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badgerbl00d · 1 year

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one piece boys rescuing you

☆ characters: trafalgar law, roronoa zoro

☆ up next: yes, your highness (knight!sanji x princess!reader)

☆ summary: you're put in a situation where your life is put in serious danger. will they be able to save you in time?

☆ a/n: new fic yay!! so i'm working my way through the ask box slowly but surely.. a lot of the requests are for pt. 2's, so im gonna try to publish new content before getting to those... as always, thanks for your patience!

3.0k words

law - fire

Trying to calm your breathing down you closed your eyes, doing your best to not panic.

“You ok in there?” Shachi called out.

“What’s the temperature reading?” That might’ve been Bepo. You couldn’t tell.

You’d gone into the boiler room of the submarine to try and fix an issue with the central temperature.

The submarine was supposed to be descending toward the abyssal zone, and with pressures as high as they were going to be there was no room for error with the temperature.

Before you could finish, something that was moving fast hit the side of the Polar Tang, resulting in the door locking you in.

Law had designed the functional rooms of the ship to be perfect.

The boiler room locked from the inside, so that if there were ever an issue with a pressure change, any explosion would be contained to the source of heat.

You heard some debris clatter on the outside, followed by what sounded like a loud, metal clang.

A high-pitched beeping noise started to sound through the small room.

80°

You pressed the down arrow five times. With the way it had been programmed, the boiler room shouldn’t be above seventy five degrees.

Your stomach started to twist, and nausea climbed up your throat when the number didn’t change, and after a few more second read

83°.

“Y/n! You okay?!” Bepo and Shachi had started to move some of the debris that was blocking the door, “Something hit us!”

“The temperature is going up in here, it’s at eighty-three and the buttons aren’t working!”

“Hold on,” Bepo called out, “We’re moving the stuff from in front of the door, we’ll pass you the key from under the door.”

You steadied your breathing and managed to settle your nerves the slightest bit.

A silver key slid under the door and you grabbed it.

“You should be good to open the door now.”

You placed the key in the lock, and started to turn it when the ship took another hit.

This one sent you flying into the wall.

You heard Shachi and Bepo’s impact.

Your head was pounding and you fumbled around looking for the key, unable to find it.

You could hear yelling coming from outside.

“Shit! Bepo- try and move that stuff!”

You assumed Shachi had left as you heard footsteps .

Slowly you got up, your head was starting to stop spinning.

You still couldn’t find the key and tried jiggling the handle

An unnatural rattling sound was coming from the handle.

Fuck.

The key had broken off inside it, and the jagged edge that you could just barely get a finger around was too sharp to try and turn.

The temperature in the room continued to rise.

Your palms had started to sweat and you felt your chest contracting more and more with each breath.

The heat was starting to fill you up from the inside out.

You ran to the thermostat, frantically pressing the cooling button.

94°

“Y/n?!” Bepo called, banging on the door, “I moved all the stuff! Try to open the door!”

“I can’t!” you yelled, your voice straining, someone was yelling- Law, maybe? What had happened? “The key broke in the door! Bepo- the temperature won’t stop rising!”

Bepo continued banging on the door- you knew that he was starting to panic.

98°

You sunk to the floor, looking for a way out- anything.

You twisted the door knob with so much force that you worried you might have broken it. Not that it made a difference.

106°

Bepo’s banging stopped and you started to panic again.

The yelling could still be heard in the background.

“Bepo?”

No answer.

Sweat was dripping down your back and your palms were sticky. Your hair clung to your forehead and it was getting harder and harder to breathe- whether that was because of your panic or the heat you could not tell.

You peeled off your boiler suit, which offered you some temporary relief.

Sitting in a pair of shorts and a tank top now, you simply sunk against the door- banging on it occasionally.

“Bepo!!” You yelled.

That damn bear.

Where was Law?

You perked up at the question.

Where the hell was your captain?

118°

You decided you’d try the key, taking a deep breath before grabbing onto the jagged metal edges with all the strength you could muster.

You felt the metal slip past your skin, digging into the flesh of your hand.

Blood dripped down your arm in a warm, steady stream and you strained to turn the key.

It wouldn’t move- too little of it was exposed.

Black dots started to dance in your field of vision, and you felt yourself slipping out of consciousness.

It was so impossibly hot, your mouth felt dry and tacky- like a thin layer of warm glue had been poured inside it.

Your head was pounding and your lungs felt like they were full of sand.

As you started to faint, you thought you saw a pale blue glow cover the room.

You smiled to yourself before you slipped out of consciousness.

Better late than never.

131°

“Room.”

“Lift her arms,” Law ordered.

The feeling of biting cold sent a spark running down your spine as two ice packs were placed under your arm.

You blinked your eyes open, a dull pain still drumming in the back of your head.

There was something sturdy behind your chest, and you felt a hand resting on your stomach.

You tried sitting up, but the hand on your stomach held you in place.

“Not yet, Y/n.”

“Law.”

“You have heat stroke- please don’t move. Stay right there, for me.”

You relaxed back against him.

“Bepo- hand me another ice pack. Is the bath ready?”

“Almost, Shachi’s getting more ice.”

You strained to sit up again, this time Law held you down with slightly more force.

“Y/n. I’m serious,” his tone froze you in place, “Do not move.”

“The boiler room-” you started, “‘s too… hot. Pressures- Gonna go up.”

Your speech was slurred and everything in your body felt so heavy.

You felt Law look back up at Bepo and nod.

“Ok, come on.”

He lifted you up, holding you bridal style to try to keep you as relaxed as possible.

“This isn’t gonna feel great,” he said, “But you need to stay in here for at least twenty minutes.”

“Law,” you mumbled, “ ‘s very nice of you.”

Slowly, he lowered you into the makeshift tub- a large plastic bin that was usually used for storage was filled with ice and water.

The cold was biting and an icy burning spread throughout your body- lighting up your nerves as you were completely submerged.

“Dunk your head in. Just once.”

You sleepily shook your head.

Law sighed, “Alright, I’m gonna help you do it, ok?”

Your hands gripped the side of the tub, and you relaxed slightly when he brought a hand to rest on your neck and gently lowered your head down.

He helped you back up, his steady grip taking the stress off of your body.

Bepo had been sent out of the room to help the others in fixing the rest of the ship.

You sat up and leaned back against Law’s chest, drenching him in ice cold water.

He winced.

“Not so great, hm?”

“No, not so great.”

You sat there, resting against him for a while. Slowly feeling yourself regaining strength.

You had acclimated to the temperature and the sensation that replaced the freezing cold was somewhat nice.

“What happened?”

“Underwater volcano, if you’d believe it.”

You laughed, still too tired to hold a full conversation.

“I’m sorry…” Law started, “I’m sorry I didn’t get you out of there sooner.”

He sounded so sad- you turned to look at him.

“Law, everybody did the best they could- Even me, look.”

You lifted up your hand to show him the injury to find it had already been bandaged.

He smiled at you.

“What kind of doctor would I be if I hadn’t noticed that, huh?”

You gave him a gentle smile.

You could tell that he wasn’t fully convinced, and still felt guilt at having taken too long to rescue you.

Before he could even react you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a hug that you shouldn’t have had the strength to give.

You could feel tension spark throughout his body, but after a few seconds his arms found their way around your waist and pulled you back in.

You let go first.

He followed, a few seconds after.

“If you really want to make it up to me,” you said.

“I do,” Law answered.

