#white and purple accent pillow

[f-yeah-nutella]

Open in Denver Example of a large transitional open concept medium tone wood floor family room library design with gray walls, a standard fireplace, a wood fireplace surround and a wall-mounted tv

[sh-inaam]

Phoenix Open An illustration of a mid-sized minimalist formal living room design with white walls, no fireplace, and no television, and travertine flooring and beige flooring.

[melanymoore]

Large - Sun Room Sunroom - large contemporary medium tone wood floor sunroom idea with a standard fireplace and a stone fireplace

[chordati]

Guest Bedroom Miami Example of a mid-sized transitional guest brown floor and dark wood floor bedroom design with beige walls

[volatile-vertex]

Boston Eclectic Bedroom Bedroom - medium-sized eclectic guest bedroom idea with brown floors and purple walls but no fireplace

[crystalgemzine]

Transitional Bedroom in Portland Image of a medium-sized transitional guest bedroom with a light wood floor and gray walls

[hybridvictorious]

Contemporary Sunroom - Large Idea for a large, modern sunroom with a medium-toned wood floor and both a stone and a regular fireplace.

[lescarbille]

Bites

Answer to : Send me a word and I'll write you a carcar drabble

“What are you? A dog?” Oscar growls from the bathroom.

Oscar comes out of the bathroom attached to his hotel room. His hair is damp from a long shower, drops running down his thick neck, making his moles shine on his fair skin. Or rather on the fair areas, bites have appeared on his skin, forming blue and purple bruises that match the constellations of his freckles and moles.

“That’s not very nice, carino. I thought we were past the point you’re insulting me for no reason.”

Carlos is still naked on the bed, with a sheet over his legs, both arms crossed above his head on the pillow, looking at Oscar with amusement, in his fluffy white bathrobe.

“And what is that?”

Oscar removes a shoulder from his bathrobe to show a line of nebula, some have already started to heal with greenish accents, others have teeth marks that match Carlos's.

"You look very pretty like that."

Oscar sighs as he sits on the bed and Carlos leans down to kiss some of the watercolors he painted with his teeth.

"All mine, it shows you are all mine, carino", he smiles and kisses the hollow between his neck and his shoulder. "Just like the ugly scratches I have on my back show that I am yours."

[man3at3r-mp4]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖗 𝕷𝖆𝖒𝖇 - 𝖍𝖍 𝖝 𝕸𝖆𝖑𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗 - 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 Ⅰ : 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝒂𝒔 𝑰'𝒍𝒍 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒆

Prologue Chapter 3.5

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Lamb (noun) - a young sheep.

In biblical scriptures, the lamb is supposed to represent Christ as suffering and triumph. Lambs are also commonly referred to as sacrificial animals. But can also symbolize innocence, purity, and forgiveness.

The wind whirled gently, as the sun began to awaken. Signifying a new day, as all of the residents of heaven were already going on about their day. One without any hardships or disappointment, as bad days don't exist in heaven and there never will be. All the angels were up.

Except one.

Soft snores could be heard echoing throughout the luxurious bedroom, the white and light blue colored walls, with accented golden windows, you'd think it'd be a bit bright to sleep in this room. Well, not if you're as tired as Y/n.

Which you were, since you are him.

You nuzzled into the soft velvety pillow, as you continued to sleep. A small a bit of drool running down the corner of your mouth.

Ah, you lucky bitch, you know the sleep is good if you're drooling.

Skelly laid at the end of your bed, curled up against the head, as he also snored softly. A small snot bubble rising from his nose everytime he exhaled.

Sucks, you can't sleep forever.

"Y-.....w.....e....u.."

Your lamb ears flicked a bit, at the sound of your name being called but you simply shuffled your position on your bed, and resumed your sleep. 

"Y/n..."  you heard a familiar voice call.

"Nooo~ Alucard you can't put your hand there...hehehee." You chuckled almost drunkenly, in your sleep.

"Y/n, it's 8:30...we're already an hour behind schedule"

At this, you managed to crack one eye open. "Huh..?" You croaked out, tiredly. As you began to go over the information that had just been fed to you in your head.

'8:30....hour behind schedule'

Your eyes suddenly shot open, as you jolted up into a sitting position. Scaring the shit out of Skelly, as he fell to the ground at your fast movements.

  "8:30?!?!?" You screamed, leaping out of bed. "IMLATEIMLATEIMLATE-" you immediately, rushed to the bathroom to try and ready yourself.

"It's fucking 6:30...." you deadpanned, as you sat in front of your vanity, as multiple sets of hands began to do your make up and tame your wild hair.

"Blame it on yourself, for why we had to wake you up so early. Everytime we wake you up at 7 you somehow always manage to be late..also cursing? Prince Y/n, you know that's a sin right? Your sisters would go crazy" a feminine and graceful  voice said teasingly, it belong to your make up artist, named Miko. She was pastel purple and white Angel, she resembled a secretary bird. You remembered seeing one once, on your secret expeditions to earth. They were goregous, and so was Miko. Her attire was extravagant, it matched the heavenly color scheme of white, blue and gold, but added in some new colors. Which, you appreciated. Honestly you were getting sick, of all the white.

"Hmph, well so is lying.." you muttered, sarcastically.

"He got you there Miko.." a masculine voice chuckled. That voice belonged to your hair stylist, Elijah. He was an Angel that resembled his human self in his past life. Except his skin was now tinted a purple undertone, his pinkish hair was styled in twists, and his gold colored freckles littered his face. He still retained his New York styles street wear fashion, in heaven.  You would have thought he was human if he didn't have. heart shaped antennas sticking out of his head, as well as a halo and a pair of wings.

Miko rolled her eyes, "shut up, you wanna talk about sinning? How about your outfit? Girl, those colors are clashing with your eyes.." 

Elijah gasped dramatically, as he placed a hand on his chest. "Oh, you don't even wanna go there. Ms. Trashy blend" he snaps back.

"Excuse me? That blend was beautiful!"

"Girl please, all you ended up doing is making yourself look like a shitty Christmas tree"

" all because I used green and red?"

"You used the brightest red possible, I thought your ass was about to glow in the dark"

"Oh you-"

"Ladies, ladies" you finally butted in. "You're both ugly, let's quiet down"

They both went silent, glancing at each other before speaking up.

"Course you'd know about ugly y/n"

"Hey!" You huffed.

"Remember last year when he decided to get bangs?" Elijah snickered.

"Remember?! I cant forget it!" Miko replied, laughing. You crossed your arms, as you pouted.

"They weren't THAT bad"

"Honey, you looked like Will Byers from stranger things with that fuck ass little Bob of yours"

Miko bursted out laughing, holding her stomach as she stumbled back a bit. Elijah laughed along with her, as he leaned against her.  While you sat their, cheeks flushed in embarrassment with a pout on your face. Though you struggled to keep your pout, since that was pretty funny.

"Ugh whatever, whatever" you rolled your eyes playfully. "Just finish getting me ready, before I have you all sent into the firey pits of hell" you scoffed, pointing your nose up snobbishly. Exaggerating your voice in a British accent.

"Oh yes sir!"

"Of course, your majesty!"  They both played along, acting meek as they copied a British accent.

"Just don't hurt me your highness! I need my 15 shillings to feed my family!" Elijah cried, dramatically.

"Then work faster peasants, chop chop!" You huffed, clapping your hands to insinuate how 'serious' you were.

Soon enough, you were ready for the day, your hair styled, your makeup done, and Elijah was currently done firring your clothes.

"Does his majesty, find his wardrobe to his liking?" Miko asked, in her fake British accent.

"It is adequate ." You replied, before you dropped the act smiling sincerely. "I look great, thank you both." You reply.  "You both are like the greatest make up and hair stylist in heaven"

Miko rolls her eyes playfully, " We know, babe" she teased.

You sighed as you stood up, "Y'know you two don't have to go all out on me all the time. I barely leave the castle"

"And who's fault is that?" Elijah asked, giving you a knowing look. "If you weren't always trying to sneak down to hell, maybe Sera would actually let you out more". You frowned, groaning.

"Ugh! I know! But still, that doesn't give her the right to keep me couped up in here! What am I? Rapunzel?" You replied, sarcastically.

"I mean you got the naivety, ditziness, and stubborn attitude all you need to do is grow your hair out and run around barefoot." Miko says, as she began to pack away her make up kit.

"Har har har.." you scoffed, "I am not running around with my hooves out"

"What Miko is trying to say" Elijah butted in. "Is that we want to go all out on you, your our friend boo. You deserve it"

Miko hums, "Yeah, plus why does it matter? Ugh, don't tell me you're worried Adam is gonna call you gay again just cause you wear make up..."

You puffed out her cheeks, as your form stiffened. "No! Of course not! I don't care what Adam thinks! He's just some guy who didn't age out of his  frat boy jock stage. Which is weird...since he wasn't even alive when frats or jocks were a thing...but you get the point."

"Anyways we're heading out.." Elijah says, as he wraps an arm around Milo's neck. "We're meeting up with Molly for smoothies later.."

Your smile dropped, "smoothies? Ugh! Lucky! I wish I could go...but I have to do stupid royal stuff.." your crossed your arms. "Wait? Smoothies now? Isn't it a bit too early?"

Miko shrugged, "we're in heaven baby, it's never to late for smoothies". You rose a brow, narrowing your eyes.

"Elijah doesn't even have any sugar till past 12-" your eyes widened in realization. "Oh you assholes, you two are ditching me before Lia-!"

Just like that, your bedroom door, slammed open. Scaring Skelly, who was fast asleep on your window sill, causing him to fall once more. There stood another Angel, he had one giant golden eye, no mouth, and whispy purplish blue flame hair. He wore a fancy suit with a sweater vest, all in blue white and gold.

"Prince Y/n! You're late! Late late!" He called out, rushing over to you. Unfortunately for you, he was an inch or two taller than you.

"Good morning, Liam.." you spoke, flashing a nervous smile before glancing past him over towards Elijah and Miko. Your smile dropping, as you narrowed your eyes at them. As they both blew you kisses and waves before they rushed out the door.

You sighed, before turning to look back at the rambling Angel in front of you. "You have so many things to get done today, are you ready Prince Y/n?" he summoned a scroll into his hand.  Your shoulders dropped, you were truly getting tired of this routine. But you put on a brave face, as you nodded.

"Ready as I'll ever be ."

.- .-.. .-.. / .. -. .... .- -... .. - .- -. - ... / --- ..-. / - .... . / . .- .-. - .... / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / .-- --- .-. ... .... .. .--. / - .... . / -... . .- ... - / .- .-.. .-.. / .-- .... --- ... . / -. .- -- . ... / .... .- ...- . / -. --- - / -... . . -. / .-- .-. .. - - . -. / .. -. / - .... . / .-.. .- -- -... .----. ... / -... --- --- -.- / --- ..-. / .-.. .. ..-. . --..-- / - .... . / .-.. .- -- -... / .-- .... --- / .-- .- ... / ... .-.. .- .. -. / ..-. .-. --- -- / - .... . / -.-. .-. . .- - .. --- -. / --- ..-. / - .... . / .-- --- .-. .-.. -.. .-.-.- .-. . ...- . .-.. .- - .. --- -. / .---- ...-- ---... ---.

Little authors note here, y'all are free to interpret Y/ns lamb design in anyway you want. He can be a full on furry/ anthro creature  like Husk or Angel Dust. Or he could be like alastor and Charlie and just have animal characteristics like ears/hooves/ horns etc. but they maintain a relatively human appearance. It's up to y'all <33 it doesn't affect the story in anyway. I just mention Y/n has hooves cause he canonically does.

[colourstreakgryffin]

AHHHH CAN YOU PRETTY PLEASE DO IF REQUEST ARE OPEN A ALASTOR X A SMALL READER (SHINOBU READER BASICALLY) WHERE SHE INSECURE ABOUT HER SELF SINCE SHE SMALL

Yessss. Yesss. Yessss! Alastor is like, what, 6-7ft tall?! So, he got a small girlfriend and he loves that small girlfriend! The comfort will be good since Al will be able to finally realise that his jokes are harmful and take responsibility for them! So, let’s doooooo it~!

Alastor- Beauty From Within

“My dear” After so long of just rather comforting hollow silent, the alarming, almost screeching sound of a radio dialing up and halting slightly then the familiar transatlantic accent of your secret boyfriend rings out. As if materialises from thin air, Alastor just suddenly appears on your right, comfortable, fully-dressed with dressshoes on and his microphone-cane at the ready exactly where your faced as you both laid on your Hotel room’s bed

You were cuddled up in the blankets like a little butterfly cocoon, your mind racing and requiring some peace for the day but here is your boyfriend… here to ruin that need

Immediately jolting back in shock and a natural defensive instinct from being jumpscared by your partner without a single bit of warning, a classic Alastor move, you were flung off onto the soft carpet-lathered floor of the Hotel room. Unlike with most where Alastor would just smirk through the fall and find it amusing to see whoever fell harm themselves, Alastor blinks a bit more concerned and slightly leans over to check on you

“What the fuck, Al?!” You growl out, shaken and irriated when you gather back your wits and ability to think upon recovering from the fall as you go from half-flopped on your back and on the half-cushioned floor, to on your knees with an annoyed, dishearten expression on the floor

Alastor simply and smoothly leans over the edge of the bed where you are sat and his grin grows, curious and just a breath away from asking the million dollar question on his mind, drawing your discouraged and self-conscious darken gaze up to him

“Why aren’t you down in the Lobby, darling, Tora?”

