

He ran through the possibilities of what this could mean in his head. You could have been a family member who ran away, or a slave to one of the leaders. Polly had mentioned she didn’t think you were brought up in the gypsy life, and from the little bit of interaction he had with you, he was inclined to agree. There had to be a connection between this woman, this family, and his dream. Which was beginning to feel more and more like a curse, or an omen to stay away. 

But then, why did every instinct fuel him to get closer, to find out more?

He got up from the kitchen table and began walking back toward the pub. He ignored Polly’s call behind him, obviously worried he’d do something irrational. 

But Tommy was beginning to form a plan, a battle strategy, if you will. To defeat the enemy, you had to know the enemy. And whether Y/N fell in that definition for him or not, he needed to gather as much as he could before he made any call. 

Over the next day, he managed to speak with Harry while avoiding you. It was easier to ask about you in the pretense of dangling a business proposal, claiming that he needed to trust his employees as much as the owner when it came to matters like this. 

“Oh, ‘ya shouldn’t ‘ave a problem there,” Harry had told him. 

“Forgive me for askin’, Harry, it’s just you don’t normally give jobs to women. Especially pretty women.” 

Harry breathed out of his nose before waving his hand dismissively. “Findin’ anyone to work when I got back was bloody impossible, mate. And when I finally could find help, even if they was a girl, they’d end up spending more time makin’ their own money on the side, if’ya know what I mean.” Harry scoffed, shaking his head. “But let me tell ‘ya, Y/N’s been a dream since she showed up.” 

Tommy’s back tightened at the use of phrase. 

“She came in with all these ideas and improvements, ‘processes’ she calls ‘em. I tell ‘ya, I ‘aven’t met a more educated woman before in my life. I fought the changes at first, but dammit I can’t fight against less waste and more money. Oh, and don’t worry — I made sure she wasn’t a prostitute. Asked her ‘for I hired her.”

The corner of Tommy’s cheek rose slightly at the comment, curious if he’d been the latest of a long line of people asking her the same question. 

“And you’re sure?” Tommy asked, just to scratch a curiosity. “Not even recreationally?”

Despite himself, Tommy couldn’t keep out the thought of your blushed cheeks down at the Cut, the way you pulled your bottom lip between your teeth, and the bareness of your legs in his vision. He adjusted in his seat before forcing his mind to stop before it went too far, noting to make an appointment with Lizzie the next time he saw her. 

Harry shrugged, oblivious to Tommy’s internal struggle. “She’s nice to the men at the bar, enough to keep the place calm and in good spirits. But I’ve ‘eard her turn down enough of ‘em to know she’s not interested in making an extra bob like that. Only once did I ‘ave to throw a man out for trying anything on her, and that was after she’d already damaged his boys herself. After that, the men seemed to get the message. She’s pretty though, and a good barmaid — think that’s why they keep comin’ back.” 

Tommy breathed a short breath of amusement out of his nose at the thought of you fighting. Granted, he’d seen enough fights between Ada and John to know that women would hit where ever they could to get the upper hand in combat, and he didn’t blame her. 

“I promise ‘ya, Tom,” Harry had continued talking. “You can trust her. Whatever business you want to do with me, Y/N could only make it better.” 

“Give me a week to make my own assessment,” Tommy replied. They ironed out the stipulations of how Tommy could make such an assessment and agreed to keep it secret. He could sense Harry’s hesitation, and he wondered if it was out of protectiveness or something else. 

But eventually, a handshake sealed the agreement and Tommy promised to have the deal finalized and ready by the time he finished.

A little more than a week later, and Tommy came to three absolute conclusions about you. 

First: you had a secret. He could tell predominately by the way you talked to people and by the way you carried yourself when you thought people were looking. It wasn’t obvious — in fact, it’s subtlety was one of the more glaring identifiers to someone who was looking as closely as Tommy was. 

Second: you weren’t a threat. At least, not to his family or their operation. Aside from the Garrison, your lodgings, the local grocer, and the bath house that he knew Ada frequented, you didn’t have any odd routes that previous coppers narcs had taken in the past. Y/N hardly had a life outside of the pub, Tommy realized, and found it strange. You didn’t go out with any men or friends, the way other women your age did. Hell, even Ada managed to leave the house at least twice a week to go out with her friends. But not you. 

You were especially less threatening when he caught you on the first night you were closing up the pub since he began his investigation. Everything was going as expected, until about an hour into the clean up when you began to sing. From his spot (which he’d managed to obtain permission from Harry to watch from with the promise that he wouldn’t do anything unsavory or harmful) he could see and watch as you sang some foreign song and danced around frivolously with your broomstick. 

It was hard to imagine you as some nefarious mastermind after watching you slip on a spot of tobacco spit on the floor while extending your arm in front of you and clasping your hand together, then jumping in the air as you shook your fist while singing some repetitive salutations to an invisible audience. 

That had actually caused him to laugh, something he hadn’t done genuinely and wholeheartedly since returning to Birmingham. 

The last conclusion Tommy made while watching you was the oddest, he thought. 

You didn’t smoke. At all. 

He didn’t know anyone who didn’t smoke. Hell, even Finn had been caught smoking a handful of times since the brothers returned. And he was ten years old. 

Tommy chalked the last observation up to the air of posh-ness he sensed you possessed. He felt strangely drawn to it, and after your odd drinking game after he finally approached you did it only increase. 

He still couldn’t quite get a read on you. There was an innocence he could see about you, especially when it came to your understanding of who he was and his place in this world. On the other hand, your eyes held a heavy weight to them that warned him not to underestimate you. That there was wisdom mixed with the innocence that he couldn’t quite detangle. 

He’d gauged your reaction to his reveal that he’d dreamed about you. You’d been genuinely surprised, though that hadn’t brought him much reassurance. If anything, it made him more frustrated by the series of events, especially when he had to use every ounce of resistance not to kiss you.

You'd given him all the signs — hell, he probably could have bed you that night if he’d asked to walk you to your bedroom. But you weren’t just some random woman or a prostitute. He’d asked you to officially work again for their company, for their family. He couldn’t be flippant with his more primitive instincts with you.

Plus, if there was something more going on here, something deeper, he wanted to make sure he had all the answers before he made himself too vulnerable. He had not only himself, but his family to think about.

After he left you at Mrs. Tully’s, he began his search for Johnny Dogs, determined that some kind of explanation had to be found in the Delphi camp. 

But now, you and him were here. And Tommy felt just as confused and frustrated as he had when they first met. 

Just get through the night, Tommy told himself as he led a freaked out you toward the jovial crowd of gypsies dancing around the bon fire. The time for secrets must end. 

>> next chapter << chapter masterlist

tag list: @cillixn @sidefanficaccounttohidemyshame @swordofawriter @sweetmilkshakeluminary @ttae-yong @topstory21 @cole-silas @moral-terpitude @optimisticsandwichgladiator @reallysparklychaos @enrapturedbythemoon @bat-shark-repellant @kpopslur @ilovestrngrthgs @musicsweetie21 @invisiblexcth @lovelydivs @whoisf4yryl0v3r @itscheybaby @laylasbunbunny @lordofthunderthr @luvstylesz @roseanimelover @lostgirl219 @berarenado @akemiixx01 @mulletmcghee @jasminxts @fanfics-that-hit-my-feels @piceous21 @xoprincessmel @invisiblexch @arcanebabe

I tried to tag everyone who requested, but if I missed you, let me know and I’ll add you! Also, I’m not sure why it doesn’t link everyone, but idk how to fix that. Next chapter will be published right after this one!