“Never give me boiler room duty again.”

zoro - earth

You had four hours to get to the Sunny.

By noon you and Zoro had to traverse through eight miles of thick, unwelcoming jungle.

It was humid and neither of you were looking forward to the journey but you had a mutual respect for the other, and though it was never said out loud, shared an enjoyment of each other’s company.

Zoro liked your good natured humor and admitted to himself that you were easy on the eyes.

You liked Zoro’s stoic nature and admired his relaxed composure.

Your fighting styles were perfectly complementary. Zoro attacked first and thought later. His cuts and slices were executed with a terrifying precision and he was able to readily turn on his animalistic attack mindset. You, on the other hand, were thoroughly analytical. Zoro possessed the skill to not have to worry too much about reading an opponent beforehand, but you were able to read them as fast as he could draw his swords. Able to pick apart formations and fighting styles before they could even get a hit in, you were able to direct Zoro and predict enemy attacks perfectly.

He’d never openly admit it but he liked taking directions from you. To him, independent and capable as he might have been on his own, it felt like he was a sword and you were the hand that guided it.

He made the final cut, but it was you who had swung in the right direction.

Needless to say, you had both set off on your journey toward the Sunny with very few complaints.

The humidity increased, the further you got into the thick green that covered the island.

You pushed through miles and miles of green leaves and branches.

It was lively, the sounds of bugs scuttling across the floor, birds crying from the canopy above, and frogs chirping and yelping filled the scenery with the noise of life and energy.

You were humming to yourself, enjoying the warm weather and snacking on the chips Sanji had packed for you, handing the bag over to Zoro when he reached his hand toward you.

You’d made good progress in the two hours you’d been walking and agreed you could afford to sit down to eat lunch.

“Haha! I do remember that!”

“Or what about when that moron of a cook though he and Nami had us beat in trivia night-”

“And they lost to us in the category of cooking!”

You and Zoro were both laughing. Not such a rare occurrence when the two of you were together.

Zoro’s head suddenly snapped around.

You felt it too, the hairs on your neck rising.

A chill ran through your body and you turned to press your back against his.

“I can’t tell where they’re coming from.”

“Neither can I.”

Your breathing was in sync and you both waited, weapons at the ready.

In a split second the tension broke and your attackers revealed their position by shooting an arrow.

“On your left!”

You jumped to the side as a flurry of arrows flew past your head and heard the sound of blows being dealt by Zoro as he handled his side.

You pulled your throwing knives from your bag where they rested and aimed at the enemy.

Flashes of shiny steel flew through the colorful greens and teals of the forest, the sound of metal against metal echoing in the open space.

You and Zoro fighting together was truly a sight to behold.

You set up every hit he got, and the hits you got were courtesy of Zoro.

It was like a sport for the two of you, a team working perfectly in sync.

Skill aside, your ability to guess his next move paired with his ability to accommodate his hits to the blows you landed, made the two of you nearly impossible to beat.

After only ten minutes of fighting, you’d taken out more than half of the group ambushing you.

Your blades were dripping matching shades of red, and it wasn’t long until the remaining attackers ran.

A stray arrow was stuck in a tree and you pulled it out to inspect it.

Thick, green liquid dripped off the end of it.

Poison.

“Y/n!” Zoro called.

You dropped the arrow and ran to his side.

“Who was that? I didn’t recognize anything about those attackers?” you asked.

“Same here, but it doesn’t matter. Could’ve just been bounty hunters.”

“Working as a team? Unlikely.”

He shrugged.

“Either way, they’re gone.”

You nodded and followed behind him as you continued your walk toward your crew.

A dull throbbing had started to spread throughout your body. You had a headache, too, but shrugged it off.

You walked for another few minutes before you felt liquid trickle down your throat.

You pressed your hand to your neck, pulling away when you felt a warm film cover your fingers.

There was a small gash on the right side of your neck- you’d been hit.

“Fuck!”

Zoro turned around, eyes widening when he saw the wound.

He ran toward you and pressed a hand against your neck to stop the bleeding.

“Shit, shit, shit! Ok- Ok, um, just stay calm,” he was panicking, sweat was lining his brow.

He reached into his backpack and pulled out a napkin that was meant for your lunch.

He held it against your neck and you started to feel faint.

You felt your right foot lock. You tried to move it but it felt like trying to move a steel ball with only your pinky finger.

“Zoro…” the fear in your voice was evident.

The swordsman sat you down against the trunk of a tree and held your hair up with one hand as he held the cloth to your neck.

You started feeling faint, and a slowly increasing feeling of nausea was spreading throughout your body.

“We need to get the poison out.”

You nodded, the strength slowly leaving your body, like water flowed from a leak.

He rummaged through his backpack which contained only the lunch Sanji had packed you, a standard first aid kit that Chopper had insisted you take with you, and a broken compass he had forgotten to throw away.

He grabbed the first aid kit and frantically dumped it out.

You pointed at the gauze and Zoro grabbed it.

“Okay… I’ll, um, wrap this around… your neck?”

You nodded, “But we still need to get the poison out.”

You winced in pain, doubling forward.

You grabbed a few pills Chopper had thrown in and swallowed them as Zoro continued to try and calm himself down.

“It’s spreading.”

Zoro’s head was pounding- this was definitely not his area of expertise and there was nothing in the kit that said ‘Poison Remover’.

“H-how do I,” he asked, overwhelmed, “Just tell me what to do.”

He might not have any medical knowledge but he’d be damned if he let a crew mate die on his watch.

Especially you.

Your eyes had started to close and he was set in his resolve to save you.

Get the poison out, he thought.

As he felt your grip on his arm loosening something in his brain clicked.

He brought his arm around your neck, letting your head rest against his bicep.

His lips wrapped around your neck, and you felt his warm tongue swipe over the shallow wound.

You hissed as he traced his tongue back over it, his saliva coating your soft neck in a thin glaze.

A slight pressure built up as he started to suck the poison out, occasionally spitting it out on the ground next to you.

You made it with a half hour to spare.

The rest of your crew warmly greeted you, happy to see you having made it safely.

You walked onto the ship, Zoro staying by your side, like a knight does with a princess.

Sanji was the first to notice the bandage wrapped around your neck.

“Y/n-chwan!! Are you hurt? What happened?”

You shook your head, “I got hit with a poisonous dart. But I’m okay.”

You gave Zoro a thankful look.

Sanji further inspected the wound, noticing the deep purple and red hickey that sat right on top of the gash.

“What… exactly happened?” he asked, shooting a glare in the swordsman’s direction.

“The poison had started to spread and, uh…” your voice trailed off.

You weren’t sure if Zoro wanted to announce his heroics to the crew.

He stood taller and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

“And I sucked it out,” he announced.

He sounded proud enough, but his increasingly red cheeks implied otherwise.

There were mixed reactions..

Sanji was furious and started to bicker with him, Luffy and the boys were laughing, but Nami, Robin, and Chopper all seemed confused.

“But,” Nami had started, “I thought that that doesn’t work-”

You cut her off and shot her a look, that said Don’t say anything.

“I would’ve died if it weren’t for him.”

Robin giggled and ushered them all back inside to finish lunch, explaining to a very confused Chopper what was going on.

You and Zoro were left alone on the deck.

“Thank you,” you whispered, bringing a hand to rest on his shoulder, “You saved me.”

He looked away from you, rubbing the back of his neck and nodded.

“Anytime.”

Of course, you knew that sucking the poison out of a wound was an outdated myth.