You didn’t even want to answer him with the truth but when it comes to Alastor, it feels like it’s almost impossible to genuinely lie to him without him being able to sniff it out effortlessly. Should you even try? Well… you figure Alastor will notice that you’re not telling him your reality and just make it harder for you. That’s how Alastor is, he’s protective and he jumps right to the worst conclusion if you don’t open your mouth

Okay… here goes nothing

“It’s just… I needed some time alone. I don’t want to go out there and have everybody laugh at me”

Hearing this from his beloved little girlfriend makes Alastor’s ears jolt up in surprise, eyes widening and lips parting as he remains in place leant over the bed’s bottom edge but still on top as you lean against his soft cool darkly pale cheek like it’s a pillow, closing your own eyes whilst just letting out all your self esteem problems in just a few words. Alastor can recognise something’s very wrong and he is determined to find the cause

“Laugh at you? Who would laugh at you? You’re incredible, you’re intelligent, you’re ladylike and gentle, your personality is made of sugar and cream, your little butterfly features are gorgeous. What is there to mock? I don’t see a single thing” You couldn’t help but feel offended that Alastor is pretending he doesn’t know or is generally oblivious to what the problem is and how he regularly fuels the burning fire himself. A bigger clawed hand grips the pretty purple, white and aquamarine patterned butterfly ornament hairclip pinning your pitch dark hair into a thick bun, he loves that little butterfly accessory. It makes your adorable little look even more precious

You’re a beautiful fluttery butterfly within Hell, he can’t see why anybody in the Hotel would find you a laughing stock

“Alastor… just… stop” You softly bark, nothing to be rude or uncaring or harsh to your beloved but nothing to be firm, to have him take you seriously, to have him hear you out. Alastor immediately retracts his skilled fingers away from your hairclip, leaving it to stand out against your darker features effectively before he leans back slightly, upon you pulling yourself away from your boyfriend a bit roughly and climbing back up onto the bed to gather the quilts in your palms

Alastor takes a long moment or two to speak, his voice a bit heavy in a small but noticeable tint of rejection and heartbreak. He is now actually worried, worried that you are upset over the desire of wanting to break up with him. Alastor overreacts in this relationship and jumps to conclusions so at this very moment, the Radio Demon is internally begging that the next time you speak, you don’t say ‘it’s over’ in any fashion

“Darling… what’s wrong? You know you can talk to me about anything—“ Alastor didn’t even get the chance to finish and with other people, he’d be greatly annoyed at being cut off so rudely but with you, he cares more about what’s wrong with you than a gesture of respect, such as waiting to speak, so he stays quiet and listens to you, tall deer-like ears sitting up and flicking as a sign that his full attention is on you

“I-It’s… that. You and your friends often… y-you know, ridicule my height. Call me such mean names, call me shortstack, call me a midget, say I can fit into a box, say I am a weak little butterfly. It really hurts hearing that shit from you, of all people, Al”

Alastor didn’t even realise how insecure you are over your height. You’re 4’11, shorter than Vaggie and your beloved seven foot boyfriend loves to mock you about it, right in front of you and to the other Hotel inhabitants. He finds it amusing, he finds it funny, he views it as a joke and as harmless. But he isn’t aware that calling you ‘a caterpillar’ or ‘a baked bean’ just really kills your self-confidence. Yeah, you agreed with Alastor that you’d never show off that you’re dating him but does that mean you have to sit around and listen to him ‘joke’ about your height

“Leitora… I didn’t know you felt that way about my public nicknames for you. Why didn’t you just tell me to stop? I can easily shut Angel and Niffty up from all the remarks” Alastor wonders outloud, clearly now much softer, curious, if not regretful for his mountain of mistakes that lead to your distress. You’ve never seen Alastor feel remorse over anything he had done but here is he, desiring fully that he didn’t beat you up at your most vulnerable spot. He just didn’t know, he thought it was okay since you never brought it up with him. His crimson bloody eyes shine with a glittery gleam of concern and protectiveness

“I couldn’t, Al… everybody would be suspicious if you did something for me without any deal or some bullshit, and not do the same for anybody else when they ask” Alastor can seriously understand that, you’re just doing what you promised him. Not a say word about the relationship… but now, he almost wants to just give up on this covering up the truth nonsense so he can never deliberately, even if regretful, make fun of a factor about you you cannot control

Maybe… he should just suck it up, man up and admit the truth, even if it hurts his reputation. Hurting you hurts his undead soul a lot more

“It also doesn’t help that you’re basically a giant and next to you… I feel like I could be crushed any second and you wouldn’t even notice me. Are you sure you don’t… want a woman whose normal height. A lady you can actually kiss without needing to pick up?” You wouldn’t even mind if Alastor genuinely despised your height and preferred you to be taller. Every single second of you admitting how you feel you’re not good enough for Alastor breaks his undead black emptiness for a heart. He can’t stand that you think so low of yourself, all because of a physical factor you have no control over

He’s exactly 7’3 foot tall, he’s a mighty man with mighty legs and mighty towering length on him. He’s your guardian angel… or guardian demon, since he can oversee you and everything around you easily. You do like that he’s taller but you know it must be painful for him to deal with something two to three feet shorter than him

However, Alastor actually doesn’t want a different woman, he loves you and no matter what you have, he won’t stop loving you. So, Alastor, after taking a another needed moment to absorb the way clear tears hit your pretty delicate face, takes one of your hands and kissing the back of it, his returning voice cutting off the radio effect entirely to make this even more meaningful and sincere as his sharp crimson eyes draw open when he finishes the soft kiss to your hand, held in his in the most gentlemanly way possible, and his natural voice imbued with passionate love

“My dearest. A butterfly may be small but that insect species is a beautiful symbol of grace, elegance and life, you are quite the butterfly since it represents you so well. You may be a shorter woman but the best things come in small packages”

[silverior968]

Jester? I hardly kno- (I am forcibly dragged off stage and away from the microphone)

(also, this was what I made this inspo collage for :])

[Image ID: A digital drawing featuring an altered design of Bittergiggle from Garten of Banban. He's been given a lanky, uneven build and has yellow and white accents in addition to his canon purple and green palette. The purple side is made of more rounded shapes, with his hand being a snake sock puppet with jingle bells for eyes and a piece of green fabric for a tongue. His arm and leg both have patches of white fabric with green and purple dots on them sewn on. The outfit on the purple side consists of a purple slashed pantaloon, where the fabric of the slashes is yellow, a doublet with purple and yellow stripes and a slashed virago sleeve that is otherwise yellow except for the slashes, which are purple. He also has half of a white ruffled collar. This side of his face is frowning, with a purple circular shape on his cheek and a green, flower-like shape around his eye. His pupil is green and his eyebrow is purple. His green side is reminiscent of a harlequin, with a purple, green and yellow diamond-shape pattern doublet and trousers combo. He has a similar collar to Kermit, except longer and uneven, with different sized jingle bells on it. The end of his sleeve also has a white, spiky lining. This side of his face is smiling, with a darker green square shape on his cheek and half of a purple venetian mask-esque pattern around his eye. His eyebrow is green and his pupil is dark purple. The point of his head on this side has a jingle bell on it as well. His feet below the shin seem like they have been swapped, with the one on the purple side having the diamond pattern and a green shoe with a jingle bell on it, and the green side has a white sock and a purple ballerina shoe. The different parts of him look like they have been stitched together. He has a purple belt that goes over both of his sides. The background is a yellow square. The artist's signature, "Silverior968" is placed near his feet. The left side of the image has the first draft of his redesign, with a more simplistic, cartoony design, which has the label "The first draft". Below that is an image of his actual design in game, with the label "canon design". The center of the image is a small doodle of him with the text "R.I.P Bittergiggle you would have loved Jerma". Below that is a green splotch, with black text on top reading "The first draft is how your cat looks at you while he's asking you for treats. The final design is how your cat looks after he's pissed on your pillows." The quote is attributed to Pip. / End ID]

[gx-gameon]

Part 11 of Yugi raises Jaden

Start - pervious

Jaden woke up on a beach. The gentle waves crashing on the shore of the island. As he looked out at the ocean he caught a glimpse of of the sky. It was full of stars and nebulas, Jupiter floating closely by.

Oh, he was back in his dreams. He didn’t know what this place was called but he felt like he did at one point. Like the name was just on the tip of his tongue but he just couldn’t recall it.

But something was different this time. His head was pillowed on top of something. Or more accurately someone as he was using their lap as a pillow and could feel their fingers carding through his hair. He turned his head to look up at the person.

It was a woman with long white hair, her bangs covering one of her eyes. Her large white hat casting shadows over her gentle face. She smiled down warmly at Jaden as the little boy pushed himself into a seated position and turned to face her.

“You’re the Silent Magician!” He said pointing at her. She smiled warmly at him and nodded before pointing over his shoulder.

Jaden turned to see what she was pointing to. Six creatures were racing towards them cheering. A strawberrry colored bird flew towards him trilling in excitement. A soft pink dolphin swam as close as it could to them splashing and squeaking at him happily. A brown larva like bug with a swirl of green on its forehead crawled up to him humming a tone that blended nicely with the bird’s trills. A light brown mole and a purple grey cat like creature dashed to him stoping just short of slamming into him as they gruffed and mewed. Bringing up the rear was a small glowing childlike creature that leaned into him and he could feel rather than hear their humming.

While the creatures looked strange he felt like he had known them all his life as they vied for his attention. He looked back at the Silent Magician, who was watching the scene with open amusement. The woman gave a gentle nod and motioned forward with her hand as if to say ‘go on.’ Jaden smiled as he and the creatures started playing together on the beach.

While there was a whole island to explore they stayed close to the water’s edge so the dolphin could play with all of them. Jaden looked back to see Silent Magician talking to a young boy. He had to be older than Jaden but his white armor with blue and red accents made it hard to place the boy’s age. But he seemed to be watching over Jaden and the other creatures fondly while talking to Silent Magician.

All was peaceful until a light flashed. The small creatures surrounded Jaden protectively. The little cat and mole’s fur standing on edge while the bird’s feathers fluffed up to make itself appear bigger than it was. Jaden took an unconscious step back away from the light. The strange older boy moved quickly to place himself between the light and Jaden’s group, his arm out stretch to keep them behind him.

But Silent Magician was calm as she stood up and gestured for them to all calm down. She recognized this magic. The light took on a golden hue as it started to turn into the shape of a man.

The tense atmosphere lessened. The creatures surrounding Jaden were still cautious but this was obviously not the monster they thought it was.

The form came into view. It was a handsome dark skinned male dressed in golden armor with a white cap and vail completing his flowing ascetic. He took in the scene of scared children in front of him. He placed his staff on the ground and kneeled. “Excuse me for the sudden intrusion. My name is Mahad, I am Pharaoh Atem’s loyal servant and a friend of Yugi Muto.” Jaden perked up at the mention of Yugi’s name.

Mahad had spotted the boy and was about to speak more when a hand landed on his shoulder. He looked up to see Silent Magician smiling down at him. “Ah it good to see you here my friend.” While he had never fought beside Silent Magician he remembered her from Yugi’s duel against Atem. He knew the duel spirit’s loyalty lied firmly with Yugi. She was a powerful sorceress and he was glad she was on their side.

Jaden watched the two spirits interact as he started to step forward. The little creatures stayed close to him, unwilling to leave his side as he approached the unknown. The older boy stayed between Jaden and the magicians but didn’t stop Jaden’s approach, staying one step ahead of him at all times.

“You know d-Yugi?” Jaden asked as he approached the kneeling Magician.

Mahad smiled at the boy. “We are old friends. He wanted me to come check on you.” Mahad didn’t know how much to reveal to the child. He had been told that the boy didn’t remember his dreams upon waking so he was unsure if the boy would know about the apparent threat coming their way.

“Why has Muto sent two of his spirits here?” The white armored boy questions. He still kept himself firmly between Jaden and the two spellcasters. While he had accepted Silent Magician’s presence he could tell that Mahad was different.

“Yugi is with my Pharaoh right now. He is unable to watch over Jaden himself so I offered to ease his worries by coming myself.” Mahad explained to Jaden’s monster spirit. He had never seen this duel spirit before, any of them honestly, they must be new creations. He was about to ask for the young spirit’s name when Jaden ducked under his arm and approached Mahad.

“Is d-Yugi okay?” The little boy asked worriedly.

Mahad smiled reassuringly at the boy. “He’s perfectly safe. He and the Pharaoh had some things to discuss and then he will return to you.” The tension that had been in Jaden seemed to ease instantly at that news.

“He’ll be home soon.” The little boy smiled up at Mahad and Silent Magician.

The armored boy, seeing as his master had decided to trust the two Magicians, had left his side momentarily to pick up the pink dolphin from the waves. The little creature had been making quite the fuss since it was unable to accompany Jaden like the others. The boy scooped the small dolphin up and brought it over to the rest of the group. The creature wiggled the whole way over, only calming when Jaden laid his palm on it’s forehead.