[stayinguplate]

Chapter 1 falling down

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Okay so before I get into this this is an AU created by @moshispace I had offered to write the story for them and they agreed but most of the credit is for them since they came up with this amazing AU , I’m just the writer the only thing I own and will be doing is the art for the story ( reader as Alice in picture above). So this is a yandere ROTTMNT ( rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles)AU Alice in wonderland and you can check out @moshispace to see more on how they describe it .this is going to be a mix of the live action and animated movie.also I’m going with the reader having they /she/her pronouns please don’t attack me ₍^ ܸ. . .ܸ ྀི^₎ʃ

Okay enough yapping from me . WARNING: this story will have yandere tendencies if you are uncomfortable with that topic please don’t read, there will also be some dark themes so please be aware. There will also be some slight bad language

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As a child reader always had an odd imagination

but they always had amazing ideas her father

was always encouraging them to keep going with

their ideas ,reader always told her father about

her ‘friends’ and how they had odd but amazing

and crazy adventures ,always mentioning the

snapping turtle with a pocket watch and a trench

coat who led them to the entrance to

the adventure with the others ,at first readers

father was worried that there was an actual

dangerous snapping turtle but after observing for

30 minutes he knew that no snapping turtle was

there because they didn’t have or live near a

pond .

As the years passed reader grew turning 8 and

their adventures grew more less frequent , they

Had just stopped playing outside and started to

Get more interested in painting and spend their

Time in their room painting out unique

landscapes that have never been seen before they

seemed so wonderland like it was odd .

( not me having to do math to get the years right on readers age ㅠ ㅅ ㅠ ♡)

Though readers father adored the art that they

had made it was just as unique as there odd

personality .

more years passed by and reader eventually

became a beautiful young woman turning 20 ,one

day readers friend sunita had came over offering

to go to the flower field by the river just to read

And hang out ,reader had agreed thinking it

would be fun, they had told their father and

headed out with sunita.

After 10 minutes we had finally made it to the

flower field we had finally settled down in a nice

spot, sunita had been peacefully reading her book

that she had brought while I had been working on

a flower crown , After I Finish, The Flower, Crown I

Realized that sunita fell asleep I smiled softly as I

gently placed the flower crown on her head, I then

heard a ticking sound ,a sound of which a clock

makes , it felt so familiar I got up, stretching as I

look around, not hearing anything. I shrug as I

was going to wake. Sunita to go home, but then I

heard it again the soft ticking .

I looked and walked around to see if I would hear

it again not even a second later I heard it again it

was coming from the forest. It wasn’t like a scary

force, though it was just the one that always had

the usual river that people will go to have a picnic.

Sometimes I remember my dad and I used to go

sometimes when my mom was alive.  as the

sound kept ticking I decided to investigate and

see because there couldn’t just be a random

clock in the forest. 

I had inside the forest looking around. It seemed

like the tick kept getting farther and farther away

or that’s what I thought until it stopped. I walked

around confused before I felt something, grabbed

my ankle and tug as I screamed in shock as I trip

and fell. 

I looked down as I fell. It seems like I was falling

into a hole, except there was stuff my adrenaline

was rising. I couldn’t really focus on what I saw

but my falling didn’t last too long as I fell to the

floor. 

I grunt softly in pain as I lay on the ground for a

few seconds before slowly sit up extremely

confused I then slowly stood up as I then looked

up seeing the place I felt from I then began to see

my surroundings as I saw a small door I crouched

down on my knees as I tried to open the door but

as I twisted the doorknob I realized it was locked i

sigh as I looked around as I then saw a glass table

that had a key and a small glass bottle that had a

note tied to it saying ’ drink me ‘ and a small little

cookie that said ‘ eat me ‘ .

I then paused as I then felt like I was

hearing whispers. I turned around and looked to

see my surroundings.’nothing.’ I thought to myself

as I grabbed the little bottle and little cookie. 

I then took a sip of the bottle I grimaced slightly

from the bitter sweet taste ,but then I felt my

stomach twist as I then realized I was shrinking I

let out a small gasp, confusion as I look at myself

I then realize my clothes did not fit as I grabbed a

pice of fabric to look like it would fit and tied it

together. I was happy with my work as I got out

from under the big piece of clothing that I shrank

out of . I realize then that i left the key on the table

i sigh as i then realized i dropped the cookie i then

scurried to it as took a bite it was surprisingly very

good but then i dropped the cookie as I felt

myself grow, as i grew to the ceiling i grunted as i

carefully, picked up the key, I then grabbed the

tiny bottle drinking the last of it I went a little as

the taste was still very bitter. I then shrink down

to tiny again, thankfully I had the key now and I

was the right size enough to fit through the Door .

I then put the key in the door and unlocked it. The

door creeped open as it showed as somewhat

cloudy sky, but it was still blue and a garden like

landscape I then walked through after taking a

few steps. I hear the door creaking close behind

me. As I walked down the stone steps with the

Mossy greenness on the steps a few odd

insects pass by I looked around confused, there

was odd large flowers odd insects I didn’t

understand what was happening, but it all felt so

familiar deep down.

As I turned around for a moment walking

backwards through an overgrown plant stone

Entrance “ this is all so odd but so …familiar “ I said to myself

“ see i told you it was her!”

I jumped in shock as I then heard a voice I then

quickly turned around as my eyes widened in

absolute shock

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Okay so hopefully this was good and i really hope you all liked it especially the original person I offered to write it for but other than that, I hope you all have a good day or night or even afternoon. I’ll see you later. 

[lifetimeoftired]

Now I rarely do character design, or draw for that matter, but when it came to Anthem of Our Dying Day, I felt a little inspired. Sam and Dani (called Elli in-story) haven't shown up yet, and won't for a few more chapters still, but they and Danny got the most changes to their overall designs. Yes because it's been 7 years since the events of the show, but the changes are for reasons that will eventually be explained in-story. I have more designs in mind of course, but I gave my poor hand a cramp doing just these three. So I'll have to come back with Jason's ghost form and Danny's eldritch form (possibly an update to Valerie's look, but honestly her outfit in the later episodes was incredible I don't think I can improve on that in any way shape or form) at a later date.

Anyway, thoughts behind why I gave them the designs that I did are A Lot so I figured I'd ramble in a tumblr post instead of in the AN's.

Danny:

Listen to me. Listen. This man was raised on the vibes of the 90s and early 2000s. Long trench coats were PEAK fashion back then. We all saw the Matrix. Danny also was dragged to the Underworld movies multiple times while dating Sam (who's opinions on those movies are radioactive because they are cult classics and I'll die on this hill). So Danny absolutely thinks trench coasts are cool as shit and make him look cooler. And listen to me very carefully; They're still peak fashion. Slapping a leather trench coat on a mildly gothic character and you have cinema. Also he has a hood because hey! Hoods are so cool and perfect for us 90s kids.

As for the color choices, I didn't want to change too much from the classic black and white hazmat suit but honestly? He really makes it work. I also added the green because the color pop looked cool as shit but also because I felt like, as Danny gets older, he starts to produce his own ectoplasm in ghost form and, similar to how some ghosts have 'flaming hair' to show off their power levels, Danny's over production of ecto culminates within his outfit. This is in part due to him becoming the prince of the Infinite Realms, but also he's just a strong mfer.

Why's the coat torn? Spoiler reasons.

Sam:

I'm actually really pleased by hers turned out because she was the one I was the least set on. The main vibes I wanted from Sam (who's hero name is 'Nightshade' btw) was 'Mad Nature Scientist'.

It's not easy to see, but the mask is actually meant to be flower petals like her skirt. The buttons on her lab coat are also leaves. This is in reference to her time as Undergrowth's chosen and of course her love of the environment, but she's also liminal enough to have a special way with plants. Not to the extreme Poison Ivy does (much to her dismay), but they're important to her and she wouldn't have a hero suit without them I believe.

As for the science bits, in story she's working with the Fentons to study ghosts. Also helps test their weapons (all non-lethal and exist to help her keep up with stronger ghosts), as well as picking up a lot of science-related skills thanks to her years of studying various biology in college and working with Jack and Maddie for several years. While Danny tends to handle the big fights while she runs support, but she's also acting as the brains when it comes to ecto poisoning, making more ecto-dejecto and understanding how ectoplasm reacts with living beings.

The corset is, of course, because she's goth. Why cover her up so much aside from the tiny tit window? That's story-related reasons and we'll get there when we get there.

Dani:

My favorite outfit of the bunch tbh.