It was the pills that had saved you.

But Zoro had been hellbent on saving you and did everything in his power to keep you alive.

He believed he had saved you.

And you’d be damned if someone told him otherwise.

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lengthofropes · 2 years

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"It's Forced Conforming. That's What's Killing The Kids"

ID under the cut

1.Eddie - freakin’- Munson

The aesthetics.

2. D&D. The Hellfire club

The "Hellfire Club" is an official D&D club at Hawkins High School. Membership came with a degree of protection, but demanded loyalty to campaign nights. Members of the club both create and wear white raglan shirts with black long sleeves, finished with the Hellfire Club name and logo on the center. Hellfire Club is hosted in a drama/theatre room.

MEMBERS:

Eddie Munson († - Head) Mike Wheeler Dustin Henderson Lucas Sinclair Erica Sinclair(substitute) Gareth Jeff "Freak"(unnamed)

3. The Sweetheart

Custom 24 fret, supercharged NJ Warlock with B.C. Rich Pickups, Floyd Rose Tremolo and jumbo frets.

(*description taken from official B.C. Rich Instagram)

The B.C. Rich Warlock is both an electric guitar and bass guitar made by B.C. Rich. It features a distinct jagged shape and two humbucker pickups. It was designed by company founder Bernie Rico in 1969.The introduction of the Warlock in 1981 marked the beginning of B.C. Rich's rise to iconic status in heavy metal. The confluence of B.C. Rich's far-out designs and the emerging hair metal culture of the late '70s and early '80s helped cement the brand's place in the market. Over the years since its introduction the Warlock has become a de facto image of a heavy metal guitar.

4. Corroded Coffin

THE BAND

Corroded Coffin is Eddie Munson's band that plays in Hawkins, Indiana. It consists of four students from Hawkins High School. They have rehearsals in Gareth’s garage and perform at The Hideout club on Tuesdays and usually get a crowd of about five drunks.

DRUMS - Gareth. Plays Sabian B8 crash and B8 Pro ride cymbals, Zildjian ZBT hi-hat (all models of 2010’s btw) and black Gretsch drum kit.

BASS GUITAR - ‘Freak’ (unnamed). Plays 4-String Squier Bullet bass by Fender.

RHYTHM GUITAR - Jeff. Plays Peavey T-15.

5. Sweet old tatties

ALL TATTOOS: DESIGN by @1sutton1; CONCEPT by @amylforsythe

THE BATS -back of the right forearm

THE PUPPETMASTER - inner side of the right forearm

THE WYVERN - back of the right arm

THE SPIDER - left side of the сhest, under the collarbone

THE DEMON - under the spider tattoo

(*names of the tattoos are taken from the Amy’s instagram)

6. The chains

RIGHT HAND. Chain bracelet with two rivets leather clasp.

LEFT SLEEVE. Accessory chain over the zipper.

VALLET CHAIN. Accessory first came to prominence with biker subcultures during the '50s, created to keep the wallets intact. Soon become popularized by the early pioneers of '70s punk, who not only incorporated them into their way of dress as a means to prevent pickpocketing along with securing their stash while flailing about in mosh pits, but also promoted them as a fashion accessory. Eventually was adopted by variety of music subcultures that spawned after punk: goths, rivet heads and a multitude of heavy metal enthusiasts. throughout the '80s.

7. The rings

LEFT HAND. Three biker rings of G&S Jewellery company, casted in bronze, silver plated.

On the index finger: a cross and 4 small skulls ring On the middle finger: a hog head ring. On the ring finger: big skull ring.

RIGHT HAND. On the ring finger: jewelry ring, oxidized metal and black (most likely, obsidian or onyx) gemstone.

(*rings company is identified by smart dudes of Internet)

8. Patches & pins

PINS:

Judas Priest (English heavy metal band)

W.A.S.P. ( American heavy metal band)

Accept (German heavy metal band)

Mercyful Fate (Danish heavy metal band) album, “Don’t Break The Oath”(1984)

PATCHES:

LEVIATHAN CROSS PATCH - Alchemical symbol for black sulfur, associated with the fire and brimstone of Hell. Also known as 'Satan's Cross'

MOTORHEAD PATCH - "Hammered Cut Out" design, with Snaggletooth (official band’s mascot)

IRON MAIDEN PATCH - "Eddie the Head" (official band’s mascot)

MEGADEATH PATCH - band logo

DIO BACK PATCH - album “The Last in Line”(1984)

(*Accept and Mercyful Fate pins are identified by smart dudes of Internet)

9. & other cool accessories

GUITAR PICK - on a neck ball chain

THE WATCH - CASIO w 700 (548 module), 100 m water resist, alarm, chronograph

BLACK BANDANA (or handkerchief) with white skull and bones pattern. Although bandanas are a common accessory among metalheads, it’s interpretation within the LGBT community should also be taken into account. According to the Hanky code, it means that Eddie is top (left pocket placing) and into S&M (black color).

10. Dexterous hands

Proficient guitar playing (A.K.A. slaying)

Advanced hotwiring

11. The Hair

No, that’s it. It’s just gorgeous.

(*all the accessories and musical instruments are identified by me, if not stated otherwise)

END ID.

#strangerthingsedit #stranger things #eddie munson #joseph quinn #fuck this is a gifset of a lifetime.....#st4 #cowboycoven2 #useralison #userdorksinlove #tuserpris #userange #useraurore #tusersclara #anzgifs

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mirai-e-jump · 7 months

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Ohsama Sentai King-Ohger Character Book: We're KING!!!!!

PROLOGUE

Jeramie Brasieri was troubled. After ending the conflict between humans and the strange looking creatures, Bugnarak, and with the turning point of becoming king, he wanted to create a new story.

However, he couldn't come up with anything that could surpass, "The Legend of King-Ohger," which he himself had written, and was known to everyone in Chikyu. And so, he decided to make a proposal to the 5 kings, who were also his figthing comrades…or so it goes.

Gira Hasty

"I'm going to rule the world!"

Taisei Sakai guesses what's going on in Gira's head! 50% Children from the orphanage 20% The people of Shugoddam 15% The kings and citizens of the other countries 10% What I was like when I was young 5% Food

My Favorite Point: The Cloak "I was worried in the beginning on whether it would look good on me, but now, it's my favorite!" (-Sakai)

Yanma Gast

"You guys, just shut up already and follow me. I'm not going to lose to anyone!"

Aoto Watanabe guesses what's going on in Yanma's head! 80% Technology and research for the sake of the country's future 15% When it comes to N'kosopa, how I should act as a king 5% Space to think about other stuff

My Favorite Point: Cuff Earring "I like that it has alot of decorations, including N'kosopa's emblem and the jagged edges." (-Watanabe)

The Jacket "I can understand why Yanma loves it, The key point is that it's got alot of texture!" (-Watanabe)

Hymeno Ran

"I'll do as I want and follow my own path!"

Murakami Erika guesses what's going on in Hymeno's head! 40% Cute things and beautiful scenery, fashion and other things including the "arts" 30% Lifesaving and medical research for the sake of Ishabana's people 20% Romantic stories 10% Daydreaming about the future

My Favorite Point: The Spiral Curled Hair "With this hair, I love the novel style of it being tied up and the tiara attached to the knot." (-Murakami)

The Immovable King and Moffun

A Special photoshoot with Rita Kaniska and Moffun has become a realization! With their mask removed, Rita enters a relaxed mode, and is being healed by and carefully brushing the fur of Moffun.