For a moment all was peaceful.

Then another light exploded on the beach. The brightness of it was almost blinding. And with it came a horrific shrieking sound. Jaden covered his ears and cried out as his spirits crowded around him to shield him. Mahad and Silent Magician moving into protective stances in front of the children.

The light had a cold silvery glow to it before the creature within revealed itself. Darkness enveloped the light and in front of them stood a fiend. The fiend raised their head to look at them. They had split colored hair, the right side being white and the left side being purple. Actually they seemed to be split down their whole body. Having an orange eye and feminine body on the right side and a teal eye and masculine body on the left side. The only part of them that seemed symmetrical were they dragon like wings that flared out from their back.

“Jaden how could you send me away!” The fiend shouted at the little boy taking an aggressive step forward.

Jaden took a step back. Responding in a shaky voice. “Who- who are you?” That was obviously not the right thing to say as the fiend grew more enraged.

“How could you forget me? You promised you’d never abandon me!” The fiend took another step forward.

“That’s enough!” Mahad called from his place between the little boy and the enraged spirit. “Explain yourself.” Mahad didn’t know why this Spirit was so enraged but he was starting to put the pieces together. But how could a spirit hold so much rage for a child.

The fiend snapped their head towards Mahad. “Explain myself? To you? I am his protector and guardian. You would be explaining your presence to me.” The fiend flared their wings aggressively.

“Protector? You’re terrifying him.” Mahad rebuked the idea. The Silent Magician moving to block Jaden from the fiend’s view. Both spellcasters had sworn their lives to protect their masters’. They couldn’t imagine treating Atem of Yugi the way this fiend was treating Jaden.

The fiend snarled at them. “He abandoned me! He let them send me away!” They then turned their attention to Jaden once more. “Why did you send me away? They’re hurting me!” They took another step forward and the Silent Magician brandished her wand to signal for them to back off.

“That’s enough!” Mahad argued back. “A protector does not behave this way. We accept our master’s will. If you were sent away by other people then it was not Jaden’s fault.” Mahad could understand anger at others for separating you from your master but the rage they had against Jaden was unnatural for a sworn protector to feel. Actually everything about this felt wrong. Why had a fiend appeared in a burst of light? Something wasn’t right here. The whole reality had shifted as soon as they had arrived. There was something wrong here. Something powerful at play.

But the fiend wasn’t going to give Mahad time to figure it out. “And who are you to tell me my role? Who are you to stand between me and Jaden?” They cried as they launched themselves forward. Jaden screamed as they flew forward. The white armored boy flying between Jaden and the attack.

Silent Magician attacked the fiend trying to stop the incoming attack. The fiend screamed in pain but didn’t stop. They crashed right into Silent Magician. The Magician opened her mouth in a silent scream as she shattered and returned to her card.

Mahad was shocked. This fiend had just tanked a hit form Silent Magician and destroyed her. But he couldn’t waste time processing that as Jaden screamed in terror watching the spirit Yugi had left him get destroyed. The fiend turned her attention to Jaden and the small child-like monster spirits trying to protect him. The fiend raised their hand to attack and Mahad was having none of it.

Mahad rushed forward and attacked the fiend creature. They were dark type monster spirit so his attack strength doubled. There was no way 5000 attack points wasn’t enough to silence this fiend.

“In the name of the Pharaoh I vanquish thee.” Mahad called as he struck down the fiend. They screamed in pain and staggered away from Jaden. Mahad expected victory but then the fiend stood and rushed him.

“Tell your Pharaoh you failed.” They sneered as they struck him and he felt the moment he left that reality. The last thing he heard was Jaden’s terrified scream.

He opened his eyes and found himself back in the afterlife. This wasn’t good! He had to tell Atem and Yugi immediately.

————————————————————————

Jaden watched horrified as the two protectors Yugi had sent him were swiftly defeated. the fiend stood up and looked at Jaden.

“There now were alone. Well almost.” They said sneering at the monster spirits surrounding Jaden. The boy is white armor launched himself at the fiend and all Jaden could do is scream as he watched his older friend disappear before his eyes.

He was in so much trouble here.

————————————————————————

Joey had fallen asleep after tucking Jaden in. There was only two beds in the apartment Mokuba had lead them to. Mokuba took his regular bed for himself and told them they could use Seto’s. Joey had given the bed to Jaden so that the little one could sleep well. It wasn’t the first time Joey had camped out on the floor.

He had stayed up for a bit playing games on his phone or looking over his deck. He wanted to make sure Jaden wasn’t having one of the nightmares Yugi told him about. But Jaden seemed to be fine and eventually sleep caught up to Joey.

A few hours later Jaden started to toss and turn whimpering in his sleep. Yet this didn’t rouse Joey. What did wake the blond duelist up was the bright flash of light. Joey’s eyes flew open to see what had just disturbed his rest.

There on the bed next to Jaden lay the Silent Magician card. The card was glowing as if it was trying to get Joey’s attention.

That’s when Joey heard a whimpering sound. His eyes traveled from the card to Jaden. The little boy’s face was all scrunched up and he was whimpering. Joey started to approach to wake the kid up when he started screaming and trashing.

Joey moved quickly to the boy’s side grabbing his shoulders and shaking him. “Jaden wake up! It’s not real!”

All of the commotion woke up Mokuba as the young business man jumped from his bed. “Whats happening?” He shout out over the screams.

“Jaden’s having one of his nightmares.” Joey called as he kept trying to rouse the screaming boy. “Come on buddy wake up!” He hadn’t realized just how bad these nightmares were. Yugi had told him they were violent but he hadn’t imagined this.

Finally Jaden’s eyes flew open, a scream dying in his lips. All was silent for a second, as Jaden sat there staring straight ahead.

“Jay?” Joey asked cautiously gaining the little boys attention. The little one turned his head to look at Joey. Once they landed on the blond duelist his eyes welled up with tears and he launched himself into Joey’s arms sobbing. “Whoa,” Joey said as he caught the young boy. “Hey it’s okay buddy I got you. You’re safe now. It’s over.” Joey tried his best to sooth the hysterical child in his arms, his eyes meeting Mokuba’s in a wide panic.

What was that? Why was Jaden having such terrifying night terrors?

Joey knew the reason why Yugi had come to the Kaiba brother was to see if they could find out more about Jaden’s history but, now he understood his friend’s desperation to do so. These night terrors were unbearable to witness. The absolute terror that Jaden experienced from them was heartbreaking and to see it night after night had to wreak his friend.

They sat there for a while, Joey gently soothing Jaden as the boy cried. At some point Mokuba had left and returned with a glass of water for the boy. The three of them were sitting quietly as Jaden was exhausted but unable to sleep, when Mokuba’s tablet started going haywire.

He ran and grabbed it before freezing. He dropped the tablet and ran out of the room.

“Whats wrong?” Joey called as he started to stand, Jaden still in his arms, to follow.

“It’s Seto’s vital’s! It’s stopped sending a signal!” Mokuba yelled in return, not stopping to see if Joey was following.

“What!” Joey shouted as he took off after the young tech wiz. “Now’s not the time to die rich boy.” He muttered under his breath as he ran to catch up with Mokuba. His head spinning with question. What happened to Kaiba? And would it happen to Yugi?

The little creatures that come over to Jaden are Chrysalis Chicky, Dolphin, Larva, Mole, Pantail, and Pinny. The baby versions of Jaden’s Neospacians. And the. The boy in white armor is Neos Alius which is basically a kid Neos. I wanted the Neo spacians to be protecting Jaden in his dreams but to also be kids and playmates for their young king.

Also Yubel can’t be destroyed in battle but can destroy the monster that attacks them? I know they reflect the damage to the opponent so that’s why they can’t defeat them.

Hopefully my vision came through.

Guys we are almost done with our frist arc!!!

[waywardrose]

THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY 26

stranger things

eddie munson x reader

rated e

8.3k

spotify playlist

for @punk-in-docs​​​

fem/witch/goth!reader, sweetheart!eddie, magic, slow burn (for me), friends to lovers, angst with a happy ending, no y/n only pet names, series-typical horror, period-typical sexism and homophobia, historical inaccuracies and anachronisms, drug dealing and use, smoking, alcohol use, masturbation, mutual masturbation, fantasizing, one-bed trope, making out, fingering, dirty talk, chasing, oral sex, handjobs, condoms, piv sex, reader’s father is a dirtbag, mild spanking, magical violation, mental torture, body horror, blood, aftercare, nightmares, strict parenting, panic attack, past child abuse and abandonment, semi-public sex, break-ups, running away, guns, fist fighting, everyone survives, suicide ideation, tags will be updated as needed

Eddie would have to wait until his lunch break to see this new, hot, weird chick. He wondered which flavor of weird she was. Art weird? Theater weird? Band weird? Weird weird? He shrugged. He liked weird. In other words, you’re the new girl in town, and Eddie is intrigued.

note: Heed the tags ⬆️ and message me if you need spoilers. I don't want anyone being hurt or triggered from a fic.

26

His eyes opened to a tasteful, if dull, room. The full-length beige curtains were half-opened. Gray light dithered through the white sheers. Rain tapped on the window beyond.

The pile of pillows he reclined on smelled of detergent and his dirty hair. He suspected all the linens would have to be washed once he gathered enough strength to shower. Same with the borrowed briefs and undershirt.

Who would’ve thought he’d be wearing King Steve’s precious underwear?

He knew that was an ungenerous thought. King Steve was just Steve now. Steve had pulled him out of the Upside Down. Steve was a big damn hero.

That applied to you as well. You’d saved him twice yesterday. Most people would’ve given up after all the shit he’d put you through. They would’ve run away, and not curl on the bed next to him. With their pretty face smushed into a pillow. And they certainly wouldn’t have worn cozy pajamas and a hoodie and socks with little flowers on them.

He remembered the taste of your skin and sweat, your heady blood just below the surface. Your gasps and twists had reminded him of other, sweeter times when he had your taste on his tongue. It would’ve been so easy to feast and keep a little part of you with him forever.

Paper fluttered in the corner. He jerked his head up, regretting it right away. Muscles along his upper back strained. The top of his head tightened. He blinked a few times until the corner came into focus.

Speak — or this case, think — of the Devil… Steve sat in an armchair, a nearby lamp’s golden light accenting his perfect face. He’d propped a magazine across his crossed leg. His right arm was braced in a sling. A purple bruise haloed one of his eyes. Despite that, he had an air of strength.

Steve glanced at him, looked down, then looked up with wide eyes. He tossed the magazine on the side-table and stood.

In a hushed tone, Steve said, “Hey, man.”

“He—ey.” He cleared his throat as quietly as possible. “When you get here?”

Steve went to the nightstand, saying, “To the house? Last night.” He offered a refillable Santa Claus Land drink container. “In here? I don’t know. Maybe an hour.”

He pulled his arms from under the bedspread to take the container from Steve. The candy-cane striped crazy-straw swayed while the water inside sloshed. Steve put a hand under the container to steady it.

“Shit, thanks, man.”

“No prob.”

He swallowed a few mouthfuls of cool water before nodding that was enough. It wasn’t, but he didn’t think he could hold the container for much longer.

“How are you?” he asked before nodding at Steve’s sling. “What happened?”

“Demogorgon.”

“Jesus Christ.” He watched Steve arrange the nightstand to make it easier for him to pick up the container later. “You gonna be okay?”

“It’s just a sprain and some stitches.”

He didn’t point out Steve’s bat bites from their tour of the Upside Down. They probably matched his own.

“I guess we’ll have to give up on our dream of being bathing-suit models, huh?”

Steve chuckled and straightened to his full height.

“I’m sure tens of people will mourn the loss.”

Smirking, he said, “Don’t be so sure, big boy. You have quite the fan club.”

Steve rolled his eyes with a self-deprecating smile. It projected that good-boy ‘oh, golly gee’ quality that was the antithesis of the person he saw bite the head off a demobat and spit the blood. However, he wasn’t interested in giving Steve a pep talk right now. Steve wouldn’t want to hear it from him, anyway.

As if anyone should come to him for pep talks.

“So, uh, did you— uh…” he oh-so eloquently began. “Did you talk to her?”

Steve glanced at you sleeping on the other side of the bed — something about his eyes softened — before shaking his head.

“No, man, she’s been conked out the whole time.”

He let his head fall against the pillows. If that was the case, you hadn’t told Steve what he’d done to you. How he’d chased you and knocked you around. He’d threatened you and said all this heinous shit. God, he’d killed someone in front of you — with his teeth.

“How’s everyone else?” he asked.

Steve made a so-so face.

“Nancy and Robin are banged up, but they’ll be okay. Dustin hurt his sprained ankle some more, so he’s stuck at home.” He scratched at his jaw, humming. “Max had to have her arm reset. Lucas and Erica are the least injured, unsurprising, but the rest of the party’s in rough shape.”

“They’ll pull through?”

“Oh, yeah—”

The doorbell cut off Steve’s sentence. You jerked onto an elbow. He attempted to sit, but everything protested. He flopped back with a wince.

“Who the hell’s that?” he asked.

Steve said, “That’s probably Nance.”

“Oh, shit!” You sat and wiped the sleep from your eyes. “What time is it?”

Steve checked his wristwatch.

“4:34.”

“Shit.”