In-story Ellie (so I the writer don't get confused by two Dan-es) did eventually return to Amity Park and settled in to be adopted by the Fentons and go to school for realsies and in general get to live something of a normal life. But I maintain that Sam (Valerie too, but Sam was dating Danny and around quite a lot) was a big influence on Ellie once she settled in. She's more 'punk' than 'goth', but finding herself through changing up her fashion was heavily encouraged by Sam. And, of course, Danny's protective older brother dismay. Which is honestly a huge bonus to her.

Like Danny, she produces a lot of her own ectoplasm, but less than he does. And her's is a lot less pure so hers is a different green- She's not too broken up about it because it shows that she is different than her 'template', but also because it matches Sam's green better. (Sam and Danny might not be dating anymore, but Ellie still considers her to be an older sister figure and being more like Sam delights her). She does have 'fire' flicks on her clothes and tbh I actually messed up coloring those. I meant to stop coloring partway up to give a bit of a fade to white effect and make the flames white the same as her shirt, but, alas. I don't think the all black boots and gloves look bad at all.

As for the hair, Ellie's core has an element same as Danny's, but hers is Air. And being that her hero name in Wraith, I really wanted to go for, kind of a ghostly floating/flickering fire long streak. More like Starfire's big curly hair from the comics the shows are cowards give her the poofy hair back!. Also the 'non ghost' hair cut uuuh, I'm not an artits but it was supposed to be that side braid with bangs that fall over? But yeah that's her hair when she's in human form.

That's about everything for now! I'll definitely be coming back to this with more designs once I've jotted them down. Hope to get chapter 3 out soon but that fucker is fighting dirty :(

[wifelinkmtg]

Wifelink: Murders! #sponsored

Welcome back to the best dumb idea I've ever had! Murder has come to the City of Guilds. Well, murder lives here, but it's crept out of the shadows, crawled up from the undercity, slunk through steam and oozed its way out of the breeding pools, and guild leaders are dropping like coins from a debtor's mouth. Who could be responsible? Who could be next? Who was that woman slipping furtively into an alley, and what's her deal? Is she single? Some of these questions and more will be answered on today's episode. Live from Ravnica, this... is Wifelink.

But first, a word from today's sponsor: picture this - it's your turn to host the monthly meeting of your true crime book club, and you maybe haven't finished Massacre: the true story of Ravnica's bloodiest killings and the woman behind them, and now you're trying to decide whether to finish it so you don't look like an idiot in the discussion group, or to spend time whipping up hors d'oeuvres so you don't have to serve everyone the same stupid veggies-and-ranch plate you did last time and suffer once more through Joanna's veiled disapproval. But what if I told you there was a way to get professionally-made charcuterie shipped directly to your home, leaving you the time you need to finish your last few chapters and craft a trenchant discussion question just in time for the doorbell? With Hello Flesh, it's just that easy: the incredible chefs at Hellbender will provide you with a mouthwatering selection of their finest meats: prosciutto, summer sausage, capicola, pastrami, and much, much more! Go to helloflesh dot com now, and sign up using offer code KNIFELINK to get your first month absolutely free! That's helloflesh dot com, offer code K-N-I-F-E-L-I-N-K. Hello Flesh: Don't ask where the meat comes from.

WAIT, WE'RE DOING RAVNICA? DIDN'T YOU SKIP A COUPLE SETS

What are you, Azorius? I've never felt any fondness for Eldraine, and I really didn't vibe with the new Ixalan set, so we're doing the Ravnica Murder Mystery set. I'm not going to do every single set that comes out or this will be my full-time job by 2026.

Cold Case Cracker (art by Wayne Wu)

Some things are very simple. Good cheekbones and the classic trench coat with the wide belt. I particularly enjoy the way her hair looks more like strips of fabric or parchment.

Merchant of Truth (art by Carissa Susilo)

"Goth angel" works on me every time, and this piece is particularly gorgeous - the composition and that dress, my goodness. You don't see a lot of angels from behind in Magic, on account of you would have to figure out what the anatomy and clothing situation is where the wings connect to the back, and Carissa has solved the clothing problem rather elegantly, and refused to engage with the anatomy problem at all. I can respect that.

I've never quite understood what's going on with Orzhov angels - I think they're mostly supposed to be disillusioned ex-Boros, but they don't really get much of a voice in story. You've got the flavor text on Angel of Despair, "it is as if their duty is to an empty void," but that's a quote from the most Boros of all the angels. Perhaps it's simply that the Orzhov don't labor under the same illusions as the other white-aligned guilds - the Boros and the Azorius and as we see in this story, even the Selesnya are all firmly entrenched in the idea that they stand for what's Right and Good on Ravnica, but ultimately they stand only for themselves and their own power and pre-eminence. The Orzhov, at least, make no secret of this. Maybe that's a comfort, to an angel.

Experiment Twelve (art by Michele Giorgi)

Oh baby girl the Simic fucked you right up, didn't they. Claws and scales and some sort of muzzle - do you feel like an animal, now? Do you hate what they did to you, or do you glory in your new sharpness? Did you escape, or are you on their leash? Are you hunted, or am I?

Bubble Smuggler (art by Leesha Hannigan)

This is Glovax. I've only had them for a day but if anything happened to them I would kill everyone in the room and then myself.

Honestly I'm disconsolate that this isn't a real animal that exists in the world and that I'll never get to rescue one from an aquarium and have an octopus fish best friend for life. You know that soul-sick feeling you get when you remember that Anomalocaris has been extinct for 500 million years ago and that you will never be able to pet one? Yeah. Goddammit they're going to make this a pet on Arena and I will spend real earth dollars on it.

ALL THESE TENTACLES AND STILL THE BIGGEST SUCKER IS YOU. NOW MAKE WITH THE LEGENDARIES

Etrata, Deadly Fugitive (art by Livia Prima)

I have looked at a whole lot of Etrata art, and do you want to know my considered opinion? This outfit fucking rules. It's got one and a quarter sleeves, thirteen visible buckles, a circular collar that connects only at the sternum, and a clingy ankle-length skirt with a slit damn near up to the thigh to reveal more buckles. It is the least practical outfit I can imagine an assassin wearing short of an inflatable dinosaur costume but god, it looks like it's meant for deadly stealth, and I am in love. Etrata is broody and gorgeous and has a big knife and extraordinarily naked shoulders, and what else could you want?

Judith, Carnage Connoisseur (art by Jodie Muir)

A look specifically crafted to elicit "step on me mommy"s from the general public. I'm on record as saying that there's no way Judith does any sort of aftercare, so maybe have a Selesnya cleric on speed-dial if you're gonna run that risk.

Judith, Carnage Connoisseur (alternate art by Alex Dos Diaz)

I think Loxodon Hierarch is screening my calls.

Honestly, I would do stupid, stupid things for a pretty girl with red eyes, sharp nails and facial scarring. I'm not sure what kinds of things I would do for a pretty girl with gold flame decals on her arms, but based on prior evidence, they would probably also be extremely stupid.

Izoni, Center of the Web (art by Justine Cruz)

It's weird how people get locked in your memory at the point in time you knew them. You know you've changed a lot since then, and if you thought about it you'd agree other people might well also have changed, but you don't think about it, and then you run into an old friend or an ex and the things you knew them for, the things you've tied their memory to in your mind, aren't even still part of their life.

So Izoni, my beloved Izoni, Ravnica's foremost bug girl and finder of beetles, has moved on with her life in the past six years. She's into spiders now, that's her thing. She's a spider girl. And that's cool, spiders are cool, too, but the way this went in my head I was going to tell her about the mantis-riders of Tarkir and the dune-beetles of Amonkhet and the behavioral quirks of giant ants on Innistrad and now, instead, I'm not sure what to say. "You're looking well," I suppose, or something about, "so, leading the Swarm now? How's that going for you?"

Analyze the Pollen (art by Anna Christenson)

It's not even that big a change, really. Hardly noticeable. She still has that same intensity, that same curiosity. Her brows still furrow in concentration. She's still covered in crawling things, and she is still the most beautiful woman on Ravnica. Spiders or insects, what's the difference? All it means is that six years have passed. All it means is that the places and people you love continue to move in your absence. All it means is that you're both talking past each other to your echoes, to the people you used to know, who no longer exist. Time has eaten them both.