"Together with Moffun" is a long running animated series that depicts Panpy, a cryptid hunter, meeting the legendary yetis Moffun and living in "Mofu Village." The white, cute and fluffy visuals, the love of humans, and the willingness to be hugged so tightly…The healing nature of Moffun is very popular among both children and adults, and is known to have achieved the highest viewership rating in Ishabana of 90.9%, which is run by Hymeno Ran.

One of the reasons for the love of this series, was the proof of bond between the queen of Ishabana and her people. Having lost her parents in the "Wrath of God" tragedy 15 years ago, Hymeno, who became queen at such a young age, had suffered greatly…It was at this time that the people of Ishabana rose up. They made the show with the hopes that she would smile as much as possible, and Hymeno, who grew up watching it, turned into a wonderful queen and doctor.

Another big fan of this show, which is currently airing all across Chikyu, loves it. It's the King of Gokkan, Rita Kaniska. Rita's "Moffun Love " is becoming apparent to Hymeno, while Rita doesn't show any emotion due to their duty as king…If Moffun's charm, which has won the hearts of the two kings, spreads any further, is it possible…the future of Chikyu could become brighter?!

Rita Kaniska

"Even if the earth were to split or the sky falls, Rita Kaniska will not be shaken!"

Hirakawa Yuzuki guesses what's going on in Rita's head! 90% Trials and other work that has to get done 10% Wanting to play with Moffun

My Favorite Point: The Collar "They usually wear a collar that covers their face, so scenes where they show their face are appealing." (-Hirakawa)

Kaguragi Dybowski

"We'll eliminate these pests for a bountiful harvest"

Kaku So guesses what's going on in Kaguragi's head! 75% Toufu 10% The other countries kings 10% Suzume 5% Racules

My Favorite Point: The Furisode's Patterns "I like that the design shows off the various emotions. This costume is a must for Kaguragi!" (-Kaku)

Jeramie Brasieri

"Humans, Bugnarak, and everything else, I rule over all and determine the fate of the world. The king of inbetween, the story of what I do will be passed down forever."

Ikeda Masashi guesses what's going on in Jeramie's head! 80% Peace 20% Stories

My Favorite Point: The Forehead Makeup Instead of using a sticker, I have the patterns drawn on instead. It's the switch that gets me into the role! (-Ikeda)

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cinnamontoastcrunch-15 · 2 months

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Today's @wolfstarmicrofic prompt is sentimental!

(235 words.)

"This is a new one," Sirius muses, shifting his weight on their bed and gently running his fingers up a jagged scar across Remus' shoulder. "Happened while I was gone, right?" Remus thinks carefully, fairly taken aback.

"Uh... I'm not sure. They all kind of blend together." Twelve years of solitary transformations just made the scars look like scars. He's spent his time dodging mirrors, refusing to watch the way the marks on his body spread. They became ugly reminders of everything that he's lost.

Sirius doesn't seem to see it. He's mapping out the scars, just as he did when they were 16.

"Oh, and this one." His hands are moving again, this time over a scar on Remus' hip. Remus hasn't even noticed that one. "Looks older, though. Must be from the early 80s."

Then his eyes flick back up, meeting Remus' for a second, softening. Sirius reaches out, dragging his thumb from Remus' nose and across his right cheek.

"I know this one, though," He says gently. A smile finds its way onto Remus' face, reaching up to press his hand against Sirius' own.

"Sentimental sap," Remus says back, drawing a chuckle and a grin from Sirius.

They might not be able to take back everything they lost, all of the time apart, but they have this, and it's enough. It's more than Remus ever thought he'd have.

He has Sirius back.

#have i posted any post-war stuff?#defo not much #wolfstar #sirius black #wolfstar oneshot #marauders #remus lupin #remus x sirius #young marauders #moony x padfoot #atyd marauders #marauders oneshot

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amica-aenigmata-naboo · 1 month

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Scars

Astarion x Y/N - drabble - 1.3K WC

Masterlist

Warnings: mention of smut but nothing too vivid, Tav history but nothing horrible, kinda funny in some ways, really enjoyed writing this one and if you don't like it - I hate to tell you but you are wrong (I don't make the rules here sorry (I def do make the rules)), I'm so sleep deprived lord help me

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

You laid across from Astarion, enjoying each other's company as the early morning rays of golden sunshine cascaded into the tent. It was the first night you had slept together of Astarion’s own volition. After defeating Cazador, he decided to try living again and he wanted to indulge in every way possible, including indulging in you. It was sweet, gentle, thoughtful lovemaking. Ensuring you were both comfortable and consenting was at the forefront of both your minds. You laid on your combined bedrolls nude, your lower halves covered by a thin blanket. Astarion traced over your face deftly, his fingers subconsciously tracing over the scars that crossed your eye, cheek, and lips.

“How did you get these?” he asked suddenly.

Your eyes opened completely, waking from their sleepy haze to find his.

“Forgive me, that was rude… you don’t have to tell me.” he said, shaking his head.

You smiled at him, kissing him briefly. “I’m just as old as you, I have quite a few scars if you’d like to hear the many tales.” you smirked.

He let out a relieved sigh, worried he had offended you somehow. He nodded at your question, finding the raised blemishes to be quite beautiful against your skin.

“These,” you said gently moving his fingers across your eye and cheek, “are from a devil. My very short stint fighting in the Blood War gave me these.”

“And this,” you said tracing over your lips, “from a dog. Bit me when I was 7.”

You moved his hand to trace over the large scar that spanned across your neck, “A near death fight with a Bhaal spawn. Nearly took my head off, thankfully I had quite the healer with me.”

Astarion grimaced at this scar. He couldn’t imagine that kind of pain. Being bitten by Cazador had felt like a shard of icy glass being plunged into his neck. Having your throat sliced open by someone as vicious as a Bhaal spawn, he could imagine the immense fear seeing all the blood seeping from you, your life slipping away slowly. He thanked any gods who were listening for the healer who saved you long ago.

“How old were you?” he whispered.

“For my neck?” you asked, “I was 80, my first time in Baldur’s Gate actually. Quite the welcome.” you chuckled.

You carried on with your little tour of your body. “This one,” you said, tracing a very faint scar of three little dots on the top of your chest, “I gave to myself. Turns out forks are quite dangerous if you trip with them in your hand.”

Astarion scoffed, a breathy laugh coming out after. As gifted of a fighter as you are, you are also the most accident prone individual he has ever met.

“Lets see…” you continued moving his fingers to your upper ribs where a deep, jagged scar lay, “A worshiper of Loviatar “blessed” me with that one.”

“Blessed you?” he said, quirking an eyebrow with a hint of confusion in his eyes.

“Let's just say Loviatar worshipers enjoy all manner of things in the bedroom.” you blushed. “It was truly a blessing though, the knife they so graciously stabbed me with was infused with magic. Makes me harder to kill since I “embraced” Loviatar.”

Astarion smiled at that one. He had noticed how slashing didn’t seem to have much effect on you in battle, now he knows why.

“This one,” you said, moving his hand to a scar that spanned from your belly button to your hip, “Particularly brutal - a Lolth sworn drow and a drider came after me while I was knocked down. Turns out spider legs are sharp as fuck. And the venom? Lord, I have yet to feel a sting quite like that again.”

Astarion frowned, he always despised spiders. Now he has even more reason to dislike them.