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“They’re negotiating terms, or whatever, with the government.”

“Like a ceasefire or something?”

“Something like that.”

You gave Steve an incredulous look while saying, “Yeah, something like that.” The fabric creases on your cheek from the pillowcase undermined your snark. You stood and hurried to the bedroom door. “Don’t just stand there being pretty. Answer the door. Offer drinks. Stall for time.”

Steve’s shoulders pulled back without an ounce of irony.

“Yes, ma’am.”

You left the door open and disappeared into the hallway. The thick carpet muted your retreating steps.

Eddie grinned and dragged the bedspread up his chest.

“Whipped already, Harrington?”

“Eat me, Munson.”

“You wish.” He waved his hand towards the door. “Better hop to it. You don’t want her mad.”

Steve gave him the finger as he headed for the door, but it was halfhearted.

After Steve closed the door, Eddie slumped and stared at the ceiling. There was no way anyone could hold you or the rest of the party responsible for the gates opening. That was all on Vecna, who was dead. Or at least scattered to the wind.

As he well knew, though, people needed to pin the blame on someone. It eased mass hysteria. And Hawkins did love to work itself into a tizzy. According to Erica, they’d eaten up Jason Carver’s bullshit at that town-hall meeting. The next night, the gates opened.

He asked himself who they’d blame for that.

Yeah, he thought with a snort. Him.

He wasn’t dead, but he was dead. He was screwed. He was fucked.

The police wouldn’t need to issue a man-hunt, either. It took all his energy to get up to take a piss. He was a sitting duck. A chew-toy duck. A— an… other metaphor he couldn’t think of at the moment.

Through the thin undershirt, he rubbed at a puckered scar on his side. His naked fingers felt too light. His isolated mind felt too small. There was space to think, to remember, yet too much seclusion. He shouldn’t miss the extra presence or the silent communication or the truest sense of purpose.

He thought of a cored apple. Yes, all the consumable flesh was there, but the fundamental reason for existing had been removed.

He looked at the window again, wondering if he could escape the oncoming tribunal — or reach terminal velocity before hitting the ground.

-

You spit mouthwash into the sink and splashed cold water on your face. Following that, you managed your hair and excavated the tube of concealer from your makeup bag. Beyond covering the dark circles under your eyes, it seemed pointless to gussy up.

The doorbell rang again.

You hesitated when you caught sight of the mascara. With a disgusted sound, because you didn’t have time to hem and haw, you coated your lashes.

Multiple voices resounded from the foyer below.

You tiptoed from the bathroom, yanking off your sleep clothes as you went. You threw them on the bed to redress in fresh jeans and a long-sleeved top to hide the chemical burn on your forearm.

The doorbell rang a third time.

With no time to lose, you tightened the laces of your boots and left the bedroom. From the open-gallery hallway, stilted conversation became louder. Lit lamps warmed the gray light coming through the windows. Unfortunately, it did nothing to make the atmosphere more pleasant.

A man wearing a grandpa sweater and khakis — Dr. Owens, you presumed — and a dark-haired woman in a business suit sat on one of the sofas. A high-ranking Army officer leaned on a cane by the fireplace, his right arm in a cast and sling.

Nancy sat opposite Dr. Owens, a blue binder on her lap. Steve came into the living room with two glasses of ice water and handed one to each woman. He turned to head for the kitchen and noticed you looking down.

If he noticed, the others would soon enough.

Your overworked thighs quivered as you descended the stairs. You had to maintain a grip on the handrail to keep from toppling into the foyer. Conversation ceased when you’d made it halfway.

You inhaled as you rounded the end of the stairs. You could do this. Nancy had a game plan. You would follow her lead. Her injuries took you aback, though. Her left eye was bloodshot, cheekbone bruised and swollen. A long scab ran diagonally across the side of her mouth. A choker of bruises ringed her neck. There was more damage below the collar, no doubt, but her long-sleeved blouse and slacks concealed them.

She’d sounded fine on the phone this morning. When you’d asked after her, she replied she’d heal. While that was true, you couldn’t let her leave today without doing something.

She introduced you to Dr. Owens, who stood to shake your hand. His discolored cheekbone sported a short row of stitches. He presented Agent Stinson and Lieutenant Colonel Jack Sullivan. You shook their hands before taking a seat beside Nancy.

Steve walked in then with two more glasses of ice water for Owens and Sullivan. He looked at you, raising his eyebrows in offer. You nodded with a brief grin.

As Steve headed to the kitchen once more, Owens said, “Well, I don’t know about you, but that was one of the worst Saturdays I’ve ever had.”

“That’s an understatement,” you said.

Sullivan’s sharp eyes focused on you.

“Where did you go after breaking into the Roane County coroner’s office?”

Owens aborted his reach for his glass and angled to look at Sullivan.

“Jack, I don’t think we need to start this with an interrogation.”

Sullivan regarded Owens for a moment, his expression unreadable.

Steve entered the room, disrupting the growing tension, with an ice water for you. He placed the glass on a nearby coaster on the coffee table. You murmured your thanks as he perched on the sofa’s high arm.

Nancy cleared her throat.

“This morning, you—” She looked at Owens. “—said the government owed us a debt.”

“I did.”

“We have a few objectives we think are reasonable.”

Sullivan leaned on his cane as he took a step away from the fireplace.

“Without disclosure of Eleven’s location or the return of Edward Munson’s body, I will not indulge the demands of teenagers.”

“We don’t know Eleven’s location,” said Nancy.

“She’s a weapon, trained by a rogue faction—”

Owens said, “Of this government. She’s not a threat to national security.”

“Yet she turned her powers on my men.”

“When they threatened her and her friends.” He held up his hand in concession. “Which was an unnecessary show of force on your people’s part.”

Sullivan’s lips thinned, but it barely hid his sneer.

“They’re not the enemy,” Owens said, gesturing towards your side of the living room. “They’ve agreed to meet with us. They’ve invited us into one of their homes.”

Nancy said, “El doesn’t want to hurt anyone. She never has. She’s only ever defended us.”

With a nod, you said, “She’s an American hero.”

Nancy gave you a double-take before a spirited look spread across her features.

“Yes, exactly. She was kidnapped by a rogue government agent, yes, but an American government agent, nonetheless. She operated with American interest in mind. When she escaped—”

Sullivan huffed in disbelief.

“When she escaped,” Nancy said with more force. “That government agency hunted her down, but Eleven stood up to them. She knew they were wrong. She agreed with you, Colonel Sullivan.”

He didn’t appear mollified.

Owens said, “When your forces seized the Nina headquarters, she didn’t know who you were. All she knew was that soldiers were shooting people who had helped her.”

“Who’d come together to do what, Sam? Start a new group of long-distance assassins?” Sullivan asked.

Owens sighed.

“It’s all in the logs — that you and your people have access to. Eleven is the last viable subject in Martin’s experiment.”

“Why should I believe you after you lied repeatedly?”

Stinson said, “That was at the behest of Dr. Brenner, sir.”

“Read the logs and transcripts. Watch the tapes. It’s all there,” Owens said.

“What about One, Brenner’s initial test subject, who you claim is responsible for this entire disaster? Where is he?”

You intuited from the question One meant Vecna.

It might be a mistake, but you said, “He’s dead.”

“You know this for a fact?” asked Sullivan.

“I don’t have proof, if that’s what you mean.”

“Why’s that?”

“One existed in another dimension, parallel to this one.”

Owens added, “And with all the links between the dimensions now closed, it’s impossible to confirm his death.”

“But he is dead,” you said.

Sullivan sighed, then shifted his weight. The muscles in his jaw flexed. That wasn’t only from frustration, you thought. That was from pain. You wanted to suggest he sit, but you knew he wouldn’t consider it.

“So, let’s sum up,” said Sullivan, voice tight. “Eleven remains unaccounted for and One is presumed dead. That’s all the intel you have.”

Nancy said, “Yes, sir.”

“What about Edward Munson?”

“Sir?”

“He’d been dead for almost 36 hours. Then yesterday he destroyed the coroner’s cold storage, brought down a reinforced door, killed a soldier—” He looked at you. “—and threatened her.”

You met Nancy’s eyes and gave her a minute nod before addressing Sullivan.

“He was under One’s influence the whole time. All that had been One.”

“How’s that?”

“I don’t know, sir. I’m not like One.”

His eyes narrowed.

“How are you like, then?”

Something about his phrasing had you tense and shaky. You held your body still and forced yourself to meet his gaze.

“I don’t understand.”

Maybe there was footage of you taking apart the deadbolt at the coroner’s. You hadn’t seen a camera anywhere, though.

“How did you know Munson was in the building?”

“As I said to the guards, I’d been separated from my parents. The ER told me to check at the coroner’s.”

Owens said, “Jack, she didn’t—”

Sullivan ignored him to say, “Your parents are in Cincinnati, Ohio as we speak, but I think you knew that even then.”

Your mind blanked. Joining this negotiation had been a huge mistake. You should’ve stayed upstairs with Eddie.

“This is beside the point,” Owens said, scooting to the end of the sofa. “She was there. She was trying to help.” His voice rose as he continued. “Are you going to haul her in? Because what? Because she put herself at risk? Because she’s a brave girl who wanted to find her friend?”

You swallowed around the sudden thickness in your throat and adjusted the neck of your shirt with trembling fingers.

“We owe these people our lives,” Owens said to Sullivan. “The least—” He shook his head. “The least we can do is compensate them for their sacrifice and courage.”

Sullivan and Owens stared at each other for a fraught, silent moment.

You gripped the cushion on either side of your thighs. There had to be something you could do, cast a memory spell on Sullivan or sweeten your words with magic to get him to back off — or rewind the past few minutes and, this time, keep your mouth shut.

“Debrief is tomorrow, 0800,” Sullivan said.

“We will be there,” Owens said, indicating himself and Stinson.

Sullivan scanned the room. His stony gaze lingered on you. The look said this wouldn’t be the last time you saw him. However, you wouldn’t have to be so civilized next time. Eddie would be healed — everyone would be healed — and you’d be at full power.

He drew himself up and strode from the room, his cane beating a steady rhythm.

When the front door closed behind Sullivan, you slouched into the sofa. Your shoulder bumped into Steve’s thigh. Instead of pulling away, he let you use him for support.

Nancy, Owens, and Stinson became less stiff.

Collectively, everyone sighed.

You muttered, “Jesus Christ, I need a cigarette.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Owens said, reaching for his water. “So, how about we take ten and regroup?”

You nodded and stood while Nancy agreed. Steve offered Owens and Stinson more water or a snack. Without lingering to hear their answer, you left the living room. You hauled yourself to the second floor, surprised that going up the stairs wasn’t as difficult as descending them.

Now doubly thankful you’d retrieved your car from the hospital’s parking lot last night, you fetched the pack of Djarums from your purse. Your hands quivered with the last dregs of adrenaline. You stretched your neck and shoulders to dispel the tension.

Eddie must’ve heard Owens raise his voice. You needed to check on Eddie and assure him. You hurried to Eddie’s room without trying to appear you were hurrying. Owens and Stinson sat on the sofa below, conversing in low tones. In the meantime, Nancy had disappeared. You assumed she’d gone to the kitchen with Steve.

You tapped on Eddie’s door and entered. He lay on the wedge of pillows, comforter halfway up his chest. His gaze never strayed from the window.

Closing the door, you asked, “Would you like me to open the curtains?”

“Nothing out there I need to see.”

That sounded un-Eddie-like. Not in a Vecna way, but not like the Eddie you knew.

You approached the bed.

“Are you hungry? Can I refill your drink?”

“No, thanks.”

You glanced around, trying to come up with something. Then you remembered you wanted to assure him.

“Everything’s okay down there, alright? They know everything that happened wasn’t you.”

He nodded without turning his head.

Maybe movement hurt too much.

“Would you like something for the pain?” You stepped closer. “I can get—”

“No. Thank you.”

“I have lotion we can put on the scars. If you don’t want that, I can run to the drugstore and pick up ointment or…”

He gave you the quickest of glances.

“I’m fine. I just want to sleep.”

“Right, of course.” You drew your bottom lip between your teeth. “This shouldn’t take long. Then we’ll have dinner.”

He nodded again.

“Sounds good.”

You backed away before heading to the door, because you didn’t want to bug him. He was tired and uncomfortable and had been through hell. You couldn’t expect him to return to his normal self in a matter of hours. That wasn’t fair. You weren’t your normal self right now, either.

With your hand on the doorknob, you said, “Everything’s going to be okay, I promise. We’ll fix this.”

“I know you will, sweetheart. You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met.”

Abrupt, hot tears stole any reply. Your throat clicked as you swallowed. You ducked your head and left the bedroom — even though it was the last thing you wanted to do. You couldn’t demand his attention, though. There was no time, and he needed to rest. Besides, you weren’t the one who’d been chewed on by demobats, died alone in the hospital, been taken over by a multi-dimensional psycho, and had their heart stop after pushing said psycho from their mind.

A heavy tear rolled down the outside of your cheek. You brushed it away, taking a deep breath and making your way to the stairs. Your chest felt lighter than it had in days, like that tear had unburdened you of the weight of uncertainty.

Everything was going to be fine. Sullivan had made his veiled accusations and left. Owens and Stinson seemed more accommodating. The worst part of the day was over.