And if you, like time, get hungry, don't forget to use our affiliate code KNIFELINK at -

HEY. HELLO FLESH IS A RAKDOS JOINT, RIGHT

- in the middle of the ad read, dude?

YOU SAID HELLBENDER CHEFS DO THE CHARCUTERIE. THAT'S JUDITH'S PLACE

Yeah, what about it?

DO YOU THINK SHE'S GONNA BE GOOD WITH CONTENT SHE SPONSORED CALLING SOMEONE ELSE THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN IN RAVNICA

Ah.

OR LIKE DO YOU THINK SHE'S GENERALLY COMFORTABLE SHARING THE SPOTLIGHT

...so thank you all so much for listening to this episode of Wifelink! I'm going to lay low for a bit, and if my body turns up face-down in an undercity canal, y'all know who did it.

[klbwriting]

Surface Tension

Chapter 10 - Somewhere Only We Know

Fandom: Aquaman

Pairing: Ormxfemale!Reader

Warnings: some violence

Summary: Orm comes to terms with his past, and Y/N puts the plan into action

Notes: almost done! Just a couple more chapters! I want to thank everyone who has read, liked, commented, etc on this work. Its hard writing anything and it feels so nice when someone says they like it, so thank you! song is 'Somewhere Only We Know' by Keane

Taglist: @hyperagitatedcydonian13 @gabrieleskywalker @philiasoul @duchcess

This could be the end of everything So, why don't we go somewhere only we know?

Orm was standing on the beach, watching something floating towards the shore. His heart sank as it got closer. It was a body, Y/N’s body. He moved, picking her up and carrying her up to her chair on her porch, setting her down.

“Y/N?” he said, shaking her gently. She opened her eyes slowly and looked at him.

“Why did you do this?” she asked. Orm frowned. “Why didn’t you save me?” She closed her eyes, and he knew she was gone.

“I tried…I tried…I tried,” he repeated, falling into her lap as he sobbed.

“Orm, wake up!” Atlanna said, shaking her boy. He woke, sitting up from the bed he had in the lighthouse. He was pale, stomach turning. Aria was standing in a corner, eyes fixed on him. “It was a nightmare.” His mother held his face, leaning her forehead to his like she did when he was child.

“I can’t save her. I can’t do anything,” he whispered. Atlanna shook her head. “Mother, is this what it felt like? When you had to leave here? Everything feels like its ending.”

“Yes, that’s what it felt like to leave Tom and Arthur…but that’s also what it felt like when I was forced to leave you,” she said. Orm looked at her. He knew her banishment to trench was forced by his father, but he always figured she hated being in Atlantis anyway, hated his father, hated him, so death might have been a relief. He never imagined leaving him had hurt her like this. He took a breath.

“Did you talk to her?” he asked her. She nodded.

“She told me to tell you she would see you again, but not just on Halloween?” she said, not sure still what Y/N had meant. Orm smiled. She planned on coming back to him alive and well. Her confidence made him feel better. “I’m glad you know what she meant.”

“What are you doing about actually freeing her?” Aria asked from her post by the window. “Or are you just leaving her there to stew for awhile?” Atlanna frowned and looked at the girl.

“Why would we leave her?” she asked. Aria swallowed. “I know that in the past the royal family have not treated those they deemed below them well, but Arthur is not that kind of king, he is a better king.”

“Ya, that bar was really low…” Orm said to himself.

“Be that as it may, we have put in the evidence that she was not involved with the assassination, and that it was Hendrix looking alone. We should not only be able to clear her name but the rest of the Atlantis for All members that are currently in prison still waiting punishment. And you Aria, will also be cleared,” the queen explained. “There is one final piece we need. Y/N is going to talk to Hendrix and get him to confess.”

“Why would he even talk to her?” Aria asked.

“He will have to, she is going to be put to death and her last request will be to speak to Hendrix,” Atlanna explained. Orm’s eyes widened.

“What do you mean she’s going to be put to death?” he demanded, the dream coming back to him. Her body, cold, lifeless, him just standing by as she passed on.

“It is the only way to force Hendrix to speak with her. He must answer her last request. Her death sentence is not official, but he doesn’t know that. We are going to record him. She says she learned from Aria how to get him to say things he shouldn’t,” Atlanna explained further. Aria smiled, proud of her friend. She looked up, hearing AJ crying from his room. “I will be back, don’t worry my son, you will see her again.”

Aria watched her leave the room before looking at Orm. She was trying to figure him out. He wasn’t like she expected, how was this guy, a crying mess at the thought of a single woman being in danger, the same man who had killed hundreds just a few years ago without batting an eye?

“You can say it you know,” Orm whispered. “You can say it should be me, that I’m a coward and I should be going back to Atlantis, demanding her freedom in exchange for my head. I don’t deserve her; I don’t deserve to be free after what I did.”

“I have thought that many times since she was taken, but that’s not what I was thinking now,” she said. She moved to sit next to him, playing with her rings. “I was thinking that she saved my husband on the day of that tidal wave. She used her power, exposing herself to possibly any Atlantian that could have been around, someone who could have reported her, but she saved him because she knew I loved him. And now she’s in love with you, the person who caused all that pain. I was thinking, I should be watching you hurt with joy but I can’t.”

“Why?” he asked.

“Because she loves you, and she’s happy with you. You haven’t redeemed yourself for your crimes but you’re starting and that is important,” she said. “She will be back with you soon and you better spend the rest of your life showing her that you can be better than you were.”

“Don’t worry, I’m never going to be less than she deserves,” he said. Atlanna came rushing into the room.

“Hendrix is gone. Aria, go back to the house, see if he goes there, I’ll find him in the water,” she instructed. They were gone and Orm had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach.

Hendrix arrived at Y/N’s cell, ready to grant her last request. He had no idea why she would ask for him, but he couldn’t refuse. He was ready, the letters and the video made him look bad and he had started planning his escape as soon as he left the king’s office. He was going to break Arthur by killing his family, before returning to the throne room with Orm’s body, proving the king was a liar and hid the tyrant. Then Hendrix would be king, and things would change.

Y/N was humming to herself when he arrived. Poseidon’s blood, he hated her obsession with music. She sounded terrible and she didn’t care. How could she not care?

“What did you want terrorist?” he asked, standing before her. She stood and looked at him.

“Is this what you wanted? The death of anyone who would actually stand up for the rights of the lower city?” she asked. He rolled his eyes.

“You are such an idiot, no one cares about you, this is about me. You are just a pawn in this game, a sacrifice to be made. Once you are dead I will find Aria now that I know she’s alive and…” he stopped talking. This wasn’t right. She looked smug, like she knew something he didn’t. She was trying to trap him. He stormed forward, hands padding over her clothes. She cried out in surprise, but he found what he was looking for, strapped to her back.

“What are you doing?” she asked as he ripped the recorder from her skin. She cried out in pain, and then again when he hit her with it. Her cheek started bleeding and he smirked.

“You think you are so clever, trying to trick me into saying something I shouldn’t” he taunted. “I am not an idiot Y/N.”

“You’re not as smart as you think Hendrix. Everyone can see what you’re doing. You are sloppy, you’ve always been sloppy. Mailing letters to people without checking who is receiving it? Not disguising your pulsar enough so I didn’t see it before you killed the king? Now even, you openly show your hatred for the king, rumors spread that you actually tried to poison Orm several times when he was ruling. You are an insignificant little person who thinks he deserves to be king…” she stopped when he hit her with he recorder again. She was knocked to the floor, staring up at his enraged face.

“I AM GOING TO BE KING!” he screamed. “My plan to kill Orm was perfect. I got you to tell me the parade route using sweet words, because you have always been craving someone to be a good daddy for you…and maybe I would have done that if you had let me kill that bastard. None of you knew because I was so good at hiding it! And poisoning Orm? Would have been simple if he wasn’t so paranoid of his stupid brother coming to usurp him. Then Arthur…what a joke. He thinks his family is safe in that lighthouse? Just wait until you’re dead, then I’ll kill them all and I WILL BE KING.” He stormed out the door and Y/N smiled as she called the guard.

Arthur took the holodisk and went to the council. The confession was enough to get the guard out to arrest Hendrix on not only one count of treason but several. Y/N was released and taken to Arthur’s office where a doctor cleaned up and bandaged her cuts.