“This,” you moved his hand to your upper right thigh, “Another self-inflicted accident. Swam in the Black Lake, which is forbidden and for good reason too. Giant eels leave quite the electric burn.”

“Why were you in a forbidden lake?” he asked, thumbing over the patchy scar.

“Why not?” you winked at him with a smirk.

Gods he loved your rebellious spirit, quite matched his own. Trouble seemed to find you both all too easily and yet, you always managed to make fun out of it.

“This,” you said as you dramatically slapped his hand to your ass cheek. He felt for a moment before feeling a raised “X” shape. “An arrow of Ilmater from a particularly pissed off dwarf.”

“And, pray tell, why was he pissed off?” he said with a smirk of his own.

“I may or may not have been trying to steal a particular magical necklace.” you grinned.

Astarion hooked his finger under the golden chain around your neck that always had a slight ethereal glow to it. “I’m assuming you managed to steal said necklace?” he said before tugging on it to pull you into a kiss.

You giggled when you pulled away as his lips followed yours, you pecked them again before continuing. “Yes. Well worth it though, it prevents me from being poisoned. It’s come in handy more than once.”

You moved his hand to your knee but not before he gave your ass a final squeeze. You squealed as you leaned into him. He would never get tired of your toothy grin, it was like sunshine to him, he loved to bask in it.

“This one,” you said as you moved his hand to feel over two parallel scars, “from a mermaid. She tried to drown me so I kicked her off, but not before her scales dug into me.”

“Why was she trying to drown you?” he asked.

You gave him a sarcastic look, “Have you ever met a mermaid? They don’t need a reason, they do it for sport.”

Astarion nodded, making a mental note to not venture too far into mermaid infested waters.

“Kept the scales though! Worth a fortune since they make elixir of water breath.” you said jovially, finding the positive in said situation.

“Elixir of what?” Astarion asked, searching his mind for this unknown elixir.

“Water breath; you can breathe underwater for quite some time once you drink it. Rather rare though, getting scales off a mermaid is a pretty deadly task.” you shrugged.

“Any more?” Astarion said, his eyes running over all the scars that littered your body. So many stories, so many emotions.

“Just two…” you said as you raised your foot up so his hand could feel over the top of it. A “Z” shaped scar. “This one is from a Zhentarim, hence the “Z” shape. Got caught trying to break into one of their hideouts. Left me with a lovely little scar to remind me not to try again.”

Astarion traced the shape, you jerked away at the ticklish feeling.

“Finally,” you said moving his hand between your legs right where the plush of your thigh meets your groin, “this one is from the best lover I have ever had.”

Astarion felt for a moment but couldn’t feel anything. He looked up at you confused, “There's no scar here?” he said, waiting for you to guide him to the proper spot.

“Not yet. I suggest you get to it, fangs.” you smirked at him.

Astarion gave you a wicked smile when your words clicked in his head, “I’d be honored to add to the collection…” he said as he trailed himself down your body, leaving feverish pecks and little nips as he descended before licking over your thigh and sinking his fangs in.

You arched your back while you carded your fingers through his white curls. You never wanted to leave this bed, this tent, or him. And luckily, you didn’t have to, not now. Not ever. He would alway be yours, and you his.

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

Naboo's Note:

Hello! :D I am so fucking tired but also very awake right now working this overnight. I fucking love this piece so I hope you all do too! Fun fact, the fork scar is an actual scar I have because I am, in fact, a clumsy bitch lol. This felt very fluffy to me and just generally made me feel better so I hope it was comforting to ya'll as well. Talk soon, thanks for everything!!!!!!!! TTYLXOXOXOXOXO!!!!!!!!!

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powderblueblood · 5 months

Text

HELLFIRE & ICE — eddie munson x f!oc as enemies to star-crossed lovers

CHAPTER TWO — VIOLENT DELIGHTS at HARRINGTON’S HOUSE

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summary: it's a rager at the harrington household! you attempt to reconnect with carol, tommy and the gang (it goes horribly, but they started it), accidentally connect with robin buckley and inadvertently have your life saved by eddie munson and his stupid van. you swear, this guy is following you. content warnings: NSFW / MINORS DNI swearing boots the house down, underage drinking, good old fashioned 80s homophobia and slut shaming, mean mom moment, implied attempted sexual assault, billy hargrove haters club (sorry) word count: 4.7k

Dear reader, I know you think of yourself as a harsh person.

Cold and exacting, surgical in the way you deal with people. You put on a good show, though, masking it all up with quiet confidence and pretty smiles. The prettiest smiles. And you’re never too mean. At least, not out loud.

It’s different when it comes to him, though. With him, you’ve got all the reason in the world to be mean. Vicious, even.

His dad is the reason your dad is in prison. That simple fact makes you want to grab his ridiculous hair and slam his head against the lockers so his ears ring.

Al Munson probably has no bearing on the way Eddie Munson lives his life, because he’s a deadbeat the way his son is destined to be a deadbeat. But the mere genetic suggestion of that piece of shit is enough for you to want to cut the brake lines in his little boy’s van.

You’re trying not to think about it too much, but it’s harder and harder when he’s right across the fucking lot, playing the same pedantic guitar riff over and over and over and–

Ssskrrrp.

The pressure you’ve been putting on your poor fountain pen tears through the lined paper, interrupting your line of thinking.

What doesn’t interrupt, what has no sign of stopping, is Munson’s incessant fretboard shredding coupled with–Christ almighty–an ear piercing harmonica. And look, you’re not one to ignore technique– he’s fine, you suppose, as much as anyone who can adequately handle an instrument can be fine, but it’s the fact that he keeps going. He’s relentless.

Doesn’t this place get noise complaints?

You almost yank up your window and aim the nearest heavy thing in reach–a commemorative Indianapolis Christmapolis snowglobe from 1981–toward Munson’s window in the hope that it sails clean in and puts a hole right through his amp, but you stop yourself short.

You do not exist to me and I better not exist to you.

You’re a woman of your word.

And you’ve got a party to get ready for.

You’ll admit, the trepidation factor of showing up to Steve Harrington’s house after your trailer trash makeunder is major. This is why every element of your look has to be just meticulously so, from your hot roller curls to the angle your off-the-shoulder dress sits at.

“Are you going somewhere?” your mom mumbles from the doorway.

It almost make you draw a jagged edge in your lip liner– you’d forgot you left the door ajar and she moves like a ninja nowadays. Silent and deadly, or not at all. At the very least she’s not slurring her words; she’d heavily upped the intake of Beaujolais since she had to appear on the witness stand. You wonder what she’ll do when the contents of her old wine cellar that’s now living in the trailer’s living room runs out.

You wonder what number glass is the one she’s currently clutching.

“It’s Friday night,” you say, like that’s a sufficient response.

“Whatever happened to keeping a low profile, hon?” she says, perching on your dinky twin bed. She pokes around the measly few pieces of jewelry you’ve scattered there, the only ones you have left. The rest went to the pawn shop, then that went to the legal fund.

Fat lot of good that did us, you think.

“I get that you’re probably… upset by all this change, but,” she continues, sighing deep, “Going out and making a fool of us isn’t going to help anything.”

You cap your lip liner and wonder just who the fuck your mother thinks she’s talking to.

“And drinking yourself into a stupor in front of cable TV is?” you bite, “--scratch that. We can’t afford cable anymore, can we, Mommy?”

Your mother’s purple-tinged lips peel over her teeth in a sickened smile. “Don’t be a bitch, Lacy. No one likes a bitch.”