Descending the stairs was still a bitch, though.

Since you doubted Steve would appreciate you smoking in his parents’ house, you’d find a dry place outside. You confirmed the plastic lighter was nestled in the pack. You probably should’ve done that before coming downstairs, but you weren’t accustomed to your legs being made of jelly.

You opened the front door, happy to see no trace of Sullivan outside. Footsteps thudded into the foyer.

As you turned, Steve asked, “Hey, mind if I join you?” holding his own pack of cigarettes.

“Of course not,” you said, wiggling your pack. “Join me in shortening our lives.”

He snorted and trotted through the doorway into the drizzle. You closed the door behind you, following him to his car parked in the enclosed carport. He half-sat on the front of the car, the toes of his sneakers a millimeter from the boundary of dry concrete. You half-sat next to him, stuck a Djarum between your lips, and lit it.

Steve shook a cigarette from the dented pack — Camels — one-handed and brought the pack to his lips. Before he could struggle with lighting the cigarette, you sparked a flame with your lighter and brought it to the tip.

Out of the corner of his mouth, he said, “Thanks.”

You shrugged in acknowledgement, inhaling spicy-sweet smoke, and stowed the lighter.

“How’s Eddie?” he asked.

“Tired. A little down, I think.”

Steve nodded.

“These are his, you know.” He showed the pack. “Don’t tell him I stole them from his vest.”

You chuckled and shook your head.

He asked, “What?”

“I see his taste has improved.”

“What do you mean?”

“He used to smoke these godawful donkey-shit cigarettes.”

Steve laughed.

“I introduced him to these,” you said, holding up the burning Djarum, “and, uh, he really liked them. I guess these spoiled the cheap ones.”

“Guess so.”

The rain pattered on the carport roof, made the tree leaves shimmy. Colors appeared richer. Shadows deepened. A gentle, low mist cocooned the house. The government-issued sedan parked nearby was glossy black, its foggy glass streaked with water.

Steve’s voice was soft when he said, “You know, I don’t usually smoke.”

You hummed for him to keep talking, then took a drag from the Djarum.

“I used to smoke more, but Nancy didn’t like it.”

You noted the past tense as you exhaled.

“You were together?”

“Yeah, before the shit hit the fan. Well, and after it — for a while. But it didn’t work out. Obviously.”

“What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”

Smoke trailed from between his lips as he said, “A veritus wino.”

You grinned at him before ashing the Djarum away from either of your shoes.

“You mean, in vino veritas?”

He blushed.

“Uh, yeah, that.” He smoothed a thumb over the front of his eyebrow. “We were at a party and had a fight.”

“That kinda stuff happens.”

“I was a shitty boyfriend.”

“Are you still?”

“A shitty boyfriend?” He shrugged and tapped his cigarette ash towards the house. “I don’t know.”

“How about that date you had? The one Dustin mentioned. How’d that go?”

“Brenda, yeah. Eh. I don’t think that’s going to turn into anything.” “Not what you’re looking for, huh?”

You read his crooked frown easily enough. Brenda was pretty and sweet, but she couldn’t live up to some imaginary standard he’d set.

You said, “Being in a relationship’s not easy. I mean, me and Eddie aren’t perfect or anything.”

An element of irony laced his words. “Of course not.”

“We were ‘paused’ when Vecna killed Chrissy.” You finished your Djarum and stubbed it out on the sole of your boot. “Actually, we’d been paused since Christmas.”

“What? Why?”

“Stuff with his music writing and the band and some competition that doesn’t matter anymore. Because who knows if there’s a band at all after all this.”

You didn’t know if any of Eddie’s guitars — or amps or written songs — had survived the fissure opening, either. No wonder he was so dispirited. You would be, too. He loved that red guitar. If none of them had made it, he couldn’t be the lead guitarist for Corroded Coffin — or any other band.

Steve said, “But you came for him.”

“Of course I did.”

The front door jerked open.

You startled to the side, breath catching and making you cough. Steve’s shoulders tensed as he straightened.

Nancy stuck her head out.

“Hey, it’s been more than ten minutes.”

Patting your chest and swallowing, you said, “We’re coming.”

Steve took a last puff on his cigarette and ground it out on the concrete. Nancy ducked inside, leaving the door ajar. You left the Djarums on the foyer table and detoured to the first-floor powder room to throw the cigarette butt in the toilet. Steve followed and handed over his cigarette butt when you held out your palm. You flushed the toilet and went to the living room where Nancy, Owens, and Stinson waited.

You returned to your spot on the sofa and drank from your untouched glass. Steve sat on Nancy’s other side as she opened her binder. She’d listed the objectives you two had discussed on the phone this morning in neat bullet points.

She cleared her throat and looked to Owens, who gave her an encouraging nod.

“We’re all ears,” he said.

With a deep breath, she began listing the objectives:

“Party members’ healthcare costs, including delayed and/or ongoing care, are paid in full until each respective member is fully recovered according to them and their doctor of choice.

“Repair to damaged property by the craftsmen of the member’s choosing is paid in full by May 30, 1986.

“Property that is damaged beyond repair, according to craftsmen of the member’s choosing, is to be replaced, with member approval, and paid in full by May 30, 1986.

“All hotel or motel bookings, along with food and meals for members and their families while repairs or replacements of property are taking place, will be paid in full.

“Any official documents pertaining to Edward Munson’s death will be expunged from public record by March 31, 1986.

“Any official documents pertaining to James Hopper Jr.’s death will be expunged from public record by March 31, 1986.

“Edward Munson’s name will be cleared of any wrong-doing by April 6, 1986.

“Edward Munson’s innocence, with accusations retracted, will be made public in the newspapers and broadcasts that previously named him as a suspect by April 6, 1986.”

She turned the page and continued reading.

“All surviving seniors at Hawkins High School, regardless of standing or further attendance, are to officially graduate with creditable transcripts and receive official diplomas before May 22, 1986.

“Jonathan Byers and Argyle Franco are to officially graduate with creditable transcripts and receive official diplomas from Lenora Hills High School before May 22, 1986.

“All adult party members will be given a yearly net stipend of $30,000 for four years, starting April 30, 1986.

“All underage party members upon high-school graduation will be granted funds to obtain a degree from an accredited post-secondary institution of higher learning, both being of the respective member’s choosing, until said degree is earned — with option for post-graduate education.

“Upon request and with no time limit, all adult party members will be granted funds to obtain a degree from an accredited post-secondary institution of higher learning, both being of the respective member’s choosing, until said degree is earned — with option for post-graduate education.

“Jane Hopper is not to be contacted, approached, or tracked by any country’s government agency, or persons or organizations working on any government’s behalf.

“All other party members are not to be approached or tracked by any country’s government agency, or persons or organizations working on any government’s behalf.”

Owens’s face went through understanding, even nodding along, to surprise, then wide-eyed disbelief. You understood his shock. However, Nancy and you agreed if the party didn’t ask, the party would never receive.

After a pregnant pause, Owens said, “That’s a long list there.” He held out his hand. “May I see?”

Nancy opened the binder rings, freed the pages, and handed them to Owens. Steve met your eyes over her back. His astonished expression had you raising your eyebrows at him. He covered it by going to the fireplace to retrieve Sullivan’s undrunk water.

“Alrighty, let’s see…” Owens bobbed his head in thought. “Most of these things I can have happen. The timeframe you ladies have given is going to be a challenge.”

Luckily, she’d written a second copy. Scanning it, you checked the dates. They didn’t seem unreasonable to you.

Nancy asked, “What can’t you have happen, Dr. Owens?”

“That stipend, for one.” He frowned. “The college education for the adults will be a hard sell.”

You asked, “No disrespect here, Doctor, but how much are our lives worth? All of us?”

Nancy nodded, and said, “Yours? Agent Stinson’s? Colonel Sullivan and his men? All our families? Hawkins?”

Stinson glanced at Owens, her stoic face tempered into a question.

He met her gaze with a sigh.

“Tuition can be funneled through the Pell Grant program. We can flag their Social Security numbers for full funding.”

“All they’d have to do is apply for the next school year,” Stinson said.

Owens grunted in agreement before saying, “That stipend, though…”

Steve said, “We deserve that, because some of us lost everything.”

Nancy bent her head, knuckles turning white as they held the edges of the binder.

You glanced at her, then at Steve, who said:

“A government agency destroyed our town and killed our friends.”

“We wouldn’t have gone through any of this,” Nancy said and lifted her head, eyes red-rimmed. “If it hadn’t been for Hawkins National Laboratory.”

Steve added, “And the Russians.”

Owens tilted his head in silent concession.

“The higher-ups will want signed NDAs from each of you regardless if they agree to these terms.”

“I won’t sign an NDA unless these terms are met — in full,” you said.

“That’s a dangerous game to play,” Stinson said, not unkindly.

“What can they do to me that Henry Creel hasn’t already done?”

That fuckface. He’d tortured you, stolen a vital part of you, and murdered you. He’d tried to turn Eddie against you. He’d tried to invade this dimension and exterminate human life.

Perhaps you hadn’t stopped Vecna alone. Actually, you were certain you hadn’t. Yet you’d survived him, and you’d survive whatever mundane crap the government could throw at you.

Owens frowned and waved a placating hand.

“There’ll be no need for that.” To Stinson, he asked, “Money channeled through SSA?”

She shrugged a shoulder with a considering look.

“FEMA?”

He grunted at the possibility.

To you, Nancy, and Steve, he said, “You’ve given me quite the to-do list,” and stood.

Stinson rose to her feet and stepped out of the way for Owens to pass.

“We’ll be in touch,” he said with a wry look and a flourish of papers. Nancy snapped the binder’s rings closed as Owens and Stinson left the house. Exhaling, she placed the binder on the coffee table.

“You didn’t need to stick your neck out like that,” she said to you.

“Maybe. Maybe not. But I did.” You studied the side of her bruised face. “Someone had to force their hand.”

“When do you think we’ll hear from them?” Steve asked.

Nancy said, “Hopefully, tomorrow.”

Steve nodded.

“Well… I’m gonna start on dinner.” To Nancy, he asked, “You want to stay?”

Her knitted brow, paired with the slight tilt of her head, said she wanted to refuse, but didn’t know a polite way of doing so.

Before she replied, you said, “Stay. I can heal you after.”

“Like cast a spell?”

“Yup, I did it for Lucas before Vecna tried to invade.” You pointed at your unblemished jaw. “Jason Carver punched me here.”

Her eyes widened.

“Yeah, sure, okay.” She turned to Steve. “Can you make dinner one-handed?”

“I can make a better one with more hands.”

Now you felt like an asshole for not offering to heal Steve earlier.

“Wait,” you said to Steve. “I can heal you, but I…” You looked away as you gauged your strength. “I don’t know if I can heal you both.”

You concluded you weren’t quite rested enough to do that. Especially considering Nancy’s numerous bruises, and Steve’s arm was sprained and cut to ribbons.

Steve dismissed the offer with a raspberry. “Do me tomorrow.”

As if that wasn’t a loaded statement. You grinned at him, eyebrow quirked.

His cheeks flared red.

“I’m going to the kitchen now.”

He marched from the living room, half-full glass in hand.

Nancy cleared her throat and took a sip of water, though neither disguised her amusement. She shared an entertained look with you before standing.

“I’m going to check on Eddie,” you said. “Then I’ll be down to help.”

She said, “Okay,” before heading to the kitchen.

You grabbed your Djarums on the way upstairs and tucked them in your purse when in your room. While there, you swiped your lotion from the bathroom counter. Eddie hadn’t said he didn’t want it. He’d said he wanted to rest. Also, he needed to keep those scars moisturized while his skin acclimated to them.

You went to his room and knocked on the door. Once again, he didn’t answer. You didn’t want to disturb him, but dinner was soon.

You cracked open the door to peek inside. His bed was empty, the comforter pushed down the mattress. He couldn’t have left. Everyone would’ve noticed him leaving his room. The only way he could’ve snuck out was by the window. You rushed to it and threw back the sheers. It was locked.

The en-suite bathroom door clicked open. You spun on your heel. Steam billowed from the doorway.

Eddie stood in the bright bathroom, a towel cuffed around his hips. Of course, he hadn’t left.

His wet curls had been pushed away from his face. Steam covered his flushed chest to highlight the soft cut of his muscles and new scars. The damp towel clung to his thighs.

Your face heated and mouth watered. You couldn’t recall why you’d come to his room.

“Hi,” you breathed. “Sorry for barging in.”

He turned his back to you and asked, “What is it?”

You admired his tapering torso. A bead of water rolled down the valley of his spine. You wanted to lick it up and press yourself against his back. You wanted to wrap your arms around his waist and kiss his shoulder.

“I—uh… I—” You swallowed and looked down, gaze catching on the bottle of lotion. “Lotion!”

He flapped a fresh t-shirt open and tugged it over his head.

You said, “I brought you lotion. I thought it would help. It’s really gentle…” You trailed off as he shoved his arms through the arm-holes and left the bathroom. “…stuff.”

You presented the bottle to him.

He grimaced, fighting with the clinging t-shirt.

“Thanks,” he said without looking at the bottle.

You stepped around the bed.

“Want some help?”

“No, thank you.”