“I can go home now,” she said. Arthur nodded. Guards came running into the office.

“He’s gone, Hendrix escaped,” one said. Arthur moved to get his armor on to search for him, sending word to the queen about the escape. Y/N paled. The lighthouse. Hendrix knew about the lighthouse. She took off herself, hoping she was in time to warn them.

[deepwithintheabyss]

Hey, psst, c'mere...

*opens one half of my trench coat to reveal illicit goods*

The boys and I have got some grade (A) freak for freak jaytim shit cookin down at the lab, you don't wanna miss out on this! Here, take a sample:

Tim takes Jason's hand gently. "Hey, can we have kind of a serious talk? Nothing bad! Just..."

He puts his phone down and sits up straighter. "Yeah, sure, what's up?"

Tim gives him a nervous smile and plays with his knuckles. "So, we've been together for a fair while now, and it's been good, yeah? This feels solid; it feels like there's a lot of trust between us, and you know, a lot of sort of boundaries have been settled, like we know each other, right?"

Jason nods, feeling twice as nervous as Tim looks, having no idea where he's taking this.

"Good, cause I've been thinking a lot lately about us and- and I want to take the next step with you and really make a commitment together."

Tim laces their fingers together and looks at him with open, vulnerable hope.

"I want you to permanently mutilate my genitals any way you want."

"Baby, I would be honored to." Jason says as in the space of a moment he falls in love with Tim all over again.

-redhoodinternaldialectical

(aka I wrote a tiny bit of my next installment of the chasing rabbits/mean streak series in order to help warm me up for writing the big chapter I'm wrestling with and thought you'd enjoy it :3 )

Hahah sorry for taking so long to answer <3

you should know I was mad giggling the first time I read this 👀👀 really looking forward to that next installment hehehe, wonder what exactly Tim is talking about 👀👀🔥🔥

also love the buildup to this like hehehehe

[topazy]

Teen spirit

Pairing: Carl Grimes × reader, Maggie Greene × sister reader

Warnings: Blood, character death

Chapter: 5.04

“You still miffed that you’re staying?”

You tried to frown at Daryl’s question but couldn’t help but let the seriousness slip and laugh. You were ecstatic on the inside and doubted anything could knock you off the cloud you were drifting on. Beth was alive. Daryl had returned without Carol, but a boy named Noah was with him, who informed your group that Beth was alive. The same people who had taken Carol had taken your older sister, so now Rick was leading the way to bring the both of them back.

Once Beth and Carol were back, you’d be able to regroup with Maggie and Glenn. It filled your heart with so much joy that soon you could be with both your sisters again.

Of course you wanted to go rescue Beth with them, but Rick wouldn’t allow it; he said it was too dangerous, which you understand. “I wasn’t miffed, just disappointed.”

“Yeah right,” Daryl ruffles your hair, and he glances down at the hole you were digging. “That’s a good trench; I’ll see if I can get anymore wood and shit for it before I go.”

Most of the group had made spears out of wood from the pews in the church. You placed the DIY spears in front of the trenches surrounding the building so that any walkers that got too close would be impaled on them.

“Thanks.”

Not long after Daryl and Sasha handed you smaller pieces of wood for you to make smaller weapons out of, all of the group minus you, Carl, Father Gabriel, Michonne, and Judith stayed behind. Soon as they leave, Carl and Michonne nail the door shut to help slow down anyone or anything trying to get inside the church. The hammering noise causes Judith to cry, so you go and pick her up from the makeshift crib.

“Hey, hey, what’s all the noise about?” You ask gently, trying to shush her as you do. “The banging will stop in a moment, and then you go back to sleep.”

Hearing a scratching noise, you glance over at Gabriel, who is frantically trying to scratch dried blood off the wooden floors.

He was definitely starting to show signs he’s coming unhinged.

—

You smile brightly at Judith as she giggles, feeling your finger move over her tummy. Carl sits down beside you; he looks pleased to see his baby sister happy. He rubs his finger over her cheek gently. “What’s so funny, Judy?”

“She liked having her name spelled out on her tummy,” you explain, before tickling her.

Carl looks at you slightly confused. “Her name spelled out?”

“My mom used to spell out words on mine and Beth’s back during bath time, and we’d need to guess what it was.”

Teasingly, he says, “It sounds lame.”

Your brows raise in amusement. “Turn around.”

Carl let out a deep sigh, pretending he didn’t want to do as you asked, but he began laughing the minute you spelled out the first letter.

“Z…o…m… Are you really spelling out zombie?”

You burst out laughing, “Okay, so it’s not that hard, but when we were kids, it was pretty fun to play. Plus, my mom would always pick bigger words; I’d always get so mad because Beth always got the ones I couldn’t spell right.”

He offers you a kind smile before picking Judith up and hugging her. Quietly, he says, “I tried to help Gabriel choose a weapon, but I think I just upset him.”

“He’s been isolated for so long, I don’t think he fully understands how bad things are.”

“I know; I just wish he would let us help prepare us.”

“He will come around eventually,” you said, letting Judith hold your finger with her whole hand. “I didn’t know much about the world outside my daddy's farm until the day he needed to help save a young boy's life.”

—

You and Carl remained sitting on the floor of the church, playing with Judith, until yelling from outside, followed by banging at the door, caught your attention. “Is that Father Gabriel?”

Michonne starts to break off the wooden slabs, preventing the door from opening. Carl hands you his sister before going to help her. Soon as the door opens, Gabriel falls to the floor, then hurry’s to scramble back up before the small herd of walkers burst into the church. You all follow Gabriel into his office, where you discover he’s put a hole in the floor that leads outside by ripping up the floorboards. When you hear scratches on the other side of the door, which was threatening to burst open, you nudge Carl to go. He jumps into the crawl space first, then you hand him Judith, then do the same thing seconds later.

When you reach outside, Carl helps you stand with his free hand. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, are you?”

He nods before trying to calm Judith, who had begun crying with all the fast movements and loud noises going on around her. Michonne crawls out next, and the three of you wait nervously to see if Father Gabriel will make it out.

“Do you think he's…” You trail off, not wanting to finish the sentence, but are pleasantly surprised when you see a hand holding a bloody machete reaching out from underneath the church. You rush over and offer Gabriel your hand to help him stand up.

“Let’s go,” Michonne says, waving for you to follow. She makes her way to the front of the church and re-locks the doors, trapping the walkers inside.

—

You pace back and forth, trying to think of what to do next. You had hardly any supplies between you and enough baby food to last two days at most. “Do you think we would be able to clear the church?”

“No,” Michonne says, shaking her head. “Not with just us.”

Before you can say anything else, a fire truck comes speeding towards the church. Carl grabs you by the shoulders and pulls you back into the tree line, keeping you out of view of whoever it is.

The fire trucks smash into the front of the church, collapsing the front of the roof, making it impossible for anyone to go back inside. When the side of the truck opens and you notice your sister coming out, you run over to her with your arms wide open.

“Maggie!”

Glenn joins in on the hug and asks, “What the hell happened here?”

You pull back from the hug and say, “The dead got inside, but it’s not important; Beth is alive!”

Maggie’s eyes become glossy. “She’s alive?”

“She’s at a hospital in Atlanta,” Michonne confirms. “Rick and the others have gone to get her.”

Tears of happiness fall from Maggie’s eyes. She pulls you in for another hug and kisses the crown of your head. It wouldn’t be long until the three of you were reunited at last.

—

“Wait here,” Maggie says, closing the side door of the truck. “There’s still dead roaming around; stay in the truck until we clear the area.”

You roll your eyes and slump back into the chair. Maggie just shakes her head and softly laughs before walking off.

You watch as the group takes out the few walkers that approach them. You bounce your knees in anticipation, waiting for Beth to appear at any moment. You missed her so much; you missed her hugs, the braids she used to braid your hair, and you even missed hearing her singing, which used to drive you crazy. You try to distract yourself by focusing on Judith, who was babbling away in her brother's arms.

“There’s my dad,” Carl says, leaning forward to look past you. “Oh shit, y/n, I think something is wrong.”