“I’m not,” you assure, unrolling the first of your hot rollers, “I’m being pragmatic. Game face, right? That’s what Daddy said. We’re not going to let this town of gossip mongering wannabes tell us who we are,” you say, rendering a pitch-perfect impression of your dad that makes your mom shudder. “I’m going out. I’m going to a party. I’m going to act like nothing has changed because it hasn’t–”

It’s eerie how easily you can lie to yourself.

“--you’re the one who’s not being a team player.” You don’t exactly say that your mother is the one that’s bringing extracurricular shame to the family name, but that’s what the reality is. If there’s not whispers flying about your incarcerated father, there’s mumblings about your mother showing up blotto in Melvald’s with more than one run in her stockings.

Getting up from your makeshift dressing table to pick your jewelry from the bed, you turn– and run chest-first into your mother’s wine glass. She lets the wine spill down the front of your dress–your white dress–with just enough manufactured shock to let you know it wasn’t an accident. You gasp– is she serious?! The stain spreads just like her smile does; slow and languid and completely immovable.

“Oh, baby, look at that mess,” she pouts mirthlessly, “Do you know how difficult it is to get red wine stains out?”

You just about keep your composure as she leaves your bedroom, slamming the door behind her. It might appear that your mother has nothing left in this world, but she still has the ability to make you feel two feet tall.

Blinking away the hornet’s sting of tears in your freshly mascara’d eyes, you glance to the clock radio– no! You had planned on a bus route that included a fifteen minute walk from the park to get you to Steve’s on time (and to avoid another car ride full of ribbing with Carol, Tommy et al) and there’s no way you’re going to make it now. Plus, you now need a full outfit revamp and you still weren’t organized enough for that.

Panic runs a trail of hot spikes up the back of your neck as you rifle through the nearest suitcase for anything remotely appropriate and you come up with– something.

Something slightly risque, that you weren’t counting on debuting at a party where you needed to convince people that I’m normal and nothing’s different and everything is fine.

Your new outfit requires you to be practically hermetically sealed into it, it’s so tight, but it matches your shoes at least– you’re a stickler for details. You’re also a stickler for multitasking, so you drum up a last ditch attempt at hitching a ride to Harrington’s house and barrel out the trailer door without so much as a Don’t wait up, Mom!

A sharp left is your first move, and you nearly swear you see Munson drop a note in his hard rock symphony as you dash past his window. Good. Hope you can’t nail that intro for the rest of the night, just like you can’t nail anything else.

You’re sure, no, you’re positive that you’ve seen that car around here somewhere… and just like a very dangerous North Star, the Chevy Camaro sits askew in front of a nearby trailer home. The front door pops open, there’s some incoherent yelling, and a shadowy figure identifiable only by a trail of cigarette smoke and an ever-present cloud of too-strong drugstore cologne swaggers towards the vehicle.

Someone up there’s looking out for me.

“Billy!” you call, teetering his way on your heels, “Hey.”

Or wants me dead.

Billy Hargrove pauses in his tracks, tossing the dying ember of his cigarette into some nearby, extremely dead and extremely flammable, shrubbery. He drinks you in, top of the lid to the bottom of the label, and you want to fidget with your outfit. A black waistcoat with nothing but a bra underneath hitches your breasts to your clavicle. The matching skirt feels suddenly illicitly short. He’s regarding you with a newfound if sleazy appreciation– then again, you daresay Billy Hargrove eyes up froyo with the same lascivious look. Guy has a chronic case of eyeball nymphomania.

“Lacy, right?” he drawls, like you haven’t been in the same social sphere at least a dozen different times. You nod, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear in an effort to out-cute yourself. This is very not you behavior, but– needs must. “Fresh meat.”

Again, like you haven’t met a billion times before, but trailer park politics change everything.

“Yeah,” you say, skipping over that particular prelude to a come-on, “Um, no way you’re going to Harrington’s party, are you?”

Billy heel-toes his way toward you, slow like molasses (or slurry, or tar), giving you his best half-lidded come-hither shit. Look, you get what Tina and Carol and the rest of the girls see in him– it’s the whole greased up dirtbag, fuelled by chauvinism, sponsored by Pall Mall thing that is designed to piss off their parents and give them bacterial vaginosis. It’s their first taste of adulthood. You, on the other hand, have tastes in the opposite sex that are as-yet unmet by this half-assed corn maze of a town.

“I was thinkin’ about it,” he smirks, barely a breath away from you. And you play right up into it, even if you want to recoil from his ratty moustache.

“Well, think I could ride shotgun?” you ask, and tack on, “With you?”

“What’s in it for me?”

Oh, Jesus Christ, does it ever end. You have to swallow in order not to roll your eyes and ask him if he ever thinks about changing that broken flirting record.

“The most impeccable company in Hawkins, of course,” you simper, amping up the princess angle. Though you were pretty sure that dynamic played better when you weren’t living on the edge of civilization.

Billy folds easily, but doesn’t go so far as to open the passenger door for you. He jams the radio on as soon as the key’s in ignition, speed metal rattling through the car’s interior. Another cigarette lit and he’s revving up and out, while you’re still struggling to find the non-existent seatbelt. You give up and reach for a smoke from the open soft pack on the dash– it’s not a regular habit outside of parties and stealing your mom’s every once in a while, but again, needs must.

Billy flicks a Zippo dangerously close to your face. “What’s your deal.”

Despite the monotone delivery, you’re sure it’s the closest thing to an honest-to-god question Billy’s ever asked you– or any girl, for that matter.

“That’s a vague line of questioning, Billy,” you say, cracking a window so the smoke can escape.

“You’re like, bad now or something?” he scoffs, “Shunned from the suburbs so you’re acting all edgy?”

By hitching a ride with you, you mean. God, how pathetic to uphold yourself as the standard of bad behavior– as far as bad goes, I could do a lot better.

“Thaaat’s it,” you nod animatedly, half-yelling over the din of 'The Four Horsemen', “I figured with my father in the big house, I might as well commit to the bit. I might even get a tattoo. How’s that make you feel?”

Billy barely emotes an answer, his himbot expression set on seduce mode. He’s just smirking, lashes low. “If you wanna let loose, I know someplace we could do that.”

His free hand, the one that isn’t oh-so-casually resting on the wheel, reaches over to brush a lock of hair from your cheek. The knuckle trails down to your jawline, skips to your shoulder, your forearm, until his palm comes to cup your knee. Your skin feels like it hardens under his touch.

You’ve seen this movie before. Rebel Without a Condom: Skull Rock Edition.

Your hand closes over Billy’s, holding it firmly in place. He has a hair-trigger temper. You know that. You're attempting to handle it delicately.

“So do I. Harrington’s party.”

His tongue runs along the edge of his bottom lip, and you wonder what’s fundamentally missing in you that this shit doesn’t have you trembling. He grips tighter, fingers edging up your thigh under your vice. Your stomach seizes. “I mean really loosen up, Lacy. You wanna be bad, let’s go be bad.”

And suddenly, as his foot edges the gas to push you down the dirt road faster, you are trembling. But for all the wrong reasons.

Then– an ungodly rumble from behind, headlights blaring through the rear window as a vehicle zooms almost bumper-to-bumper with Billy’s. The horn honks and each car’s sound system wages a war to be heard– Metallica versus Black Sabbath.

Your neck snaps around. You don’t even need to see past the blinding light into the driver’s seat to know who the hell that is.