You nodded to yourself. It had been wrong to intrude. Not as though you hadn’t seen him like this before, but he’d been through so much. He must still need time to adjust — or, you know, have his privacy.

“Steve and Nancy are making dinner.” You set the bottle on the side-table next to the armchair. “Should be ready soon.”

He sat on the end of the bed, t-shirt covering his upper body. The towel’s overlap split up his thigh. You forced your eyes to look anywhere but there, like an old-timey gentleman seeing a lady’s well-turned ankle for the first time.

“Cool, I’ll be down in a bit,” he said.

You gave yourself a mental shake.

“Yeah, of course.” You pasted on a grin, though he didn’t reciprocate. “What would you like to drink?”

“Beer, please.”

“I’ll see if there’s any.”

“Thanks.”

You retreated from the room, closing the door after yourself.

Yeah, you thought sarcastically, that had gone well.

-

Yeah, he thought sarcastically, that had been a normal interaction for two people in love.

Jesus Christ, what the hell was wrong with him?

He glanced under his t-shirt. That was what was wrong with him. He was scarred to shit. He could say with confidence he’d never been an Adonis. He’d been okay. Attractive enough. All his features were in the right places. Now, though. Shit, now big patches of his skin looked like pink melted wax. He even had a bite scar under his jaw. His tattoos were half-eaten or distorted. Part of his left nipple was gone.

It was a freak show below the neck. Actually, no, that wasn’t true. He had a scar on his neck, too.

He touched its faint ripples.

He’d never been vain. Or he’d never considered himself vain. He liked his long hair and his tats. He was thankful he’d never had bad acne. His dick worked. His teeth were good. However, he never realized how much he relied on those things for confidence.

With one thing taken away — skin ruined and too-tight from sudden scarring — he’d been thrown out of whack. He didn’t blame you, of course. He had scars instead of bleeding out in the middle of the goddamn woods because of you. He’d gotten himself chewed on because he wanted to be a hero, as if he were a paladin in one of his campaigns.

Now he knew taking a critical hit in real life sucked.

With a sigh, he peeled off the damp shirt and tossed it on the bed. He should take your advice about the lotion. If nothing else, it would make his skin feel less stretched.

He took the lotion to the bathroom, stripped, and squeezed a huge dollop in his palm. It smelled nice, smelled like you. He smeared it across each patch on his torso, his legs, his arms, his neck, his jaw. While the lotion didn’t sting, the scars didn’t like the rubbing. He took to patting the lotion in, like handling a healing tattoo.

Once finished, he rinsed his hands. His skin did feel better. The scars appeared less pink and lumpy, but maybe that was his imagination.

He eased his clothes — Steve’s clothes — around the tacky patches of lotioned scars. The cotton sleep-pants and thin t-shirt grazed his tender skin in cool caresses. Compared to before the shower, when every irritated inch of him was raw, this feeling was a small delight.

After turning off the lights, he left his room. Multiple voices in good spirits grew louder as he approached the kitchen. The deep scent of cooking meat made his mouth water for the first time since becoming something like himself again.

He stopped in the kitchen doorway, his feet feeling bound to the floor. You stood at the island, cutting washed potatoes into bite-sized chunks and dropping them into a bowl with herbs and oil. The domestic tableau warmed him, yet left him separate. Beside the sink, Steve dusted seasoning into a bowl of trimmed green beans while Nancy stirred. Eddie remained out of frame — an observing audience.

“—shoulda seen that gorgeous car,” Steve said wistfully.

“It was not gorgeous after you were done with it,” said Nancy.

“Yeah, well, Billy deserved it.”

With a grin, you said, “Wrecking a Cadillac and a Camaro in one night hurts my heart.”

Eddie didn’t know how to join. He’d gotten in the way when his parents had been together. Dad had never bothered with complicated meals after Momma left. He’d prepared meals — even for the holidays — with Wayne. Though typically, it had been Wayne managing the big stuff with him following directions. However, this scene was so far out of his wheelhouse it was laughable.

You looked from your task, knife resting on the cutting board, to discover him lingering in the doorway. You smiled at him, bright as the sun.

“Hey!”

He couldn’t stare too long for fear of going blind.

Nancy and Steve turned to him. Her injured face hurled him from his own thoughts, got him out of his head. He was healed. Nancy and Steve weren’t. He was mildly uncomfortable. They were most likely aching and sore.

“Hey, didn’t mean to intrude.”

“No, man,” said Steve, waving a tin of black pepper. “Come on in.”

You wiped your hands on a kitchen towel as he approached the island. You pulled a bottle of Miller from the fridge, placed the underside of the cap on the counter, and knocked it off.

“Learned how to do that a couple months ago,” you said while handing him the bottle.

“Nice technique.”

“Thanks.”

“So, what’s for dinner?” he asked the room before taking a long pull from the bottle.

Steve said, “Meatloaf, potatoes, and green beans.”

He muffled a burp.

“Smells good.”

“I’m almost done with the potatoes.” To him, you asked, “Would you stir for me?”

“Sure! Yeah.”

He scuttled to your side, placing the beer out of harm’s way, and stirred to coat the potatoes as you cut the last one. When they were coated to your satisfaction, you tipped the bowl onto a baking sheet and spread the potato chunks. You then slid the baking sheet into the top oven below a loaf pan.

Nancy said, “Okay, thirty minutes on the clock,” and set a kitchen timer.

“Longest thirty minutes of my life,” he said and took another drink of beer.

Steve scoffed. “You say that now, but I’ve only tried this recipe, like, once before. And I didn’t do much this time.” He waggled his slinged arm.

In a tease, Nancy said, “Aw, you got out the ingredients and held the recipe card for me.”

“Ha ha, you’re welcome.”

Steve’s dark eyes twinkled like a fucking Disney princess’s.

You met his gaze with a pleased, conspiratorial look. Maybe Steve could win Nancy back after all and fulfill that dream of six nuggets in a Winnebago. Eddie guessed it all depended on Byers’s next move. Of course, there was the whole “noble hero injured for family” card that either guy could play.

The front door banged open. You grabbed the knife from the island. Steve took a step around Nancy, who found the used kitchen shears lying near the sink.

A distressed female voice called, “Steve?”

Steve’s shoulders dropped before he jogged out of the kitchen.

“Robin?”

Nancy relaxed and slid the shears back to the sink.

Sneakers squeaked. The front door shut.

“Steve, oh my God!”

With a long exhale, you eased the knife onto the cutting board.

The thought of you willing to slice and dice anyone who invaded the house was hot. He drank more beer as the image of your pretty face splattered with blood flashed across the movie screen of his mind. He’d lick it off and french you so hard.

Certain the thought telegraphed over his face, he hid it with a frown aimed at the front door.

Nancy left the kitchen. You followed a step behind. Not wanting to miss out, he left his beer to bring up the rear.

Steve’s soft ‘whoa’ drifted from the foyer.

Robin, soaked from the steady rain, had wrapped her arms behind Steve’s neck. Steve had hooked his good arm around her back. With her face hidden between her arm and his throat, it was impossible to tell if she was heaving for breath or crying.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked.

She mumbled something too low for anyone besides Steve to hear.

“It’s okay.”

Robin lifted her head, rain and tears spilling down her face. Scratches marred her cheek, along with a violet bruise on her chin.

“They’re leaving, and they want me to go, but I don’t want to, and I didn’t know where else to go, so I came here, and I don’t know what to do.” She sniveled. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Okay, slow down.” Steve tightened his hold. “It’s your parents?”

She nodded and tucked her chin.

He said, “It’s okay, you don’t have to go.”

“But they’ll make me leave with them.”

“Not if they don’t know you’re here,” you said.

“How did you get here?” asked Eddie, thinking maybe she’d left her car in the driveway where anyone could see.

“On my bike.” She said to Steve, “I put it in the carport. I don’t think I scratched your car. I tried to be careful.”

He shook his head.

“Doesn’t matter.”

Nancy said, “You don’t have to go back. You can call them tomorrow and borrow some of my clothes in the meantime.”

Robin looked at her for a second before giggling. Her face scrunched. Her giggles muted. A blush crept up her throat and cheeks. She held onto Steve's shoulders, continuing to giggle and drip rain on the floor.

“Fine, but I’m not wearing your bra again!”

Nancy laughed with her, paused with a pained ‘oh’ and held her cheek, but still smiled.

Once Robin was calm, in dry clothes, and her hair wrapped in a towel, she settled in the dimming sunroom and shared the tale of visiting Victor Creel. Nancy filled in the gaps while Steve liberated a few bottles of wine from the collection in the basement. You barely glanced away from Robin or Nancy, even when Steve handed you a glass of wine.

Eddie watched from the doorway, nursing his beer and forcing himself not to stare at you. He wanted to join you where you sat in an armless chair. Better yet, have you sit on his lap. Then he thought about you feeling his scars or nudging a tender one by accident. It would become this brouhaha, where you’d feel guilty and he’d be more self-conscious.

God, what a mess.

He hadn’t been that close to you since before… everything. Could he handle the delicious scent of you and not want to bite? His grip tightened around the bottle. He didn’t know if he actually craved that or if it was a lingering urge from during… his time being undead. He swallowed. Did something get fucked up in his head so the carnal was tied to the need to devour? Was consuming the same as consummation? Were you in danger every second you were alone with him?

He realized these were very normal questions that very normal people asked themselves on very normal Sunday evenings.

The oven timer buzzed. He backed away to pull pans from the oven for Steve, who assessed the meatloaf was done, but the potatoes needed more time. Eddie set the timer as Steve drizzled a few tablespoons of water in a preheated skillet for the green beans.

“Where’d you learn to do this?” he asked.

Steve poured the green beans into the skillet. The aroma of onion and pepper bloomed with the distinct green scent of vegetables.

“Cooking shows, mostly. My mother is a decent cook, but she doesn’t like anyone in the kitchen with her.”

He hummed as he poked at the steaming meatloaf with a serving fork. If he wouldn’t burn the shit out of himself, he’d grab handfuls and shove them in his mouth.

Steve elbowed him away with a smug grin.

“Dude, it’s gotta rest for a few before it can come out of the pan.”

He groaned, then finished his beer. It was flat, but whatever.

As he stirred the green beans, Steve said, “Hey, you can tell me to fuck off or whatever—”

“Oh, this sounds serious.”

“Shut up. If you two are together—” He nodded towards the sunroom to indicate he meant you. “—and you’re serious and shit, why aren’t you staying in her room?”

“It was her idea,” he lied.

Steve leveled a look at him.

Though Steve hadn’t been home at the time, he must’ve figured out you’d offered to share your bed — and you had. Eddie made a case for him stinking and being exhausted and not wanting to pollute your bed. You’d given him a commiserative look and set him up in the bedroom down the hall. Shit, you were way too good for him. Later, you’d brought him fresh clothes and spare toiletries.

Low enough his voice wouldn’t carry into the sunroom, Steve said, “You keep this crap up, man, you’re going to lose her.”

He pulled another beer from the fridge to buy himself time to think. It would be ridiculous to discuss his love life with fucking Steve Harrington. Steve was one to talk, anyway. The entire school had known Steve’s longest relationship was with Nancy Wheeler, and that remained true to this day.

He found the bottle-opener in the silverware drawer, popped the cap off the bottle, and leaned a hip on the counter near Steve.

Putting a lazy nonchalance in his movements, he took a swig of beer and half-asked, “Oh, Harrington, you tryin’ to steal my lady?”

“No, but someone will if you’re not careful,” Steve said without sparing him a glance.

[hgejfmw-hgejhsf]

Six Sentence Sunday!

Y'all! The amount of tags I've had pinging my phone throughout the day today as I tippity typed along on my New Year's Eve AU is astounding. I don't deserve all of you lovely humans wanting to read my words, but I'm grateful for it.

To @kiwiana-writes, @firenati0n, @ninzied, @sparklepocalypse, @notspecialbabe, @affectionatelyrs, @suseagull04, @ships-to-sail, @anincompletelist, and @happiness-of-the-pursuit, envision me pressing my hand to my heart with the biggest expression of love on my face. I adore y'all, and I'm loving everything you've already posted.

With that being said, would it be all right if I gave you all TWO sections of (sort of) six sentences from my first multichapter fic, starting posting this Wednesday, AND the New Year's Eve AU aka the first AU ever that wandered into my brain and took up residence? I sure hope so because y'all are gonna get these twelve-ish sentences anyway haha.

The official White House Christmas ornament arrives each year by way of an envelope they both know is from Zahra despite the fact that she’s never once signed her name to it. On more than one occasion, Alex has caught her smiling at each of the ornaments while visiting during the Christmas season. When she spots him watching, he’s typically met with the nearest throw pillow to the face, which he knows is her way of expressing her unconditional love for him, so he always ensures there’s a throw pillow on the edge of the couch closest to the tree when she comes for just such occasions. Bea has sent along some of Henry’s childhood ornaments, similar to Alex’s, and they combine Henry’s box of polo-playing figurines and a commemorative Oxford ornament with the lacrosse ornament from the tree at the White House and Alex’s commemorative Georgetown ornament. It’s Nora who managed to track down a special edition Rio Olympics ornament somewhere on the black market, or probably eBay. It had appeared in their mailbox one day with a note that said, “So you’ll never forget where it all started.” And when they Facetimed her, both crying and grateful, she’d waved them off and added, “I just hope it reminds you of all the times you could have been hooking up over the years” with a knowing wink.