You don’t hear what Carl says next to you as your eyes lock on to the figure in Daryl’s arms. “Beth!”

Carl figures it out before you and tries to reach for your hand, but you snatch it away, swing open the door, and jump down out of the fire truck. “Beth, Beth!” When you almost reach Daryl, you can see the red staining her blonde hair. “Why is there blood in her hair?”

Before you can get any closer, Rick spins and blocks your view. “Don't; you don’t want to see her like this.”

Your legs give way, and you crumble to the ground, sobbing. Beth was gone. Your sister was dead.

[sweetbottletops]

Aya has been invested in Uncle Joe and Kanna's relationship since Kanna appeared on the scene. "How nice..." they are openly comfortable with each other and flirting like that. That's what she wants and she knows who she wants it with. I am detecting forward movement.

ch 75

Guilt about yeeting Koga down the stairs has multiplied into guilt about secretly...enjoying taking care of her afterwards.

Meanwhile Koga just thinks she's wonderful and has since like a half dozen chapters in.

Chibi Aya as the attentive girlfriend.

Someone put her out of her misery (by communicating their feelings).

Kanna has been super into reminding Joe at every turn that *Koga has Aya* whenever his guardian separation anxiety surfaces.

Maybe it's not fair that Kanna jumps back in after six years to co-parent, but she's using her fresh appraisal of the situation vs Joe being in the trenches for years watching Koga go through things.

Her reintro to Koga was when she was acting her coolest with Aya at the concert. Koga got a clean slate from her gloomy years with Kanna and even if she still has problems she deserves to keep moving forward too.

Aya being a touch envious of their open flirting is so interesting to me. As far as we know she has a mom who is affirming of her interests (and what she's seen of Koga) and her dad seems sweet too. She's not short of normal relationship examples. But Aya is extremely imprinting onto their messy, non-traditional on/off relationship.

A wild Koga appears! How long was Aya spaced out looking at them anyway? Maybe Koga has gotten really quick at putting her Onii-san look back on. LOL

Add another mystery shirt to to Koga's collection. (fyi, in the course of my search through cursive letter interpretations... I learned one should never google "futaboy")

Aya has gone through several realizations about still feeling a kinda away about Koga in all her states. Her teasing back to Onii-san in the context of a relationship she wants... it only lasted a split second before she chickens out, but it did not go unnoticed by the others in the room.

Tiny Uncle Joe is matched with Tiny Kanna finally. The complete set.

The fact Aya referred back to the "Onii-san" she was interested in, but in the context of current Koga... I feel like she's just about there.

So in the order of everyone involved: Aya knows, Kanna knows, Joe probably suspects, and Koga isn't going seem to know until she suddenly is moved in with a fridge in tow.

[ronearoundblindly]

Threadbare (3)

Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader

Part Three: Rupture/Fracture (see previous or series)

Summary: Steve skirts the line between protector and absolute doofus. Your fashion show begins.

[Image submitted by ask and does not reflect reader's race or body type. It's just a visual of the gown described in this chapter. Also from an unknown source. Credit to the creator.]

Warnings for canon-level violence and some mild language. This story is rated Teen. WC 4251

Captain America: Man of Action.

Steven Grant Rogers? Eh, not so much.

It’s a risky strategy—to do nothing—but Steve’s run out of ideas.

He doesn’t know what’s upset you. He doesn’t know what Tony does know. He doesn’t have a backup plan to his initial, lame, ‘date’-in-the-diner-downstairs idea, and yes, he knows that was pathetic in-and-of itself. Steve got the words out, though, didn’t he? That’s progress in the trench warfare he’s waging on the one thing that still completely intimidates him: womanhood.

That’s not to say Steve is fighting against you and all you are, but he doesn’t know where he fits in anyone’s equation of life and partnership. Relationships imply relating to each other, and he lives in a tower with superheroes, a billionaire, highly-trained agents who are all ranked above the other 99% of their classmates, and several legitimate aliens.

This does not instill him with confidence on his relating-to-the-average-human skills.

Before Steve was a super soldier, he was also pretty shit with women. It never got better because there was no time to try.

Since Steve has time now, he’s convinced he’ll do something stupid, and that’s really why he sits on his laurels.

This behavior apparently frustrates more than just Steve.

“So how’s your girl?” Sam Wilson asks nonchalantly, petting his beard while watching the final assessment of their newest recruits.

“Faulkner looks injured. His form is off and he’s slower than usual.” Steve makes a note on his tablet.

“Yeah, guy got kneed in the berries for a bad pickup line at the bar last night. Don’t change the subject.”

“Not necessary,” Steve grumbles in avoidance.

Sam scoffs. “You didn’t hear the pickup line.”

“Guy gets hit like that and you think that makes me want to talk about dames more?”

“Ladies, Cap, go with ‘ladies.’”

“Old-fashioned man with—“ he yells out “—find your balance, Pritchard, then block—“ then sighs “—old-fashioned notions.”

“This might surprise you, but we noticed. Maybe you should make some effort to be in her space, huh?” Sam jots something down. “I’m just saying, she spent weeks here. With you. Close. Convenient. Maybe it’s your turn?”

Steve scans the fighters across the room, his brain processing nothing he’s seeing for a moment.

“Maybe it is…”

Steve isn’t actually doing nothing, per se; he’s simply keeping tabs (respectfully) from afar. He sets up an alert for your location if the posted cops call in anything whatsoever. He’s got an alert for Richard Fisk, too, and that has let him know that the man who threatened you has spent one overnight in jail on the opposite side of the city within the last week. It reassures Steve that Kingpin’s son is not wholly focused on you. Maybe this will all blow over? That’s good, right?

 Your storefront’s curb still sports a police cruiser, but inside aren’t the same two men from your run-in with Fisk.

Steve rolls the garment bag he brought off his shoulder and does not take an extra deep breath right before pulling open the door. It’s a normal breath. He’s fine. Fine.

Again, as several other times before, you’re nowhere to be seen.

“Oh my god,” your fourth assistant squeaks from behind the counter.

He knows his name. They know each other’s names—clearly—but have never met.

The young man stands taller. “Oh…my god. Hell-oh.”

Steve…is not sure whether the once over your youngest employee gives him is flattering or objectifying but rallies to get to his point.

“You must be Byron,” Steve tries casually, suppressing the awkward smirk rising with gentle heat to his cheeks. “I was wondering if the lady of the house was in to return this.” 

Steve’s glad he has the jacket as a prop, something to do with his hands as he nervously glances toward the upstairs where he knows you live anyway. You’re here. He knows it. You’re working, and Steve doesn’t want to interrupt you. He has no other options, or at least, no other options that don’t make him feel a bit creepy.

“‘Fraid not, sir. But—“ Byron gathers his wits more admirably than Steve seems to be “—I’m sure I can help with anything you require, Mr. America.”

“Just Steve is fine,” he smiles back. Steve scans the open fitting rooms for Dominica or any of the others he has a rapport with, but no such luck. “And just the jacket.”

“What seems to be the problem with it?”

“Oh, no, it’s not mine. I was just standing in for a fitting when I got called away and…accidentally took it.”

Byron eyes Steve suspiciously. “You…you stood in…for the fit of another client’s jacket? Another client that…looks like you?”

Steve rolls his shoulders in discomfort. “She asked me to,” he defends lamely.

Byron keeps looking at him as if Steve’s grown an extra head instead of just a head taller than his original stature. “Ok,” your assistant shrugs, “let’s see who the marker is for.”

Steve shoves the hanging bag in Byron’s outstretched hand, nervous again. He shouldn’t have come. This was a bad idea. Damnit, Sam, stay in your lane.

Deftly, clearly recalling a move he’s executed thousands upon thousands of times, Byron unzips the bag, tucks the opening under the shoulders of the jacket, runs his hand down the left side seam, and flips up the corner to peek at the lining.

Steve sees a glint of metallic he never noticed.

“Remind me of your middle name, Mist—sorry, Captain Rogers.”

“It’s Grant,” Steve blurts without thought. “Why?”