The van hits a dangerous swerve in order to come neck and neck with Billy’s car, spooking him enough that he snaps his hand off of your leg. The van boisterously overtakes you and Billy slams on the horn, revving the engine from his position behind. The sign of relief you breathe is barely contained, but can’t be heard over metal-on-metal drums.

“What the fuck is this freak’s problem?!”

“At least he’s bringing party favors.”

–

While Billy Hargrove’s admittedly sick Camaro sure can burn rubber, she’s no match for Eddie’s old lady in the arena of sheer bull-in-a-china-shop obnoxiousness. She hauls a lotta ass and takes up a lotta road, which is perfect for raising the blood pressure of an asshole like this.

And before you think it, before you even imagine it– he’s not fucking up Billy’s cruising hours because of you.

Not entirely, anyway.

Truth is, his uncle’s hours have been cut at the plant, as have Eddie’s shifts at the Hideout so he’s seizing opportunity wherever he can. Keep the lights on, right? And if that means palming off dimebags and powder to some drunk kids who are overzealous with their unpetty cash, then fine. He’d got the word from a couple of meatheads that his services might be useful, so it’s not as if he’s planning on gatecrashing Harrington’s. Gatecrashing a Quaker meeting would be more entertaining, if you ask Eddie.

But, gun to his head? Alarm bells started ringing when he saw you bowl out of your trailer in that ho–... that outfit and head towards Hargrove’s. Well, Mayfield’s, technically– the only time Hargrove shows up there is to cool off when his dad kicks him out. Hargrove’s dad and the redhead kid’s mom have split, and she is not taking it well, so add in the macho madness of Billy and you’ve got a maelstrom of disaster.

Sometimes he sees Little Red sneak out in the middle of the night and he’s gotten in the habit of keeping an eye on her.

From a safe distance, of course. That kid’s like a rabid dog, jumpy and paranoid. He’s positive she bites.

Anyway, that’s how come he came to spot you. Activity in the Hargrove enclosure. And again, if he’s to believe any kind of insidious gossip, girls that slide into the passenger seat of Hargrove’s ride are not necessarily safe.

So, he figures, it’s time to peel out and get to work.

Eddie manages to keep Billy entertained on his tail right until the turn to Harrington’s, so you don’t swerve off onto an unlit dirt road with him. What can he say, he loves the chase!

Billy’s car almost blocks him in when he pulls up, you clambering out of the passenger side unassisted. Douchebag. The minute Eddie’s sneakers hit the pavement, Billy is just about nose to nose with him, frothing at the mouth. Rabid dog must run in the family.

“Fuck was that about, huh?”

“Jeez, Hargrove, a little early to be scamming on your date already,” Eddie teases, drawing up to his full height– he’s got a couple of inches on Hargrove, which he knows is a sore spot. “But I’m flattered.”

On instinct, not insistence, Eddie’s eyes snap to you– but you don’t give him so much as a glance, just huff, “Thanks for the ride, Hargrove,” and head into the party. His eyes follow you, watching you stalk inside with your shoulders all hunched and your ankles about ready to give out in those dumb shoes.

Billy shoves him, hard, as if to draw his attention back. “Fucking wanna go, huh?”

But Eddie, at this point, is beyond over it. He’s done all the dick measuring he wants to do tonight. He digs a joint out of his pocket and slaps it into Billy’s hand.

“Christ, Scrappy Doo, hit the brakes already. Have one on me.”

–

The one time in your life you’ll be thankful for the bottomless pit of the male ego is tonight. Billy completely rerouted his fucking pea brain to dog Munson all the way to Steve’s house, and all you had to endure was motion sickness.

Could have been a lot worse.

You’re still regaining your land legs by the time you cross the Harringtons’ porch and are instantly cornered by Tina and Nicole.

“Lacy,” they say, in unison and almost gravely. Very the twins from The Shining. “We didn’t think you’d make it.”

“Wait, did you come here with–”

“--Billy Hargrove,” you supply before anyone can make any stupid assumptions. “Almost died in a game of chicken in the process, but that’s that Forest Hills life for ya.”

Tina looks past you, distracted and distant. “I always forget he lives there,” Nicole shrugs. You don’t bother to correct her, because you don’t think he does. Whatever.

“Wish I could forget I live there!” you chirp, “In fact, that’s exactly what I’d like to do– forget. What are we drinking, ladies?”

You push past the hovering bodies and make your way to the kitchen, the girls bringing up the rear but real slowly. Something’s wrong– something’s off with them. But then again, maybe something’s just off with you. You choose to forget about it, forcing your party mode switch to on.

“Jesus, what is Robin Dykely doing here?” Nicole scoffs over your shoulder as you search the kitchen island for anything you can free pour, and fast. You purse your lips– Nicole’s obviously started early, because when she’s tipsy, she’s got no volume control nor spatial awareness. The Robin Buckley in question is lingering by a punch bowl and definitely in ear shot.

“Looks like she’s drinking punch at a party, Nic,” you say flatly, pulling a bottle of vodka from the gaggle of glassware. That’ll do fine.

“Probably hoping Tam Thompson will finally join the softball team.”

“Doesn’t Steve work with her?”

“Yeah, they’re like, buddy-buddy right?” you non-committally muse, grabbing a shot glass; in fact, you had seen the mousy girl mousing around Family Video with Steve. He’d even given her a ride to school a couple of times, whatever the hell that dynamic was. You didn’t know much about Robin, other than she was in band so you matriculated in the same gym space what with due to your spot on the cheerleading squad. Well, that, and the obvious rumors.

But largely and absolutely, you didn’t care. She’s a relative nobody.

You knock back a searing shot of vodka.

“That’s proof Harrington’s exhibiting early signs of dementia, I’m sure,” Tina grimaces. “Like, doesn’t he know she’s a carpet muncher?”

“Like Harrington can’t have a girl within three feet of him without wanting to bang her?” you say, matching Tina’s grimace with a strained voice after the shot. “Yet here you are, Tina.”

It’s a little meaner than Tina is used to from you– and it shows. She blinks, once, twice, three times, visibly hurt because she knows that you know that she’s had a thing for Steve Harrington since the dawn of forever.

Well, fucking get in line.

Then she scoffs, recovering herself. “Have another drink, Lace. ‘bout time you loosened up.”

Tina slinks by you toward the patio and you almost call after her, but don’t. Nicole, starting after her with a roll of her eyes, tells you, “We’ll be by the pool. See you out there, maybe?”

Your mouth curls into a sarcastic smile and you wave the bottle of vodka. “Soon as I catch up, girl!”

The vodka lands with a clunk on the counter after you line up another shooter. You look up, and catch Robin Buckley staring at you, right before she has the chance to avert her eyes. She’s gripping onto that solo cup for dear life. You can see the cracking dents in the plastic.

“You want a shot?” you yell over the music and the people and the claustrophobia of it all.

“Uh,” she says– too damn slow. You grab another glass and fill it, passing it her way.

“I’ve, um, I’ve never really done this before. What’s, like, the custom, should we cheers?” Robin half-yells over the kitchen island.

You shrug. Fuck it. “Sure– here’s to being in places we think we belong with people we secretly hate!”

“Oh, I for sure don’t belong here!”

Robin sinks the vodka and chokes on it, spluttering up the shot. You gulp yours like a fish gulping water and dash around the island to slap her on the back. She recovers pretty quickly, wiping the dribbled booze off her face with the back of her hand. She wheezes gratefully when you pass her a sticky dishcloth. “Gross.”