AND

And his eyes…God, his eyes. Cast in the glow of passing strobes in a variety of colors, they seem to transform.  A green light passes, and they’re aqua, like a tropical sea in a land with no name somewhere just beyond the boundary of paradise. When he’s bathed in a yellow as bright as the early morning sun, his eyes flash emerald beneath. Bright red, the color of warning, of hazard, of stop please turn back and forget about the dangers that lay ahead, turns purple, diluting its energy into something less treacherous and far more regal, as if the gold in his mask and his carefully curated armor would be far better served as a glittering crown atop his already golden head. But it’s the white light slashing across his face to accent the original blue, as deep and fathomless as the ocean itself, that steals Alex’s breath. Like he could dive in and never surface, and he’d be perfectly happy drowning in the depths of Henry.

I still have a few hours, so I'm gonna toss some tags out for: @whimsymanaged, @inexplicablymine, @rockyroadkylers, @indestructibleheart, @littlemisskittentoes, @heybuddy-drabbles, @statueinthestonetoo, @vanillahigh00, and @ssmtskw

As always, consider this tag WIDE OPEN for all of you lovelies out there to share your work! Please please always tag me so I can read and yeet your work out into my little curated corner of the world!

[threeletterslife]

26 | Legends of Darlaria

⨰ summary: You wake up in yet another unfamiliar place. This time, however, these strangers seem to recognize you. With your previous judgments and aspirations thrown out the window, you're now forced to face where your loyalties really lie. Who will you betray? And which General will you choose to stand by his side?

⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15

⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au

⨰ warnings: profanity

⨰ wordcount: 4.7k

⨰ join the taglist! (pm/send in an ask/reply/reblog)

⨰ previous | series m.list | next

⧖⧗Circa Opal⧗⧖

Purple. You see purple. Such an unnatural shade of it too—a hue you’d never see in the wilderness. Purple. It spreads across your vision, swirling in deep pools of violet, mauve, mulberry. At first, you think you’re imagining it—the swirling, the shift in hues. But you soon realize that the ceiling itself is moving.

No, not the ceiling.

A canvas. A woven canvas on the ceiling. The purple threads are in constant motion, rippling across the canvas and back, mirroring the waves of the Aranian lake. It’s mysterious. Majestic, too. You wonder if you’re still dreaming. The last thing you remember is being on the battlefield.

A gasp leaves your lips.

The battlefield!

You were attacked by a Darlaean soldier. Are you in Darlae? Have you been captured? Do you still have your memories? You quickly sit up, only to realize you’re no longer in your Solarian uniform. Instead, you’re wearing a frilly, off-white nightgown. The fabric is silky, soft and delicate when you run your fingers across it, but it feels so wrong on you. In fact, everything feels wrong. There are one too many plush pillows supporting your back, the luxurious bed is uncomfortably supple underneath you and the blankets covering your legs look excessive with their extravagantly embroidered designs made from silver thread. 

Then there are the people. There are so many people. People who you don’t recognize, people who have gathered around the bed three times the size of your cot back home. Not to mention, there’s also a stranger sitting at the edge of your bed.

No, not a stranger. Upon closer look, you realize he’s the man who attacked you on the battlefield. The man from your dreams. But it can’t be… He’s wearing a long cape with a fur collar draped over his shoulders. A silver sword sits sheathed around his belt. And his uniform… It’s black with silver and purple accents.

Why haven’t they killed you yet? Why haven’t they begun their torture? Is this all part of a larger scheme? Will they soon take away the nice clothes, the comfortable bed and make your life a living hell? 

Your eyes dart around the room you’ve been captured in. It’s quite large with oak-paneled walls and smooth, stone floors. A beautifully carved escritoire sits at one of the corners and on it is a colorful collection of candles, books, bottles of ink and parchment paper. You remember this exact room from your dreams. Could it be that you’re dreaming now? Maybe you’re dying and this is what your mind decides to conjure up in your last few seconds to live.

But then why does everything feel so real?

“You can give up the act now.”

Your head jerks towards the man sitting at the edge of the bed. He’s frowning, but it’s strangely not the murderous kind. 

“A-Act…?” you whisper. 

What act? How could any of this be an act? When you don’t even know what’s going on?

What is he even doing here? Why are you in a frilly nightgown? Why aren’t you being tortured? Why are you in a familiar room with unfamiliar people surrounding you? And why… Why do they look so worried?

There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach.

Your hands shake as they reach up to clutch the diamond pendant around your neck.

No. It can’t be. 

“They did something to you.” The man sounds accusatory. They? Does he mean the Solarians? Does he mean you?

“I…” The words won’t come out. 

“Did they do something to you, Y/N?”

His voice… It sounds so light and silvery. So familiar. And your name. Your name had fallen from his lips. You don’t remember ever giving it to him. 

Tears well up in your eyes.

It feels like you’re drowning and the waves are crashing over you.

You can’t seem to say anything. Can’t seem to register his questions, either.

But maybe you’ve always known. Maybe it’s time to finally fucking admit it.

You’re Darlaean.

Things make sense now. Why no one ever recognized you when you woke up in Solaria. Why you had to reconnect with fire. Why a Darlaean war prisoner recognized you. It all clicks into place.

Your fingers tighten around the pendant. 

Is this…? Is it really your gemstone? 

You spent so long denying it, so long hiding it that it doesn’t feel possible anymore. But what about the dream where the man had gifted the necklace to you? Had he only been fastening it on?

Your hands begin to shake.

It is him. The lover in your dreams. It has to be. The same stance, stature, aura… It’s all oddly familiar but you don’t find comfort in it.

Who are you really? If you’re not Ryu Y/N, then who the hell could you be? Have you stolen someone else’s identity? Someone else’s name?

Suddenly, you feel like you can’t breathe.

Your hands cover your face as you hunch over, tears streaming out of your eyes.

Cold hands press against your back. Someone leans in. You can feel his warm breath against your ear. “Get a hold of yourself,” he whispers. “There are people watching.”

The words bring chills down your spine. 

Does he know? Does he know that you don’t remember anything? Does he want you to pretend that you do? Will he kill you if you don’t comply? His demeanor, his near-threatening words… At one point, did you really love each other?

You choke back your tears, wiping them away with the lace handkerchief that the man hands you. “I’m… I’m sorry,” you sniffle. “I’m just so… happy… to be back.”

There are gasps and sighs of relief as a low, happy chatter begins to fill the room. You might’ve fooled them, but the man watches you with cold eyes. He knows you’re lying.

“Everybody out,” he orders. “I’d like to talk to my girlfriend alone.”

Before you can even register what he’d called you, the room quickly empties. And suddenly, it’s completely silent. He stares at you emotionlessly, yet you feel him scrutinizing your every breath, your every blink. And after a long, tortuous time, he speaks again.

“You don’t remember anything.”

Your hands begin to tremble uncontrollably. Your grip around the handkerchief tightens as you attempt to stop, but it’s no use. You’re terrified. Will he kill you if you admit it? Past girlfriend or not, are you nothing to him now that he’s seen you fighting for Solaria? Will he kill you if you lie? 

“You’ve always been a bad liar,” he says. His countenance is impenetrable, but he seems to be able to read you like an open book. “So tell me the truth. What do you know?”

“I-I…” Your voice quivers though you don’t want it to. “I woke up in a Solarian medical tent,” you squeak, “with my memory completely wiped. I… I only remembered my name. T-They didn’t know where I came from either, but… but they were kind enough to take me in.”

Silence.

Except for the rapid heartbeat in your chest.

“You thought you were a helluvian.”

“S-Sorry?”

“A tree hugger. A fire licker. A fucking Solarian.”

He looks menacing. And for the first time since you’ve met this man, you see emotion on his face: anger. But you can’t lie. He knows you can’t do it. If he catches you in one, you might as well have been killed in battle. You have no choice but to tell the truth.

“Y-Yes,” you whisper. “Up until now… Sir.”

The anger morphs into distress. “You can’t call me that,” he says, running his fingers through his hair. “For fuck’s sake, Y/N. We’ll be keeping this a secret, do you understand? The king has already arranged a celebration in the name of your return. If the people find out that you’ve been willingly living with those helluvians, they’re going to start a riot. I don’t want to send another army to one of the cities.”

You’re rendered speechless.

“There’s a potion that can expedite the memory-recovery process,” he continues. “It normally takes circas to make… But if I get a few hand-selected, trustworthy royal healers to work on it from day to night, we could get it done in three days’ time. I’ll convince the king to postpone the celebration until then.” 

Just like that? You can get your memories back? But you spent so long trying to repress them. Even when they came as dreams, you spent circas convincing yourself that they were just that: dreams—nothing more. You don’t want your memories back. But you can’t really refuse, can you?

“For Sooht’s sake,” you murmur, hands reddening around the balled-up handkerchief. You don’t have a choice.

The man visibly stiffens. “No Darlaean wants to hear helluvian dialect. They could kill you for that.” He pauses slightly. “They could also have you killed for treason. For fraternizing with the enemy for three years.”

He’s trying to scare you. To show you how serious the situation is. But you know that already. You know you’re in deep trouble. You also know that he’s helping you in his own way, even though it doesn’t seem like it. He wants you to pretend to be on Darlae’s side. He needs you to remember who you were before. Urgently. But why? Are you someone special? Because you’re the Darlaean General’s lover?

He shakes his head. “Y/N,” he says. “You were our General. General Kwang.”

It takes a moment for his words to register in your head. And once they do, shock takes over your entire body. You feel frozen in time, unable to move, unable to react. It’s preposterous. There’s no way. No fucking way.

The world spins.

And once the spinning starts, things begin to make sense. It’s why creating battle plans felt like second nature to you. Why you were able to write them without remembering the terrains of the battlegrounds—because your subconscious remembered. It’s why you were so seamlessly able to rise up the rank of the Solarian Army—because you had experience. 

Oh no.

You used to fight head-to-head against the General. Your General. How many Solarian deaths have you indirectly caused? If he knew, would he have wanted to kill you?

And oh, oh how betrayed the Darlaean General must feel! You’d taken Darlaean war strategies and then used them against Darlae! Does he know? Did he suspect? Should you confess? Repent what you’ve done?

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says. 

How does he always know what you’re thinking? 

“I already know what you’ve done.”

Your hands have become white from your tight grip on the handkerchief. 

“I-I’m sorry.”

And you are. But you’re also sorry to your General. To all of the Solarians you hurt when you used to lead the Darlaean Army. To all of the families, friendships, relationships you ruined unknowingly.

“I don’t need an apology,” the Darlaean General says. “The only thing you need to do is pretend you never lost your memories. Follow along, don’t arouse suspicion, keep quiet and don’t look so clueless all the time. Unfortunately, I’ve already notified your parents of your arrival. They, of course, haven’t answered my message yet, but I’ll try to keep them from visiting you. It won’t be too hard.” He glances at you for your reaction. There is none. At least none that are visible. “The real complication would be convincing the king to let me keep my position now that you’re here.” Upon your inquisitive look, he’s generous enough to clarify: “I was your lieutenant general. I’ve only been appointed as the temporary General in your absence.”

He might be the temporary General, but he created permanent damage during his reign. He’s the one who undoubtedly endorsed all those cruel spells. He’s the one who refused to have a winter truce. And was he also the one who sent the monocodes? The codes that did nothing but aid the Solarians in victory? But maybe you were right. Maybe it was a message after all.

The words begin to unscramble in your mind.

Jewel. Usurp. Nineteen. General. Kwang. Opal. Orchard. King. You and the other officers spent circas trying to understand what they meant until you all gave up. But maybe you were thinking too deeply. Maybe it was something simple. Something so simple that everyone missed it. You run the words in your head again.

Jewel.

Usurp.

Nineteen.

General.

Kwang.

Opal.

Orchard.

King.

Your eyes widen and a shaky breath leaves your lips. It had been right in front of your damn face this entire time! The message! His identity! It had been an acronym!

“Jungkook,” you whisper. Something about his name feels so familiar. “The codes,” you say. “You sent them.”

“I knew you’d decipher them,” he says. “I never thought you’d use them against me.”

“I-I’m sorry.” It sounds as sincere as you mean it.

“You shouldn’t be,” is the surprising answer. “It was my mistake. I believed that you would come back for me when you figured out the monocode. So I repeated them, hoping you’d give me a signal that you were okay. I was wrong.”

You didn’t even figure out the full code until now. And even if you did figure it out in Solaria, what would you have done with a single name? Would you have connected it back to the Darlaean General? Maybe after some trial and error, but you and the rest of Solaria would’ve assumed it was some egoïstical move—not a desperate message to call for you.

Solaria.

Even thinking about it makes your heart clench.

How could you leave it behind so suddenly and without warning? You have friends there, dead or alive: Doyun, Nayoon, Hana, Suhyun, Wonmi, even Heli… The healers, the officers, the soldiers—your soldiers. You had a whole sector to run, for Sooht’s sake! And your General… No, not the Darlaean General but Yoongi. 