“This is your jacket, sir, down to the threads.” Byron smiles, a glistening white band of teeth bared for the enjoyment of all, and gleefully spins the garment around to show a delicately stitched ’S G R’ in silver against the deep purple.

Steve’s cheeks are on fire.

“But…” he stammers. “That’s not…” Steve hunches over the counter as if it will settle a bet his mind and heart are arguing.

You asked about the color…and he said he loved it.

You shyly asked if he’d spare the time to help you…and he jumped at the chance.

You made him a custom jacket and tricked him into having it fitted.

Steven Grant Rogers: Idiot.

“Captain!” a voice exclaims from the stairwell. “To what do we owe the pleasure?”

Tarik shuffles down the last few steps looking a little worse for wear and sidles up beside his coworker. His gaze drops to the counter.

“Oooh, I see ma’m’selle went with the midnight—“ Steve doesn’t understand the next few words he uses and Tarik notices the glazed look. “The shine,” he clarifies. “Gives it that color-changing look.”

Byron leans to his left. “He says he wants to return it.”

As soon as Tarik tries to lift the hanger up though, Steve pulls it back.

“No, no. Not returning. I only…thought…” He tucks the jacket back under the protective liner, scrambling for an answer. “I didn’t know…it was for me,” Steve tries once more, like that helps to explain anything. “Hey, can I ask you both a question?”

The young men put on perfect customer service faces and wait.

“Is that unit outside keeping everyone safe in here? I mean, do you all feel, ya know, covered, I guess?”

They look at each other quizzically.

“Yeah, I guess,” Byron shrugs.

“Nothing’s happened,” Tarik mutters.

While Steve is pleased to hear that, his concern for you isn’t exactly diminished. “But she’s never here alone, right? Is no one staying overnight? You’re not…worried about Fisk?”

“We’ve been working some insane hours since the overhaul,” Tarik admits, but there’s no chance for Steve to ask what that means. “Doma was here until three in the morning, so she’s off today. Abby’s set to come in—“ Tarik checks his watch “—an hour or so for Ronny.”

“It’s family dinner night,” Byron jumps in. “Mom’ll kill me if I miss.”

Steve softens. His ma would be the same way if she… “Family dinner night,” he repeats, holding the garment bag a little closer. “Right, and no other unnerving customers bothering you?”

The younger assistant gulps and continues to stare.

Apparently, Steve counts as ‘unnerving.’

If there’s no threat anymore, then truly how the hell is Steve supposed to get closer to you again? In the most bizarre way, a villain looming over you was the perfect excuse for Steve to spend all that time and effort on you, and shifting back to ‘normal’ scenarios of dating a civilian isn’t exactly in his wheelhouse.

“Ok then,” he drawls, “would you—if it’s—if you wouldn’t mind letting her know I stopped by?” Steve waits for Tarik’s polite nod, fighting the urge to say you can call him. You could have called Steve this entire time. He left his personal cell at the fittings, so you absolutely have the number. If you haven’t used it yet, there’s probably a reason.

He finishes with a lame, “I’ll be on my way. Have a good evening and dinner with your family.”

Steve’s being supportive. He’s just here as an extra set of hands should the need arise. He’s absolutely not being a creep. He only sits atop your roof watching one cop return from the routine perimeter check in case you need help.

He won’t bother you, he doesn’t expect anything, and he can’t even see you. There’s nothing untoward about it.

Steve crosses his arms across his chest and watches the sun go down but with much less of a view and a swath of boring gray clouds all over. “For safety,” he grumbles lowly. “That’s all.”

He justifies staying because the cops neither spotted him nor cased the top of the building. He’s filling a gap in your security. It doesn’t, however, alter the fact Steve is skulking around the rooftop of the girl he likes, but he’s here. He expects nothing in return except the piece of mind that you’re okay.

Maybe some would find his night shift boring, but Steve brought his sketchpad and can see just fine in the ambient street light. The freedom to sit and draw all night long is wonderful.

No one watches him. No one looks for him. His phone sits at his hip, and since the Team think he is with you, no one calls.

Abby finally leaves at 1am, yawning a goodnight to the officer in the passenger seat and walking away unfazed. Steve even hears the man ask if she wants an escort home, but your assistant says ‘no.’ From the way the offer is worded, it’s as oft repeated as it is rejected.

If Fisk were going to leverage one of your employees, he’d have made that move by now, and Steve’s impression of Kingpin’s son is the man enjoys direct control. He wouldn’t want you obedient to keep others from harm. Fisk wants submission. He wants you to do what he says for him, not for anyone else. The irony is that Richard Fisk isn’t intimidating enough on his own and uses the muscle of bodyguards to complete the illusion of strength.

Steve knows the type. He’s only worried when he’s not close enough to handle Fisk himself, if it comes to that. 

Luckily, the night passes quietly, and close or not, Steve doesn’t have to do anything. The rounds of perimeter checks are like clockwork while the lights glow from your apartment onto the thin windowsills below him.

Steve huffs. That means you never officially turn in. He crosses his arms again, wondering if you fell asleep at your drafting desk.

Byron returns, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, wearing an actual fur vest, at 5am.

The cops change shift at 6, the cruiser replaced by an identical car and two very similar passengers.

Byron emerges right at 6:10 with coffee for the officers in hand—two insulated tumblers—and fifty minutes later, one of the pair takes the cups back inside before his round.

Steve naps in the gentle spring sun as if this is truly a vacation, waking hungry enough for a late lunch and a walk in the park a few blocks over.

This is probably the park you stroll when overwhelmed, and stressed, as you probably are right now, but you never come out. He keeps walking, passing close enough to see your shop before another lap, and another. He gets a strange amount of enjoyment from trying every street vendor setup nearby until he’s back on the roof before sunset, remembering how you tucked your feet up on the folding chair and under the blanket about a week ago. It’s stupid that feels like forever ago.

Steve sighs before leaning comfortably on the cool concrete and his little bedroll.

He wishes he had the stones to barge in and demand you take a break, but the access door he’s staring at only opens from the inside and he doesn’t want to end up like Faulkner.

The white noise of the city must have lulled him to sleep. He’s startled from his propped-up position by a thunk on the slab at his back.

There you are, letting go of the mug from one hand with a phone in the other.

“Hold your horses, Stark. Let the man get his bearings,” you hoarsely joke before pulling it away from your ear and extending it toward Steve. Your voice sounds good in the morning. 

Of all the things rushing through his mind, all he gets out is, “what time is it, Button?”

You give him a small, tired smile and stand back up from crouching at his side. Your bare feet teeter while one side of your open robe sash brushes the ground.

“Time for you to learn to take your charger on sleepovers, sweetie,” Tony’s voice blares. “No breakfast in bed for you.”

Wiping sleep from his eye, Steve focuses on you stretching your neck from side to side.

“You okay?” he mouths.

The same tired smile flashes as you nod.

“What’s that racket? You two sleep with the windows open? How hot did that room g—“

“Tony,” Steve interrupts, more forcefully than intended, “what’s happened?”

“Three ping fire.”

“Don’t you mean three alarm fire,” Steve groans and buries his face in his palm, shifting to wake his tingling legs.

“Location pings, Casanova, and as the dude with a suit intended as a walking fire hazard, I’m not exactly in a position to steal that department’s lingo. Ya feel me?”

There’s silence while Steve picks up the dead phone at his hip and pockets it. “No, I do not feel you.”

Tony releases a raspberry on the other end. “I am suppressing half a dozen jokes to make you feel supported in your romantic endeavors right now. I hope you appreciate that effort.”

Steve picks up the mug left beside him and moves to say ‘thank you.’ It’s not a travel cup like Byron or Abby brings out to the cops which Steve assumes means this was your drink. Tony must have called while you were waking up, too.

“Your efforts are—“ Steve turns to see an empty roof again “—unnecessary.”

You’re gone. The access door closed again.

“I bet you’re already halfway here,” Tony muses. “You doing that power-run thing?”

The call disconnects and Steve lets it fall with his arm, limp in his lap. He sips at the steaming tea for mere seconds before it occurs to him.

If he texts himself from your phone, he’ll have your number.

“Damnit,” Steve exclaims when the locked screen taunts him.