“I know, right? Party.”

“I get it, though, by the way,” Robin says, husk in her voice more pronounced after she’s coughed a lung up. She dabs awkwardly at her argyle printed shirt, doing nothing. “The secretly hating people thing.”

Fuck, had you really said that? That’s way too personal. That’s way too revealing, especially to someone like her. Reverse, reverse, abort abort abort! “Well, it’s not that, y’know how it gets with your friends sometimes–”

“Because I know Steve. Like, I really know Steve– but not, not in like a sexual way because that’s not– more in like a paternal, fraternal, we were worms together in another lifetime sort of way– I just, I know Steve,” Robin steamrolls you, nodding. From the glassy look in her eye, that punch is finally hitting her. And she really does mean what she says, from the timbre of her voice. She gives a real fuck about Harrington, which is more than you can say for ninety percent of the people in this house. “He, y’know, he’s not exactly made for this crowd either.”

You unscrew the bottle of vodka and take a cursory swig, then another, which makes Robin’s eyes widen and makes you feel a little bit like a pirate. “Then why are we all here, band girl? At his house? Why am I drinking his father’s Stoli?”

She casts her eyes down and shrugs, looking back up with a sour smile. “Party?”

Your shoulders drop and your head lolls back. Maybe you shouldn’t have come here after all. “Ffffffuck.”

“I totally hate drinking. I hate that wobbly out-of-control thing,” Robin says, scooping more punch into her half-crushed cup. It occurs to you that she might not realize the punch is alcoholic.

“You said it, sister.”

“I like your outfit, by the way. It’s like if a librarian was… a slut.”

God, if this is the way she flirts, I hope Sarah Lawrence is kind to her.

“You said it, sister,” you repeat, hitting the bottle again.

When you perform a quick scan of the room, you spot Billy advancing through the crowd, lighting a cigarette with another cigarette like he’s about to just smoke both cigarettes because that would be double badass.

And then, veering in from the right just like he did on the way here, is Eddie Munson. He looks as if he’s looking… for you.

Well, not the fuck anymore!

“Pleasure doing business with you, band girl,” you mutter, grabbing the solo cup from her hand and chugging the rest of the contents, “Don’t drink any more of that shit, it’s three quarters peach schnapps.”

You maneuver yourself (just barely) to the patio, where the gang, your gang, are all holding court on the pool loungers. There’s Carol, Tommy Hagan, Tina, Nicole, Cass, even Tammy Thompson if Robin’s still looking, but no Harrington in sight. Maybe it’s because of what Robin just told you, but you feel like this would feel less bad if he was here.

A hush falls over the group as you approach– you know, the kind where you know people have just been talking about you? That lead feeling in your gut makes you take another sip of vodka.

“Well, hello there,” you say, and it comes out as one slurred-up noise. Wellyellothur. Not ideal.

Tina gestures to the bottle. “Washing something down, Lacy?”

“A shot of Hargrove spunk?” Carol drawls.

“With a Buckley bush chaser,” Hagan sniggers. Fucking Statler and Waldorf over here.

“You guys, c’mon,” Nicole starts– and it sounds like a defense, but she’s the meanest motherfucker of them all when you give her some leash. “Lacy’s way too frigid for that.”

“Guess that tracks,” Hagan shrugs, leaning forward to flick his cigarette into the pool. He looks at you in a way that drills a hole, only the way ugly, empty-eyed bastards know how to do. “I mean, if it’s true that your dad was pimping you out to Al Munson, it makes sense he’s in the slammer. No one got their fuckin’ money’s worth in that deal.”

“Shit, that is so true, Tommy,” you start, before you even know where it’s going. All you know? It’s going to be bad. Real bad. So bad that you set the bottle on the ground next to you and clasp your hands behind your back. Debate team stance is what you used to call this. “About me being frigid, I mean. Because I sure remember turning you down a lot– like, a lot.”

Hagan scoffs and lights another cigarette. Something electric in you makes you lean over and grab it, “Lemme have this one. –but like, you don’t remember that? Because I remember you begging–like hands and knees begging–me to fuck you the night of junior prom.”

“Bullshit,” he scoffs again, like ‘scoff’ and ‘chauvinist insult’ are the only retorts he’s wired for.

“And on the last lake trip,” you go on, taking a drag of the cigarette. “Oh! And on the night of Carol’s eighteenth birthday! Which was like, what? Two months ago? And every time, I said no. Do you remember why I said no, Tommy?”

This Greek chorus of Brat Pack wannabes, they just sit there and stare at you. And you don’t even notice the hush that’s crawled over the crowd assembled on the patio. The party rages on indoors, but those who are out here are rapt.

Tina emits a nervous snort, which makes you bend at the waist and cup your ear, like you’re in the goddamn elementary school production of Horton Hears a What the Fuck Have You Got to Say.

“Bet you could tell me why, Tins,” you grin, big and houndlike. “I drove you to the clinic, remember? I fronted you the money for the lice cream– which you never paid me back for, by the way! Not even when I got all poo–oor!”

Tina reacts in a scramble, gasping unto herself and darting her eyes away from everyone. She doesn’t know where to look– no one knows where to look! No one but Carol, dear awful honeybun Carol, who has gone so pale it looks like her blush was painted on by Bozo the Clown. She stares you right down and you stare back. One of you is the barrel of the gun, and one of you is the poor loser looking right down it.

“You’re a fucking dirty liar, Lacy!” The sound of her voice feels like it’s ricocheting off every stony surface on Steve Harrington’s patio, that’s how deadly silent it’s gotten.

In a flourish, you throw the cigarette on the ground and stamp on it, hard and heavy!

“Only one way to know for sure, Caroline!” you holler, flinging your arms out, “Feelin’ itchy lately?!”

All you know is you’re cackling louder than the thundering crowd rush that erupts when Carol fucking lunges for you.

author's notes: CLIFFHANGER ALERT! everyone fucking dies. jk but thank you so much for reading this chapter that i had so much fucking fun writing. and thank you for showing love for chapter one! i'm posting this one a little sooner than i planned because i want to get this show on the road for y'all. so, a few bits: - the song eddie is playing is the wizard by black sabbath which goes so incredibly hard. he also definitely learned how to shred on harmonica from wayne which is a piece of fanon i think i picked up from chrissy and eddie’s infinite mixtape, the preeminent hellcheer fic by @little-scribblers-heart (i don’t even go in for hellcheer like that but Now That’s What I Call Characterization) - never heard of Indianapolis Christmapolis before? check out the history here! - there is nothing i love more on this planet than making fun of a swaggerlicious shitbag character like billy hargrove. anyway he was blasting the four horsemen by metallica in the car which he canonically listens to in the show! you know, the scene where he puts cologne on his balls. i like to think billy only knows one song and this is it - rebel without a condom: skull rock edition is a reference to rebel without a cause and goes out to all the failed threesomes that have happened at skull rock - scrappy doo found dead in miami after one hit of eddie munson's ditch weed - i also have to say, i feel like more people knew robin was a lesbian than robin realizes, which is truly The Gay Experience. absolutely no one will be surprised that she's fucking crushing puss at a liberal arts college once stranger things 5 comes out in 2038 - anyway, crabs are a real threat, be safe and get tested! thanks so much for reading, pls reblog, like and comment to show support and i will throw things around my enclosure with the wild abandon of a dopamine rush. ur everything to me

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic #hellfire & ice #in progress #published by powder #e. munson by powder

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