You can almost hear the echo of his scream in your head. When you were falling, when your vision had been crowding in black, he’d shouted your name. Not Officer, not Captain, but your actual name. You haven’t heard him say that since three years ago. What was the reason? Does the reason even matter? He called you by your name. And you don’t know why you’re so caught up on that detail when you have so many other things to be worried about, but you can’t help it.

He must be worried sick. 

Unless… Unless he already knows you’re Darlaean. What if he always knew?

Oh, for Sooht’s sake! Your gemstone! The necklace! You’d stupidly asked him to fasten it on for you. It can’t be, can it? Why he suddenly went silent, why his expression became so unreadable. When he said he trusted you… Is that what he meant? Did he know? Did he know and still let you fight for Solaria? You imagine the ghost of his touch on your neck, his fingers gently parting your hair out of the way… You want to see him. You desperately want to tell him that you didn’t betray him. That if you were given the choice, you’d choose Solaria in a heartbeat.

But no! You couldn’t possibly do that. You’re Darlaean by blood. You’d be betraying your birthplace… Yet, if you choose Darlae, you’d be betraying the only home you know.

You can hear your heartbeat in your head. It feels like it’s about to burst. Things you’ve wondered about for three fucking years—your family, your origin, your lover, your dreams—have all been answered within the span of several minutes. But it’s not enough! It’s not enough to change your mind. It’s not enough for you to swear yourself to Darlae. But you’re not Solarian, either. So what the fuck are you? Where do your loyalties lie now?

When the Solarians interrogated you to see if you were a Darlaean spy, were they right all along? Should you have been locked away years ago? Would that have been better for everyone?

“I’ll leave you to process everything.” The Darlaean General’s voice interrupts your thoughts, and when your vision focuses, he’s already standing up, making his way to the closed door.

“W-Wait.” 

He halts immediately.

“Was I supposed to be a spy?” you ask. You don’t know why. As if the answer would make you feel any better.

“No.” The Darlaean General shakes his head. “You disappeared in battle. It’s all I know.”

You frown. “But…” You’re hesitant, wondering if you should reveal more. But for fuck’s sake, this is your real home. He’s the man you’d shared so many memories with. He deserves to know, doesn’t he? “I woke up in a Solarian soldier’s uniform. I don’t understand. If I wasn’t a spy, then how…?”

The Darlaean General arches an eyebrow. “I see,” he says without so much of a shift in his expression. “You were always an excellent alchemist.” And before you can say anything more, he walks straight out of the commodious bedroom, slamming the door behind him. It rattles everything in the room.

You stare at the dip in your bed—the one the Darlaean General had left. Is he acting cold and distant on purpose? He was or is your alleged boyfriend. Why isn’t he acting like it? Where is the worry? Where is the affection? Is it because he knows you don’t have your memories? Or is he usually like this? But then again, of course he would be wary! You lived with the enemy for three years! And for fuck’s sake he knows you fought against the Darlaeans. He knows you planned against them. 

Yet… he’s still protecting you in his own way. He could reveal what you’ve done to the king, but instead, he’s choosing to postpone the celebration to buy you time. He could have you killed for treason, but he’s keeping your involvement, your memory loss a secret. He lied to all those people. He made it seem like you had been in Solaria against your will.

But why? It doesn’t even seem like he likes you that much. But maybe it has something to do with his past love for you. The way he can read you so easily, predict your thoughts… He knows you better than you know yourself. 

An excellent alchemist. If only you knew what the hell that’s supposed to mean. Your knowledge of Darlaean magic is severely limited—the only thing you’re familiar with is transformation. What more do you need to learn? What more did you forget?

You collapse back on the bed, sinking into the pillows as the pliant mattress underneath swallows you whole. You feel a migraine seeping in.

If your Solarian friends knew you were really Darlaean, would they have shown you the same kindness? Would they have treated you with nice words and compassion? Would they have killed you?

The answer hurts. Back when Yoongi had been suspicious of you… when he had ripped your stitches… Back when Hyojung, Jeonwoo, Jaeno all believed you were a Darlaean in disguise… They’d treated you differently. As if you were the scum of the earth. Three years ago, Hyojung had called you a witch. Who would’ve thought she was right after all this time?

But are you really Darlaean? Sure, this was your home for possibly decades of your life, but if you can’t remember it, does it really matter? As far as you know, you’re Solarian. You spent three years thinking the Forgotten Kingdom was your enemy. So how can you possibly live here? In some sort of castle? With its oak-paneled walls, stone floors, and luxurious carpets and tapestries?

You slowly sit up, bringing your knees in to hug them and surveying the large room. There’s a wide window right next to the bed that’s partially hidden behind purple velvet curtains. You catch a glimpse of an upper-level view of a reddening orchard. Strange. Somehow, you must be above ground. There also appears to be a reflective material on the window—something you’ve never seen before. It creates a bit of a barrier between the outside world and within. As if you’re trying to keep the nature out. Feeling a little uncomfortable, you look away.

With the curtains obscuring most of the outside view, the room is void of natural light. It feels too dark, too regal. The crackling of the countless number of candles on the desk should calm you down, but it doesn’t. You miss the simplicity of your oil lamp. You miss the hardness of your cot, the small yet coziness of your tent… You miss the bareness of it, the scratchy straw mat, too. 

For Sooht’s sake, you miss the color red.

Everything is tainted in purple here: the intricate carpet underneath the massive bed, the woven canvas above you, the curtains, some candles and books—even the large oil painting on the wall next to the window boasts a purple palette. 

There are three subjects in the painting: two older women standing and a younger woman sitting between them. All three of them have on elegant, violet dresses as they pose quite rigidly in front of a dark background. It takes you a moment to realize that the woman in the middle is you. Is that what you used to look like? In Solaria, there were never many mirrors, so the most indication you got of your looks was in the water basins. Still, you look younger in the portrait—cheeks a little fuller, eyes a little rounder. When you turn your attention to the two women standing behind you in the painting, you realize you seem to resemble much of their features. You’ve got someone’s nose, someone’s eyes, someone’s lips. Are you…? Are you their daughter? If this is your room, then it would make sense that there is a large family portrait here.

So this must be the family you’ve yearned to meet. The family who wasn’t present when you woke up. The family who the Darlaean General said wouldn’t need much persuading to postpone seeing you. 

You have to look away.

In front of your bed is the wooden desk. Your heart aches for the trees that have been injured for it to exist. It’s perfectly fine to work on the ground, which is what you’ve done in Solaria for the past three years. Why is everything in excess here?

Slowly, you rise from the bed, your balance a little wobbly as you make your way over to the desk. The wood is dark, smooth, almost unnatural. There are books neatly stacked, and there is a bountiful collection of mauve-colored quills and black ink bottles. It all seems so familiar. You run your finger along the desk, expecting to see dust, but you don’t.

Even after three years, it seems that your room is being cleaned regularly. Or maybe they cleaned it upon your arrival. Maybe they let the dust collect back when they didn’t know if you were dead or alive. 

You slowly back away from the desk, turning your attention to the massive wardrobes against one of the walls of the room. They’re made of wood too, engraved in elaborate designs and towering over you in height. Back in Solaria, you had two sets of your officer uniform, one set of your soldier uniform and your old healer’s assistant uniform. How many clothes could one person need? Is this all really yours? Curious, you reach out to caress the knobs of the giant doors of one of the wardrobes. Then, you pull.

Immediately, a pleasant smell wafts into the air. You catch a hint of wisteria and white willow. Maybe a little bit of sage. Strangely enough, it feels undeniably you. But the clothes in the wardrobe—the dresses, gowns, frocks and robes—do not. You cannot fathom why anyone would need so many outfits. Aren’t two enough? Still, you can’t stop yourself from reaching out and admiring the different fabrics. There’s a handful of everything: silk, velvet, cotton, lace, wool, satin. But you stumble back in shock when your hand grazes fur. Then leather.

Your legs suddenly feel weak, so you walk over to your bed and slowly sink down on it, cradling your head in your hands. 

You feel sick. Is this who you were? Someone who neglected the outside world, exploited plants and animals, someone who was spoiled rotten, someone who was okay with this special treatment just because she had power? It feels so wrong—like you’re a fire tiger in water. All of this—the riches, the luxuries, the splendors—might have been you in the past, but this feels odd to you now. Solarians make do with what they have. It’s wasteful to take more, to have more than what you need. Yoongi taught you that. Even as the son of the General of the Solarian Army, even with a home as big as his, even with so many servants, he never used more than he had to.

Yoongi.

His name feels so foreign to you, after having addressed him as “sir” for so long. But you’re not his captain anymore. You’re not even Solarian, for Sooht’s sake. 

I’m sorry, you think. I’m sorry, Yoongi.

He must think you’re a traitor. That you lied to his face. That you fought so damn hard to be able to fight in the war because you needed an excuse to come back home to Darlae. He knew you were Darlaean, most likely as soon as you showed him that damn gemstone of yours. Yet he still let you fight, thinking you’d still be loyal to Solaria. You still are, of course, but he couldn’t know that. Now, he probably thinks you tricked him. If you ever did see him again, he’d probably kill you, wouldn’t he? You’re the exact thing he despises.

What if he thinks you swindled your way into his heart? What if he thinks you did it to lower his guard? What if he thinks everything you’ve confessed to him is a lie?

You can’t bear the thought.

And so you cry. It’s the ugly kind. The kind that has your shoulders shaking uncontrollably. The kind that’s loud. The kind that drowns your face in tears. And you don’t stop for a long, long time.

“She’s crying, sir.”

“I know, Seokjin,” Jungkook sighs. “I can hear her too.”

The man frowns. “Will you comfort her, sir? We’ll need her in the right mental state to extract the information we need. She must know a great deal about the Solarian Army. She even knows their magic! This could be big, sir. We must move quickly.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “She needs time to heal by herself. We’ll let her stabilize first. Then, we can ask questions.”

“But sir,” Seokjin says, frowning deepening, “you must be careful. If she really does think she’s Solarian, she may take the opportunity to assassinate you and get to the king.”

Jungkook doesn’t even move a muscle. “No, Lieutenant. That would never happen.”

“But sir, with all due respect, you don’t know her as you did before,” Seokjin says. “Three years is a long time. A lot can change.”

“That, I agree with,” Jungkook says. “But her kindness is innate, Seokjin. Such inborn traits don’t change so easily.”

“But you and I both saw her controlling fire out there, sir! She’s dangerous.”

“We think very differently, Lieutenant,” Jungkook sighs. “Don’t you think that her, a Darlaean, being able to control fire will work out to our advantage? If we beat those helluvians at their own game, victory will be ours.”

“I… I don’t know, sir,” Seokjin says. “With all due respect, what makes you think that she’ll be willing to help us?”

Jungkook ignores Seokjin’s question as he often does if it’s a stupid one and instead refutes it with an order. “Tell my personal healers to halt their current projects. From now until it’s finished, they’ll be expected to work past breaks to brew the memory potion. Don’t look at me like that. This is a crisis, Lieutenant. I want her to get those damn fucking helluvians out of her head.”

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⨰ a/n: the long-awaited chapter! i believe it confirmed many of your suspicions :) also what an intro for jungkook! he's my favorite character in this series :0

please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!

[shalbef]

Wlw MonoShin Drabble #2!!

Monoma sat on the sofa's armrest, in class 2-B's common room. The space was devoid of anyone else, except for one person: Shinso.

The purple haired girl sat on the couch, and Neito was watching over Hitoshi, as she was focused on the animal that was settled in her lap: a white kitten that had made its way into class B's dorms.

Her fingers scratched the cat's head, right between its ears, and its expression was delighted; the cursed creature looked ecstatic as it purred, stealing Shinso's attention all for itself.

"-so cute!" She booped the kitten's nose with her finger, giggling quietly to herself as she made heart eyes at it.

Neito had her arms crossed. How dare that dirty creature steal away her girlfriend?

Was it pathetic to be feeling such jealousy?

Yes, maybe it was, but Neito could do nothing about the way her heart squeezed in her chest as Hitoshi's grin spread on her face. She had the kitten's paws in her hands, and she was moving them around, mimicking a silly little dance as she giggled.

Neito pouted and looked away, pulling her sweater's sleeves over her fingers, as they were cold.

It was one of Shinso's, black with purple accents that complimented her so well, and that Monoma had promptly decided to steal, that morning.

Was it needy of her to demand so much attention from her girlfriend?

She worried her bottom lip between her teeth as she mulled over, her back to the purple haired girl.

Then, she felt an arm wrap around her waist, pulling her down to lay onto the sofa, her head falling into Hitoshi's lap as the girl grinned at her.

"Why are you pouting?" She asked, "Are you jealous?" She was still smiling, the bastard.

Neito looked away, her blond hair following her head, shifting a little as well. "Why would you ever think so?" She huffed.

Then, lips made contact with her cheek, and that prompted her to look back at her lover, who had started to comb her long fingers through her golden locks.

"You know I love you, right?" Her voice was as soft as her smile.

"I suppose so..." Monoma looked away once again, red creeping up her cheeks.

She then felt something settle on her stomach, and looked over to find that the cat had positioned itself right on top of her, and had started making biscuits on the black sweater.

Maybe it wasn't so bad, Neito thought as she nuzzled back into her personal pillow, being coddled by the most beautiful girl she'd ever seen.