Thank god the Team doesn’t actually know how bad he is at this. It’s embarrassing, really. He deserves to skulk around on concrete treetops and sleep on stone.

He leaves the mug and phone by the door before rushing off. He notes how impressive it is that not only is the roof access door so quiet that he didn’t hear it twice, but that also counts as a security concern. He might just be splitting hairs. He’s also impressed by how you could sneak up on him. Perhaps he’s gotten too comfortable with even the fake idea of being with you, but the fantasy is pretty great.

As Steve runs back to the Tower, all he can think about is how perfect breakfast in bed sounds, and it’s distracting enough to slow him…just a little.

Fighting helps. Kinda. Or rather, fighting takes Steve’s mind off of other things right up until the tide of battle turns and Tony Stark has a spare second to insert himself into Steve’s life as well as everyone’s comms.

“So what’s it gonna take for you to really do this thing?”

Steve doesn’t understand at first because he’s busy checking in on the agents around him like he’s supposed to be doing. Stark, on the other hand, casually flies toward the hidden base of their enemy’s operations.

“What? You thought you fooled anyone?”

“Not the time, Tony,” Steve gripes, sending the shield in a bouncing arc off two trees and three bad guys. Honestly, he also did think that everyone bought you two together. Why wouldn’t they? It was convincing enough to haunt Steve.

“Guy’s not usually jonesing to drive a golf cart if he’s already on the bullet train, if you know what I mean,” Tony blusters.

“Really, Stark,” Wilson yells from his position on the other side of the valley, “a train metaphor was your best choice?”

Steve purses his lips in response, slamming into one guy, using the momentum to jump, and kicking another guy dead in the chest. That guy ricochets back into a third. The third guy’s gun goes off and drops two more guys. Steve still doesn’t want to have this conversation, even if the actual attack situation is going well for his side.

“I’m just saying if he needs some help sealing the deal—“

“—leave him alone, Stark—“

“—then I can put in a word.”

“Oh!” Steve pops the shield straps back over his arm after mowing down another line of men. “Like you put in the words that made her leave?! What the hell did you say?”

Dang it. If you and Steve were really dating, he’d already know the answer to that.

“Easy, Straps and Abs, it was a test.”

Sam beats Steve to it. “And did she pass?”

There’s a burst of sound and an explosion in the distance.

“Um. She got pissed, for sure, but I don’t know yet. I may have suggested that she only liked Cap for being, ya know, a shiny, blond beefcake.”

“You used those exact words, did you? I take it back,” Sam mutters. “That is the most hypocritical thing Stark’s ever said.”

“Somebody’s gotta top me,” Tony snorts. “Might as well be—“

“Are you KIDDING?” Steve finally breaks.

“It’s important to me that she likes you for you. Sue me—though I’m obligated to warn you you’ll be stuck in litigation for—“

“Stark!” both Steve and Sam shout in frustration.

The leagues of bad guys lose formation as their base crumbles and their radios cut out. They exchange confused looks and disagree on whether to continue attacking or retreat.

“Relax,” Tony purrs before Iron Man touches down in front of Steve. The helmet opens. “I’ve got a ticket to the Tovarich Spring Show with your name on it, and I think…” Tony scans the floundering group just as backup jets arrive to help arrest the survivors. “We’ll be home in time for Rogers to put on a ballgown and hop in a pumpkin.”

One spot of purple in a sea of white.

This isn’t how it was supposed to be.

“Ma’am, the screens you wanted set up are all positioned, and we are ten minutes from showtime,” the stage manager says in seeming slow-motion beside you. “Ma’am,” she tries again when you don’t answer. You’re too distracted by the wrong arrangements.

“I ordered butterfly bush…”

“What?”

“I ordered…I didn’t order white roses,” you croak.

Fisk’s signature flower sits on every table, lines every aisle, adorns the entire rim of the runway, and you did not order them.

Richard ‘The Rose’ is messing with you. It makes your blood boil more than it makes your hands shake because he’s not going to get what he wants. You’re not going to give it to him, but you are going to show what you can do. He can’t take credit for your work. He will not own you.

“We don’t have time to change them—“

“He’s here!” Abby bounds over, gripping your shoulder, panting after running all the way from the press tent. “Captain Rogers is here. He’s wearing the jacket.” 

A nervous smile forces its way across your lips before you grasp Abby’s hand, quickly looking back at the single stalk of butterfly bush dangling in beautiful fuchsia clusters in a vase of roses. It’s a sign, proof that Fisk was able to rewrite your order, a threat that he can rewrite your life if he so chooses.

He’s wrong. You’ll show him. You’ll show everything tonight.

“Thank god for that,” you whisper, squeezing your assistant, “because Steve’s probably about to get a hell of a show.”

The stage manager calls for all the models to line up. You fuss with the finishing touches on all the men, asking how they feel, delighted when each and every one answers with some form of ‘great,’ ‘fantastic,’ or ‘never better.’ That’s what this whole line is about: confidence and comfort.

There’s no cookie-cutter mold for a handsome man. Every frame is inspiring.

You’ve explained to the models that they can reflect however they feel in the clothing on their walk down the runway. If they feel like strutting, then by all means. If they feel like beaming a beautiful smile, it’s welcome. Several pick a pocket to sink a strategic hand into.

A one-minute warning is given.

From your spot deep in the stage left shadows, you can see Steve front and center, pulling at his lapel anxiously before petting his thumb back and forth over the smooth fabric.

Nailed it, you think. He looks happy, so it’s just an added bonus that he looks so good and is covered.

Suddenly, his eyes find you and Steve sits straight up at the edge of his chair just as the lights go out.

The countdown softly descends from ten nine eight seven, the music cranks up above the short round of applause, and you exaggerate silent words, hoping not-quite-beyond hope that the super soldier can still see you in the dark.

‘For you, handsome.’

They’re off. Ten models. Slim and slight men radiant in perfectly crafted, fitted clothing that makes each look like a king in his own right. Not one is taller than 5’6’’ and not one weighs more the 130lbs. Next year, you’ll go bigger, but this statement is essential. One particular build is flawless to you, whether it ever changes or not.

Steve Rogers was just born to be loved by you in any body.

You get to watch it dawn on him, too.

Model 1: he’s a little miffed.

Model 2: his jaw goes slack.

Model 3: he’s transfixed and taking a shaky, deep breath.

By model number four, Steve doesn’t even see anymore, his head turning to where he knows you still stand, a soft expression in the soft glow from the stage.

Even in the dark and shadow, you feel pinned, flattered, and embarrassed. Your hands smooth down the navy overlay of your full skirt and tug at the thick structured cuffs to your metallic threaded bodice. It’s the same silver laced into Steve’s jacket.

Politely, Steve stands to cheer with the rest of the crowd, staring without demanding your attention, and you wait for all the models to start their final walk before stepping out into the cacophony of light and sound. The models flank you. Several grab your arm in appreciation.

It’s so bright. So loud.

The screens of fabric you had the crew raise are still visible at the back, lit through from the entrance where no one should be during the show, yet you see movement. Figure after figure files in, and then the noise shifts. Hands aren’t just banging together. Bullets are banging on the metal scaffold across the ceiling. Your audience’s screams morph from triumph to terror.

People scramble, knocking chairs and each other out of the way, pushing in opposite directions to avoid the same source of fear.

It’s chaos, and you can’t hesitate.

“Behind me,” you scream as loud as you can, and race to the edge of the runway.

Steve lunges for your feet as you pass, but you don’t let him stop you. Whatever he yells to do is lost in the din as you spin to flair your long skirt over the edge.

Rose stems snap and litter the floor.

Your back to Fisk’s men, you beat your fist to the star placard on your chest and activate the battery. It hums to life as electric current races through the silvery details on your chest and down your body, stiffening the thick, bulletproof fabric now on display high like a peacock’s plume.

And it works.

Steve stares up from the floor at a wall of red and navy around a silver star, and you have succeeded where Tony Stark could not. You created a shield not of metal but of thread.

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @yiiiikesmish @trudy-shams @darsynia

A/N: I made myself entirely too emotional with this, so I am praying that you all like it as much as I do. I seriously need to go scream into a corner now though.

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